She dabbed at her eyes and nose with a tissue she'd pulled from her bag earlier. Then she crumpled it up and put her hands back under her legs. She stared up at Will, her pale blue eyes so large and vulnerable that he wished he could scoop her up and hold her in his arms forever. He wanted to protect her from all of the pain in the world--the pain that always seemed to surround her.
"Thanks for hanging out with me," she said quietly.
Her grateful tone caused a pang in Will's heart, and he was suddenly overcome with guilt. What if he had followed through with his original plan to break up with her tonight? To leave her so that he would be free to date Jessica Wakefield.
Jessica. Beautiful, lighthearted Jessica. He had to push his thoughts of her aside. There was no way he could leave Melissa now. She would never get through this alone. She needed him, and Will liked to be needed.
"I know it's not fair, Liss," he said, putting his arms around her again. "I really do. I know how much you wanted to be captain, and you deserved it. Way more than Tia." He held her close and kissed her head lightly. "Or anyone else," he added as an afterthought, knowing that his dismissal of Jessica would make her feel more secure.
But Melissa wasn't done crying yet. She brought her hands to her face, and her whole body began to shake. Will pulled her even closer, enveloping her in his strong arms and resting his chin on her head.
"Go ahead and cry, Liss," he said quietly, staring at the rough surf in the distance. "I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere."
"Hello, Aames? Anyone in there?"
Jeremy Aames started at the sound of a familiar voice. It was Corey Scott, one of his coworkers at House of Java.
"Snap out of it, daydream boy, Corey ordered, with attitude to spare.
"Sorry," Jeremy apologized, turning to face her black-rimmed eyes and dyed black hair. "Did you say something?"
Corey narrowed her eyes. "Only about ten times, but don't worry about it. I'm sure you were thinking about something really important--like football."
Jeremy wasn't in the mood for Corey's sarcasm. Unfortunately she had nailed him--he had been thinking about that day's game. He was the captain of Big Mesa High's football team, and he'd just led his squad in a gloryless loss against Sweet Valley High.
Then, instead of joining his friends over a few pizzas to commiserate, he'd had to come to work as usual. It had been a long time since Jeremy had been able to participate in the bonding ritual that took place off the football field. That was just the way it had to be. For now.
Jeremy looked at Corey, who was staring at him with her arms folded across her chest.
"So what exactly did you say?" he asked in as level a tone as he could manage. Corey rolled her eyes and sighed.
"I said I think I can handle this massive crowd for a while if you want to take your break," she offered, gesturing at the nearly empty café.
"Oh, thanks." Jeremy untied the strings on his green apron. He saw Corey start to open her mouth, so he quickly ducked into the back room before she could let another derisive comment fly.
Jeremy threw his apron over a chair and plopped down on the beat-up maroon couch. His manager, Ally Scott, Corey's more normal sister, had finally given in and set up an area in the back room where the staff could hang out or eat during breaks. Of course, she hadn't wanted to spend much money, so the "area" consisted of an old couch, an even older chair, and a table holding a bunch of out-of-date magazines and a Princess phone. The rest of the room was lined with stock shelves and contained another small area with a desk that served as Ally's office.
Jeremy leaned forward and pulled the phone over from the opposite side of the table. He dialed Jessica Wakefield's number and almost crossed his fingers for luck.
"Don't be mad at me," Jeremy whispered. "Just don't be mad at me." Jessica had run off so suddenly when he had seen her earlier that afternoon, he'd spent most of the rest of the day wondering if he'd somehow offended her.
"Hello?"
Jeremy's heart skipped a beat at the sound of a young female voice, but then he realized it was too high-pitched to be Jessica's.
"Hi, this is Jeremy Aames. May I speak with Jessica, please?" he said automatically. Then he grimaced. His friends always teased him for being so polite and formal, but his polished manners had been perfected by several years of country-club butt kissing. Once Jeremy had been the perfect socialite son, but these days he tried to repress that side as much as possible.
"She's not here right now," the voice answered flatly.
"Would you mind telling her I called?" Jeremy asked.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever," she said. Then the line went dead.
What's her deal? Jeremy wondered, trying to remember if Jessica's sister, Elizabeth, had ever mentioned another, ruder sister. Nothing came to mind.
