I shucked my bag and jacket. “I’ll be sure to give you credit for the title. Why are there so many folding chairs by the window?”
Foster snatched the coffee out of my hand. “Excellent. I needed a pick-me-up.” He took the lid off while he continued. “The chairs apparently live in the newsroom now because Ms. Maple said they got some nicer ones from the school that closed. Also, I’ve lost control of the staff. They won’t tell me what tonight’s date is, only that I have to be here when you get your assignment.” He took a swig. “What the hell is this?”
As he wiped the back of his hand across his lips, I answered, “It’s a mocha.”
“Since when do you drink that crap?”
Since never. “I just thought I would try something new. I’m all about stretching my comfort zone now, remember?” Grabbing the cup back from his hands, a little lukewarm java sloshed onto my hand. “There isn’t anything wrong with sweet once in a while, right?”
His face screwed up into a look of confusion, but then he shrugged. “I guess not.”
“I mean, I still like regular coffee, but a change from bitterness now and again is okay too, right?” My voice sounded unsure to my own ears.
“You’re absolutely right, Logan. But I know you—you’ll always go back to regular roast because sweet will bore you.” He scrutinized me carefully. “You like a little bite.”
“Sweet doesn’t bore me.”
“Whatever. It’s coffee. It’s not like you have to marry it.”
I dared another sip, determined to give it a chance. I mean, why couldn’t I like it? Just because I wasn’t used to it didn’t mean it wasn’t good. I love chocolate. I’m obsessed with coffee. The color and foam were visually appealing and it smelled really good. On paper, we were a great match, café mochas and I.
Yet Foster laughed at my grimace as the cloying liquid went down the hatch.
I had two choices: persist and make myself miserable or admit that Foster was right. I hated giving him that little bit of satisfaction. What’s worse, the fact that he had a foothold on my psyche appalled me.
I set the cup down and readied for battle.
“Ah. There goes the chin,” Foster remarked. “Save the energy, Logan. We really don’t need to pick this one apart. It’s just coffee. If it makes you feel better, tomorrow I’ll try a hazelnut latte or something.”
Maryanne and Chelsea marched in looking apprehensive. Foster and I exchanged glances. The children were up to something. The silence thickened with tension and the girls nudged each other, hoping one would step up so the other wouldn’t have to.
“Spill.” The word barreled out of Foster, piercing the silence like a bullet.
Chelsea cleared her throat and looked at her shoes. “We are going to change things up a little this time and tell Layney who her date is
now
, when she gets her assignment.”
“Okay,” I said. That sounded good. Sometimes the not knowing made me edgy. “Who am I interviewing tonight?”
“Miles Bennington.”
“Miles Bennington? The Wondertwin?”
Miles was one-half of a twin-set that refused to be separated. He and his sister, Ariana, were always together. Always. They weren’t conjoined, but they may as well have been. That is why most kids called them “AirMiles.”
“He agreed? I didn’t think he went anywhere without his…”
Everyone looked at Foster. “He doesn’t go anywhere without his sister,” he deduced. “Which is why you guys kept me out of the loop, isn’t it?”
Maryanne whispered, “It’s a double date.”
“No,” Foster and I answered simultaneously.
“It’s a perfect solution,” Chelsea argued. “Jimmy will be there anyway, and after the last couple dates, we figured it might make you feel safer.”
Sure, because double-dating with the devil is safe as houses.
“The whole point of this assignment is for Logan to get to know these guys and report back what girls are looking for when they date. If I’m there, the results would be skewed,” Foster very thoughtfully added.
“Right,” I said. “Wait, skewed how? What are you trying to say?”
He stepped back a little. “I just think my presence might distract you.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “Why exactly do you think that?”
“We have a…history.”
“Prehistoric.”
“You might feel awkward.”
“Why?”