Jeremy hung up the phone, leaned back into the soft couch cushions, and clasped his hands behind his head. He hadn't been able to find Jessica on the sidelines after the game, so he'd assumed she had gone right home. If that were the case, then where was she?
"Don't be a moron, Aames," he said to himself. "She probably just went out with some friends. She's probably celebrating with the football team right now."
The thought of Jessica surrounded by a bunch of Sweet Valley jocks caused a major pang of jealousy.
Jeremy chewed at his lower lip. He just wanted to know if Jessica was angry at him so he could quit obsessing about it. Because right now there was only one explanation for Jessica's bizarre behavior, and Jeremy didn't like it.
He had a sneaking suspicion Jessica was blowing him off.
Here's the lesson for the day: never make promises.
I'm not talking about little ones, like promising your kid sister you'll take her to see Barney on Ice or promising your mom you'll mow the lawn. I'm talking about those other promises. The ones you make in the heat of the moment. The ones you make under delusions of love. The ones some people think of as written in blood.
I promised Melissa I would never leave her. And I meant it. I was in eighth grade. I was a kid. But I knew at that moment that I would never love anyone else. And I knew that Melissa needed me and that I could be there for her, no matter what.
I had no idea what I was in for.
Ken Matthews
To: mslater@swiftnet.com
From: kenQB@swiftnet.com
Time: 8:04 pm
Subject: Liz & Conner
Maria--
Have you talked to Liz yet? Let me know if you need to spill. I'll be around.
--Ken
Conner McDermott
I really want Liz.
There. I said it. When I kissed her in the hall . . . I'll just say this, I never knew a kiss could feel like that. And I've kissed a lot of girls. Trust me.
The thing is, right now I don't know what to do. (Yes, I'm admitting it.) I know I can't do the whole relationship thing. Never been good at it. And I know that's what Elizabeth wants. Elizabeth Wakefield is definitely the deep-relationship type.
So what do I do?
No. Seriously. I'm asking.
What do I do?
Not right. This is not right. This is just not right.
Jeremy Aames was in serious denial as he followed his mother out of the parking structure toward the well-lit hospital entrance. They didn't speak. They had barely spoken since she picked him up--no, intercepted him--at Trent's party. She had pulled up outside Trent's house just as Jeremy was chasing after Jessica Wakefield, his very distraught date.
Now, as they passed through the big, sliding-glass door into the harsh fluorescent lighting of Joshua Fowler Memorial Hospital, Jessica had been nearly forgotten--at least temporarily pushed way to the back of his mind. Jeremy looked around the buzzing emergency room. Suddenly the world was all so sterile and so very wrong. His dad wasn't old; he was barely fifty--too young to have had a heart attack. He shouldn't be here. He should be home with his family.
Family.
"Mom," he called as she turned the corner ahead of him. "Mom," he repeated. "Where are Trisha and Emma?"
"I sent your sisters next door to the Chapmans," his mom called over her shoulder without breaking her stride.
Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. At least his sisters were hanging out with a family friend--being kept away from all the drama.
How could this have happened? Jeremy gritted his teeth and silently followed his mother as she made a quick left, another left, and pushed through a set of double doors. His mom knew exactly where she was going, and she was power walking in a business suit and heels down a labyrinth of corridors.
Jeremy just blindly followed her, his heart racing. Suddenly the hallway opened up into a wider area, and then they were at a desk. The sign on the wall read Intensive Care Unit.
Intensive care. Jeremy swallowed hard.
His mother struggled to catch her breath. "My husband?"
The middle-aged nurse behind the counter looked up from a chart. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"I'm Margaret Aames. How is my husband? He's supposed to be up here. How is he?"
Jeremy felt his pulse quicken. His mother was babbling. She never babbled. What if his father was in serious danger? What if he was going to . . . to die?
The nurse pulled out a clipboard and glanced over a chart covered with scribbles. "There has been no change," the nurse said softly. "But that's not necessarily bad at this point. He's stable."
"Stable is good?" Mrs. Aames asked, her voice wavering slightly. It broke Jeremy's heart.
"Stable is good," the nurse assured her. She came out from behind the desk and smiled at Jeremy. "This must be your son."
"I'm Jeremy," he said.
"It's nice to meet you," she responded. Her voice was very soothing. "Come along with me, and we'll all look in on your father."
Jeremy took a deep breath and trailed behind his mother and the nurse, trying to quell the nausea that was building in his stomach.
"What happens next?" Jeremy blurted out. "When can he come home?" Please say he's coming home.
The nurse stopped at an open doorway and turned around. "You're going to have to talk to the doctor about that, but they'll monitor him here at the hospital for a bit. " She looked up at Jeremy. He felt like she was monitoring him, making sure he was processing the information.
"Can we see him now?" Jeremy asked.
The nurse peeked inside the small room. "In a moment," she said. "One of the cardiothoracic attendings is finishing up with him right now. I'll pull aside the curtain when it's okay for you two to come in. You can have a seat over there or--"
"I'll stand," Jeremy said.
The nurse nodded, squeezed Mrs. Aames's arm consolingly, and disappeared into the ICU room.
Jeremy helped his mom into a chair. "You sit. I'll let you know when she comes back. He'll be okay, Mom. " Mrs. Aames managed a tight smile.
Jeremy turned back to the doorway, watching the nurse's shadow as she talked with someone behind the curtain. He felt helpless. He already detested the intensive care unit, with its sour antiseptic smell, long corridors, and beeping sounds coming from all corners.
The nurse pulled back the curtain, and Jeremy froze. He felt the blood drain from his face. His dad lay there, totally still, hooked up to a lot of machines. A lot of machines.
"Mom?" Jeremy said. His mother jumped out of her chair and rushed through the doorway to his father's bedside. Jeremy inched his way into the room and hung back near the door, feeling scared and out of place.
Ever since Jeremy's father had been squeezed out of his lucrative VP position at a local computer company, he'd been depressed and lethargic, but trying to put on a brave front. Images of his father from the last year flashed through Jeremy's mind. Sifting through want ads, scouring his Rolodex for connections, searching Internet job sites. Early on, his father would go to interviews and get all excited about a potential job, but then he'd never mention it again. Lately things had been growing-worse. Jeremy and his mother had been scrambling to pay bills while his father withdrew further and further.
I knew this was going to happen, Jeremy thought. His father had tried to keep his family from understanding how serious their financial situation had become. He had refused to share the burden until it was too late. Until he'd lost all hope and begun to slide.
"I wish there was something I could have done," Jeremy whispered. As he said the words, Jeremy realized that there was something he could do now. He'd make sure that from now on, his father's life was stress-free. He was going to be there for his father, no matter what.
Elizabeth Wakefield woke up, confused.
This is not my bed. This is not my comforter.
Everything came back to her instantly and in a rush. Even after weeks of living at the Sandborns' house, waking up in a strange room could still be disorienting.
Then she heard loud guitar music pulsing through the wall behind her headboard, and there was no mistaking her locale.
"Conner," she whispered, seeing his brilliant green eyes as she closed her own. She smiled.
Elizabeth had it bad.
Her mind conjured up an image of herself and Conner, standing outside their creative-writing classroom, staring into each other's eyes. She remembered the way he'd gently touched her face, the world fading out of focus, and the insistent pressure of his lips against hers. Elizabeth grinned and pulled the white comforter over her head. Was it possible? Had she and Conner really shared that very passionate, very public kiss?
She heard water running in the sink. Conner was in the bathroom that connected his room with hers. Suddenly Elizabeth's spirits waned. What the heck was she supposed to do now?
She was living with him. What was she going to do when she saw him? What would he do? This was the most ridiculous living situation Elizabeth had ever heard of. Two people, completely unsure of their relationship status, sharing a bathroom. Elizabeth burrowed further under the covers. One thing was for sure, Conner wouldn't be seeing her until she had a chance to shower.
It was mornings like this that made Elizabeth miss living with her sister. At least when she shared a bathroom with Jessica, she'd never been afraid to leave her room. Well, maybe for a week or two back in junior high, but she and Jessica were much more mature now.
Elizabeth heard an insistent scratching and realized Conner was brushing his teeth. She couldn't believe she could hear his every move.
"Ugh!" Elizabeth groaned. She folded up her pillow on either side of her head, smothering her ears. Suddenly she felt a pulling at her neck. Her necklace had gotten snagged on the piping at the hem of the pillowcase.