“Because of your feelings—”
My hand covered his mouth. “Stop right there, asshat. I do not have
feelings
for you—at least none that don’t include the desire for pinking shears.” Foster winced, but I didn’t stop. “I am a professional investigative reporter, and I don’t let things like yesterday’s garbage interfere with my ability to get the story.” I turned to Chelsea and Maryanne. “If the only way to get Miles on this date is to take out AirMiles, we’ll do what we have to do. But don’t think we need to make it a double just because I’ve met a few bad apples. I don’t need Foster’s protection. I’m quite capable of handling myself.” I held my hand out for the pink heart, not opening it as I put the cover back on my coffee and collected my things.
“Do you want me to pick you up?” Beelzebub asked.
I answered with an icy glare and formed my fingers into the shape of scissors snipping.
On my way out, I chucked the mocha into the wastebasket.
* * *
Tyler dangled the bag in front of me and I snatched it like a greedy kid from
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
.
“Yay!” I tore into the bag and giggled at the picture on the mug. He’d painted a caricature of himself wearing a rhinestone Elvis jumpsuit holding hands with a caricature of me looking a lot closer to Kristen Bell than I usually do. “It’s made of awesome.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He sat across from me. “So, excited about the double date tonight?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t have texted you about it if I thought you were going to mock me all day.”
“Why do you hate Jimmy so much?” Tyler passed me a burger from the bag.
“Jimmy Foster? Because he’s made it his life’s purpose to annoy me. Why do you like him so much?”
Tyler shrugged. “I’ve had him in a few classes. He’s always been nice.”
“Bleh.”
“So are you going to go out with Micah again?”
I stopped midbite. “Where did that come from?”
“He’s been telling people he’s hot for you.”
“Get out.”
“Whatever. I know you like him.”
“Pass the ketchup. I don’t dislike him. I’m not really in the market for a boyfriend.”
He handed me a couple of packets of condiments. “If anyone should be in the market for a boyfriend, it should be you.”
“You’ve been on one date with Stephanie, and now the whole world should be in love? Besides, I would make a terrible girlfriend.”
Not that I wasn’t happy that Tyler’s date with this new Stephanie girl went well—I wanted him to be happy. Really I did. It’s just that I’d just found him and I didn’t want a girl to come between our budding friendship.
“Why do you say that? You’d be a great girlfriend if you just loosened up a little.”
I sneered at him.
“Did you write down your dreams last night?”
“I couldn’t remember any of them. It’s like trying to hold on to a gust of wind.”
Tyler sat back in his seat and watched me until I began fidgeting. I hate it when he does that. I know he has something to say. It’s usually something I don’t want to hear and usually something I need to.
“What already?”
“Do you think the dreams have something to do with your panic attack last week?”
“No.”
Yes.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Tyler nodded.
“Whatever does a girl wear on a double date in hell?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Will you go to the mall with me after school?”
* * *
Luckily, the helldate was a pizza joint and not too formal, so I stuck with jeans but added a really cute top I’d splurged on at Hollister because Tyler said it made my “eyes look greener” and “can we please go now?” I’m usually more of a t-shirt girl, but I needed a little confidence tonight. Foster would be looking for chinks in my armor—any perceived weakness, and I’d be toast.
AirMiles were already there with Foster, so I got to make an entrance. Which, of course, I love. Not. They were seated smack-dab in the middle of the room—which I hated—at a table for four. Ariana sat next to her brother and across from Foster. Which meant I got to sit right next to him.
Both guys stood up when I got to the table. Foster introduced me even though I’d known Miles for years. Puzzled by his odd behavior, I watched as his face flushed briefly. He was nervous too?
After the pizza got ordered, Foster tried to engage Ariana in conversation, presumably so I could get to know Miles. I say presumably because his effort went unnoticed by brother and sister, who couldn’t seem to function in conversation unless they were finishing each other’s sentences.
“Miles, you’re in band still aren’t you? Drums, right?” I asked.
“He is,” answered Ariana. “He’s so awesome. He also plays in a rock band called the Riff.”
“The Riff,” Miles repeated.
“I’ve heard of you guys,” I answered. “You played at the park on the Fourth of July, right?”
“They did. Did you buy a CD?” she answered again.
“We were selling CDs at the show,” Miles added.
I nudged Foster. “No…but I thought the band was great.”
“Ariana,” Foster began. “What do you like to do?”