"Oh, no," Elizabeth said, a moment before she heard the snap. She pulled the pillow away and gasped. The stylish chain Maria had given her on her last birthday hung from the edge of the pillowcase.
Elizabeth started fussing with the necklace, trying to detach it without doing any more damage.
"Maria's going to kill me," Elizabeth whimpered. But even as she inspected the chain, she knew Maria would never care about the necklace . . . once she found out about Elizabeth and Conner. Then she would really kill Elizabeth.
She'd broken the golden rule. She'd kissed the guy her best friend loved. Even though Conner had dumped Maria pretty harshly, Maria was still hung up on him. And had Elizabeth comforted her friend--offered advice? A bit. But mostly Elizabeth had been too busy lying about her own feelings and sneaking around behind Maria's back.
Elizabeth put the broken necklace down on her bedside table and grabbed the phone. Feeling guilty about Maria always gave Elizabeth the urge to talk to her. It was as if she needed to prove Maria was still there, not hating her. Maybe she would be up for brunch or something.
Maria picked up on the third ring.
"Hey, you," Elizabeth said.
"Hey, Liz," Maria responded in a flat voice.
Elizabeth blinked. Was Maria being chilly to her? "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Maria said, still tone-free.
"Are you sure?" Why was she pressing? Did she really want to hear Maria bring up the obvious reason she was bummed? It was Conner. It was always Conner. And Elizabeth just didn't want to have to talk with Maria about him right now. It took too much out of her. Besides, she wanted to focus on the happy.
"Well, there is something," Maria said. "A big something. "
What kind of big something? Elizabeth worried. Oh God. Did she see us? Did she see us kiss?
"How big?" Elizabeth asked apprehensively.
Maria took a deep breath. "Really big. " She paused. "A big, huge, monster zit. "
Elizabeth closed her eyes and quietly sighed in relief.
"Right next to my ear," Maria continued. "It's awful. It's huge. I'm a leper."
"I'm sure it's not that bad," Elizabeth assured her.
"It is that bad. I'm not leaving my house for five days. "
"But then who will I go out for brunch with?" Elizabeth asked.
"Today?" Maria exclaimed. "You want me to go out today? Have you not been listening? I might as well have smallpox."
Elizabeth laughed. "Maria, smallpox was eradicated. We just learned that in history, remember?"
"Yeah, well, Mrs. Rothman had her facts wrong. "
"Hey, Maria?"
"Yeah?"
"I just used an SAT word. Eradicate. You're it. "
Maria sighed. "I hate this game. Too much pressure. "
Elizabeth stood up and detangled the telephone cord as she crossed the room to her windows. She flung open the curtains to reveal a beautiful, sunny day. "Yeah, well, you're the one who wants to go to Yale," she said. "So, do you want to eat or not? I have a coupon for the Eggshell. You know you love their chocolate-chip pancakes. "
Conner's bedroom door slammed, and Elizabeth's senses went on alert. She whirled around and stared at her closed bedroom door as if she could see right through it. Then she pulled down on her flannel nightshirt as if he could see her too.
"All right. You talked me into it. Who has the Jeep?" Maria asked.
Elizabeth heard Conner barreling down the steps.
"What? Oh. It's Jessica's week. Can you pick me up?"
The front door closed. Elizabeth listened for the sound of the Mustang starting up in the driveway. Nothing. What was he doing?
"Sure," Maria said. "But I don't want to come in. I don't want to see him. Okay?"
Elizabeth's attention snapped back to Maria. "Um, it's okay," she said. "I think he just left."
"I don't want to risk it," Maria said.
"Okay," Elizabeth said, noting the bitter tone in her friend's voice. "I'll meet you out front."
"I'll honk," Maria said. "Is fifteen minutes okay?"
"Make it half an hour," Elizabeth said. "I'll still have to take the world's quickest shower."
"Well, get on it. Make it the Guinness world record for getting ready. I'll see you soon. "
"Bye, Maria. "
Elizabeth rushed out into the hall and down to the windows that faced the front yard. Conner's car was in the driveway. She pressed her face to the glass so she could see more of the lawn. He wasn't doing yard work. Maybe he was in the garage or something. Or maybe he'd walked over to Tia's. Whatever the case, there was no way of telling when he was going to show up again. Elizabeth hurried back to the bathroom.
"Please don't let him come home," she muttered as she turned on the water in the shower full force. "If I have to see him and Maria at the same time, I'm definitely going to have a nervous breakdown. "
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal
Everything is completely wacked right now.
Melissa is in the hospital. Will is devastated. Elizabeth is fooling around with the guy she's living with who her best friend is totally in love with. And she stole...well...borrowed his car the other night. That really threw me. It should have given me a little clue that things were about to take an insane turn.
But all I can think about is Jeremy. When he kissed me, nothing else seemed to matter. And everything has mattered so much for so long...
It just makes me want to kiss him again. Really badly.
Elizabeth Wakefield
I never want to kiss Conner McDermott again.
Really. I'm serious.
It's not worth it. It's not worth the look on Maria's face when she caught us. That devastated, pierced, dying-inside look.
Just because I can still feel his soft lips on my neck and his tongue tickling my earlobe and his hands...his hands...
Okay. So I lied.
I want to kiss him again. But that doesn't mean I will.
Right?
Maria Slater
To: KenQB@swiftnet.com
From: mslater@swiftnet.com
Time: 11:21 A.M.
Subject: Aaaaaaahhh!!!!
Ken-
I know I already left you a message on your machine, and I swear I'm not stalking you. I just saw Conner and Elizabeth kissing. No. Not kissing. Mauling each other right in the pantry in his kitchen. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I swear. And Liz saw me, and she just stood there. She just looked right at me. And then I bolted. Wuss that I am.
She lied to me in the car the other day. She lied! Right to my face.
Should I have tried to talk to her?
Ken. What do I do? What am I going to do?
Call me!!!
Maria
P.S. Sorry I'm a psycho.
Ken Matthews
To: mslater@swiftnet.com
From: KenQB@swiftnet.com
Time: 1:22 P.M.
Subject: Aaaaaaahhh!!!!-Reply
Maria-
I would call, but I'm at my aunt's house and I don't have your number here. Tried information, but you're not listed.
Man, I'm sorry.
To answer your question, I don't think you should have talked to her. You were too upset. And I think it's her turn to come to you now. Then maybe you can talk. Just my opinion.
I hope you're okay. I'll be home tonight and I'll call.
P.S. You're not a psycho.
Jeremy Aames picked up his cordless phone, punched two numbers, and then replaced it on the base.
"You can do this," he said to himself. "Just ask her."
After giving countless locker-room pep talks as captain of the Big Mesa football team, Jeremy had learned the value of a personal go-get-'em speech. It was a great way to combat fear and almost always worked. Almost always.
"Go for it, Aames," he continued. "You've done it before. This is no different."
Actually . . . it is different, Jeremy reminded himself. This is Jessica.
Jessica Wakefield. He saw her dancing sapphire eyes, her playful, slightly pouty mouth, her smooth, golden tan skin--all framed by silky golden hair.
Jeremy was in love. If he wasn't in love, he figured he should probably see a shrink fast. Ever since he and Jessica had shared their first kiss earlier that afternoon, Jeremy hadn't been able to think of anything else. For once even his overly stressful home life had been back-burnered.
He leaned against the Formica kitchen counter, head in hands, and sighed. The next logical step, he knew, was to ask her out and establish the traditional dating pattern that real couples shared. Easy, right? Only it wasn't that easy. Jessica deserved better than the stereotypical dinner-and-movie routine something memorable. Unfortunately Jeremy couldn't afford something memorable. He couldn't even afford something semiforgettable.
Jeremy ran his hand through his dark, spiky bangs, mentally listing all the entertainment possibilities in the valley. The beach? No. Too overdone. Ernie's Bowling Alley? Not exactly the classy setting he was hoping for. The Riot? Too loud and hot. Besides, it wasn't really his scene.
Suddenly an idea came to him. He jumped out of the chair, picked up the phone, and quickly dialed a set of numbers.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Keith. What's up?" Jeremy said brightly.
"What do you want, Jeremy?" Keith asked, already suspicious.
Jeremy knew this wouldn't be easy. Keith Moxon was a friend, but he wasn't the type of person who gave just for the joy of giving. "You still working at the Majestic Theater?" Jeremy asked, picking up a pen and tapping it against the counter.