“I’m in marching band too. But not the Riff.”
“She’s our manager,” said Miles.
Ariana nodded. “I’m their manager.”
Miles was cute—Ariana was cuter. It was a shame that it was only together that they possessed one personality.
After a little more chitchat, Ariana announced, “The Riff is playing at Lauren Parker’s birthday bash next month.”
A red haze clouded my vision at not only the name but the event. I’d spent most of my high school years pretending Lauren Parker didn’t exist. Her little birthday bashes were the big highlight to a lot of students’ years.
I hadn’t been invited to one since the eighth grade.
The ice water in front of me saved me from a direct or immediate answer to that, and while I sipped, Foster said, “That’s great, Miles. Lauren’s parties are epic.”
“You would know,” I answered.
“Put your claws away, kitten,” Foster mumbled to me, which only ratcheted up my anger—which I’m sure was his goal. “Your band will be great,” he said to Miles. “Will you be there too? As the manager?” he asked Ariana.
“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t miss it. It’s the best party of the year.”
“See, that’s what I like to see,” Foster answered. “People making the most of their high school years. Going to parties and sporting events and having fun.”
“That’s just like you to change the subject just so you can get another dig in.”
“I’m not digging. Maybe you are just sensitive because you are the oldest teenager
ever
.”
“Just because I don’t go to parties or dances or dates doesn’t mean I’m not getting the most of my high school experience.” He was so infuriating. “For me, the most is preparing for college.”
“And college will prepare you for a career, and a career will prepare you for retirement. Then what? Retirement will prepare you for death? When do you actually plan on living?”
The waitress set down our pizza, so I waited until she moved on before replying. “I happen to like my life. Just because I don’t want to go drinking and partying doesn’t mean I’m not living.”
“No,” he replied. “But not having any fun at
all
means you’re not living.”
“You just want to go to the party because you know there’s always a sure thing there for you.” I looked at Miles. “Lauren Parker’s birthday bashes have been
very
good to Foster. In fact, I bet he’s not the only one. I bet lots of guys cheat on their girlfriends at Lauren Parker’s parties.”
“This is not the time or the place, Layney,” Foster reminded me.
“No, apparently, Lauren’s rec room is the place.”
“I knew you weren’t over it.” He put his pizza down. “Four years and I’m still hearing about one stupid night.”
“This is the first time I’ve said anything since the eighth grade.” Instead of putting my pizza down, I took a huge bite.
“You may not mention that night, but you refer to it with every snide remark and every distrustful glance.”
“I see. So I should just completely trust the judgment of someone who thinks it’s okay to cheat.”
“I did not cheat on you.”
I threw my piece onto my plate. “You made out with Lauren Parker at her fourteenth birthday party.” I faced our dates again, who sat wide-eyed and stupefied. “He totally made out with Lauren Parker.”
Foster’s fingers clenched into a fist before he let out a deep, exasperated breath. “I didn’t make out with her. I kissed her. Briefly.”
“Oh please.”
“It was spin the bottle,” he explained to AirMiles. “It lasted maybe ten seconds.”
“You had no business playing spin the bottle at a party that your girlfriend didn’t attend.”
“You were
supposed
to be there. You picked a fight with me and then didn’t show up.”
“Oh, right. My bad. Then you totally had every right to kiss someone else.”
“Gah.” He raked his fingers through his hair. How they didn’t get stuck in the gel is a mystery. “I wasn’t even playing. They asked me to join and I said no. About fifteen minutes later, I realized I was having a terrible time, so I went to say goodbye to Mitch. I crouched down to tell him I was leaving, and the bottle stopped and pointed at me.”
“So you had no choice but to make out with the birthday girl.”
“I didn’t make out with her. God, you’re stubborn. Maybe I should have protested more, but jeez, Layney, I was thirteen. There was a lot of pressure. Everyone was looking at me, and I was still mad at you, and I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. So, yes, I kissed her. Briefly. And then I left.”
This really wasn’t the time or the place, but that didn’t seem to matter. “So that’s your excuse, then? You were mad and people were looking at you? That’s all it took to throw away what I thought was a good relationship?”