"Yeah," Keith answered, drawing out his response.
"I was wondering if I could scam a couple of tickets for tomorrow night's performance," Jeremy said. He quit tapping and started doodling on the front page of the newspaper.
"Hot date?" Keith asked with a chuckle. "You want to take advantage of our dark balcony seats, right?"
"No, Keith." Jeremy's voice went flat. "That's your idea of a hot date. I'm more interested in atmosphere."
"Whatever you say." Keith laughed. "The Majestic has plenty of . . . atmosphere."
Jeremy ignored Keith's patronizing tone and looked down at the newspaper. He'd been unconsciously drawing hearts. Jeremy dropped the pen. "What's playing there anyway?" he asked.
"Romeo and Juliet, the Bard's star-crossed lovers," Keith announced with appropriate dramatic flair.
"Cool. That's romantic."
"Sure. I guess. If you think gang warfare, murder, and suicide are romantic," Keith joked.
"Whatever," Jeremy said. "So what's this going to cost me?"
"Hmmm. Well, it is last minute . . . ," Keith began gleefully.
"Come on, Keith," Jeremy said, rolling his eyes.
"And I am risking my reputation for this," Keith continued. "I mean, for all I know, you and your lady friend could end up heckling the actors or disturbing the rest of the audience with loud, wet kissy noises."
Jeremy's patience was rapidly depleting. "You know, you're the one who should be onstage--"
"How about your autographed Steve Young card?" Keith interrupted.
"Are you kidding me?"
"How special did you say this girl was?"
Jeremy could just imagine Keith's self-satisfied grin. "Fine, fine. Take it," Jeremy grumbled.
"Then there's the little matter of waxing my car . . . ," Keith said.
"No! No way," Jeremy said, slicing his hand through the air as if Keith could see it. "Don't even--"
"Whoa, Aames. Chill," Keith cut in. "I was just kidding. Who is this girl you want to impress anyway? Cameron Diaz?"
Jeremy's temper was inching toward the red zone. "Uh-uh. I'm not giving you any information. Just reserve two of your best seats in my name for tomorrow night's show, okay?"
"Sure thing, dude. But don't forget to bring Steve," Keith teased.
Jeremy hung up with a frustrated groan. He couldn't believe he was giving up Steve Young. But then he thought of Jessica, and immediately his mood began to lighten. He'd hand over the real Steve Young for a chance with her.
"You can do it, Aames," he mumbled as he carefully punched in her number. His heart was hammering in his ears. "You're in way too deep to blow it now."
"Hello?"
Jeremy immediately recognized Jessica's voice, and a fluttering sensation filled his chest. Now what? he wondered, panicking.
"Hey, Jess. It's . . . um . . . it's Jeremy."
"Jeremy!" she exclaimed. "How are you? How's your dad?"
"I'm okay," Jeremy responded. "And my dad's better, but they decided to keep him over one more night to monitor him. He's coming home first thing tomorrow morning."
"That's good to hear," Jessica responded quietly, distractedly.
"Are you okay?" Jeremy asked, his brow creasing.
"Yeah. I'm just . . . dealing with some stress," she said.
Jeremy nodded. "I know about stress. Actually, I own that word. I think you owe me royalties for using it in a sentence."
Jessica laughed, and Jeremy took a deep breath. Time to take the plunge.
"Listen, Jess," he began. "I--I wanted to know if you had any plans for tomorrow night." Jeremy's heart moshed inside him. He gripped the phone with both hands as if an invisible defensive line were rushing after it.
"Well, I'm working until six-thirty, but after that I'm free. Why?" A playful tone returned to Jessica's voice.
"I was wondering if you'd like to . . . go out." Jeremy let the words tumble free.
"Sounds great! Where to?"
Jeremy's heart jumped. "I . . . um . . ." An idea suddenly took shape in his mind. "I can't tell you. It's a surprise."
"A surprise?" Jessica's pitch rose excitedly. "I left you three hours ago. How did you come up with a surprise date that fast?"
"It's a special talent," Jeremy said, smiling.
"Can I have one hint?" Jessica asked.
"Well . . . it's bigger than a bread box."
"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically. "At least give me a clue to location."
"It's definitely on this planet. In California, to be more precise." Jeremy leaned back in his chair.
"Okay. I guess that rules out flying the Concorde to Paris."
"Actually, I will be transporting you in space and time. But that's the only hint you'l1 be getting from me," Jeremy said with a grin.
Jessica exhaled loudly. "You realize, of course, that I'm going to get no sleep at all tonight. Thank you very much."
"You're welcome," Jeremy said. He wasn't going to give an inch.
"Well . . . okay," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you then," Jeremy said.
They said their good-byes and hung up. Jeremy felt like flying. The secrecy thing had been a stroke of genius. Jessica was definitely intrigued.
Now all he had to do was live up to his own hype.
Will Simmons paced up and down the hospital corridor, inhaling the pungent aroma of alcohol and Pine Sol. Occasionally he would stop and stare fearfully at room 314, as if the heavy oak door were glaring back at him, then slowly resume his restless tour of the hallway.
Why can't I just go in? he wondered. Why am I so damn scared?
He knew Melissa was in there, waiting for him. But he wasn't sure how he would react to seeing her. And Melissa would definitely be watching him closely, divining all sorts of meaning from his gestures, his expressions, his words.
Will halted once again and looked down at the large floral bouquet he was carrying. His hands gripping the blue glass vase were as white as the roses inside it.
An eerie déjà vu came over him as he thought about all the times he'd stood outside Melissa's house with flowers for her--dates, proms, anniversaries, apologies. Now here he was again, nervously shuffling his feet outside her door. Only this time she was in a hospital gown instead of a to-die-for dress, and her father wasn't going to open the door and greet him with one of his bone-crunching handshakes.
White roses were appropriate, right? he wondered nervously. Red was too sexy. Pink was too cheerful. And he was pretty sure everyone sent yellow roses to funerals. White seemed the only acceptable choice at the florist. It was bland, neutral, empty--just the way he felt. But when it had come time to sign the tiny card that came with them, he'd been stumped for hours.
What do you say to a girl who tried to kill herself after you broke up with her?
"It's all right. You can go on in." A nurse in a pink smock top suddenly appeared next to him. She smiled warmly and nodded toward the door. "Go ahead. She's resting comfortably now."
"Thanks," Will replied, trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. No sense dawdling any longer. He took a deep breath of cool, sterile air and pushed into the room.
There she was. Will was relieved to see that Melissa's eyes were closed in a deep sleep. He almost didn't recognize her. Her skin looked drained, and her lips were raw and chapped. Probably, he imagined, from all the tubes they had used to pump the sleeping pills from her stomach.
"Liss?" he whispered.
No response. Will set down the flowers on a nearby table and ventured closer to the bed. He leaned forward and ran his hand over her hair, which was spread out over the pillow in a mesh of knots and tangles.
"Liss?" he said, even more softly.
He didn't really want to wake her. At least this way he didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or giving himself away with his actions. Besides, he told himself, she needed to rest.
Will sat down in a plastic chair and tried to think about what had happened, but his mind kept kicking it back out again. It was just too heavy, too complicated.
Things had been so out of control for so long, he couldn't remember what normal felt like. He and Melissa had always had their dark secrets, but lately all sorts of new craziness had been thrown into the mix. The earthquake. His inability to resist Jessica Wakefield. Melissa freaking out and launching her anti-Jessica smear campaign. Their breakup.
And now this.
Again he tried to let the thoughts in so he could sort through it all, but a rush of anger suddenly came over him, and his brain rejected it. Maybe it was too soon to deal with it. After all, first he had to face Melissa. Then maybe he could face what she had done.
Will stood and took one last, long stare at the pale shell of a person on the hospital bed. Funny. He'd forgotten how small she was. Melissa had always given the illusion of being someone bigger, stronger--except when she needed to be frail.
He leaned over and quickly kissed her forehead. "Bye, Liss," he murmured, then quickly turned and left the room.
Good-bye was the only word he had for her. Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal
In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov tries to commit the perfect murder. The problem is that he spends so much time obsessing over his crime that he screws up and gets caught. Same thing in The Tell-Tale Heart. That guy thinks about his victim so much that he goes totally crazy and ends up confessing to the murder even though he's not a serious suspect.
So what do these psychos have to do with my life? Well, I kind of feel like I'm in the same boat as they were. I'm not saying that I committed some kind of heinous crime or anything, but I'm definitely spending way too much time obsessing over things. And if I keep sitting around here dwelling on all of this Liz-Conner betrayal stuff, I'm going to go completely insane. So I guess there's only one thing to do--I've got to find some way to channel all of this pent-up energy before I self-destruct too.
Elizabeth Wakefield
I wish I could go back in time--or maybe forward. Anywhere but right now. If I could go back two weeks, Maria would still be my friend, and I'd have a chance to be up front with her about Conner before it blew up in my face. Or if I could go forward a month or so, maybe Conner would be willing to talk to me about his mom's alcoholism instead of hating me for finding out about it. Better yet, if I could skip forward ten years, this whole terrible mess would be nothing but a distant memory. Maybe I'd even be able to laugh about it.
The problem is, I'm stuck here in the present, where my best friend won't talk to me, my "boyfriend" won't forgive me, and I don't have a clue how to make things better. What I wouldn't give for a time machine.
Tia Ramirez
I honestly love Angel, really! But sometimes it's so hard knowing that he has to leave for college in, like, three months. Okay, so I know he'll come home most weekends and have long breaks and stuff, and I know I can come visit him too--which I will, every chance I get. (As long as I can convince Andy or Conner or one of my other car-owning friends to go on a road trip.) But still, once Angel leaves, everything will be different. He won't be able to just show up on my doorstep whenever he wants to hang out, and I won't be able to swing by the garage on my way home from school to talk him into coming over for dinner or going for a walk or whatever. And then there are my brothers. Sometimes I think Tomás is going to miss Angel more than I am!
Okay, I need to get a grip. It's not like he's leaving tomorrow. Or next week, or even next month. If I add up all the nights and weekends left before he goes, there's still a lot of time. We just have to make every second count.
Besides, people always say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I keep repeating that over and over in my head, but every time I get myself halfway convinced everything's going to be all right, I think about Angel getting invited to college dances and parties where the girls will be all over him because--let's face it--he's gorgeous. Girls hit on him when I'm standing right there, so what's going to stop them when I'm a couple hundred miles away? And then I start thinking about that other saying--out of sight, out of mind. Somehow, I can't stop thinking that one's more truthful.
Angel Desmond
Estimated College Expenses:Clothes--$350
(socks, boxers, T-shirts, jeans, khakis, etc.)New running shoes--$85
1st-semester books--$350
Notebooks, pens, paper, calculator, etc.--$150
Minifridge for dorm room--$85
Other stuff--$500
(laundry basket, detergent, towels, sheets, groceries)Bus fare--???
Total--$1,520
Maria Slater rinsed her orange juice glass and placed it in the dishwasher. What I could use now is a hot cup of coffee, she thought, toying with the idea of heading down to House of Java.
She pictured herself at the counter, ordering a mocha latte and then plopping into one of the cozy, overstuffed chairs by the window to read Jane Austen. A perfect start to the weekend. Quiet. Relaxing. Surrounded by the sound of rustling newspapers and the smell of freshly ground coffee . . . and a bunch of kids from SVH, Maria thought, her fantasy coming to an abrupt end. With my luck Liz and Conner would be there, staring into each other's eyes.
Maria drummed her fingers on the ivory counter. But I can't just hang around here avoiding everyone either, she told herself, rolling her eyes.
"Ugh. I've got to get a life!"
She opened one of the white porcelain canisters on the kitchen counter and scooped out some of the fine brown grounds. Then, pouring cold spring water into the coffeemaker, she flicked on the switch and stood back to listen as the dark liquid began streaming into the glass carafe. The sound of my day starting, she thought, musing at what a coffee addict she'd become.
Grabbing her backpack, Maria headed out to the sunroom at the back of her family's house, deciding that one of the wicker chairs her mother had just reupholstered would be just as comfortable as any chair at House of Java. Her coffee was just as good too, and it wouldn't cost three dollars a cup. Removing her English notebook from her bag, Maria flipped through the pages, searching for her assignment. Damn. I forgot to write it down again, she chastised herself.
Automatically she snatched the cordless phone from the table to her left and started to punch in Elizabeth's number. But after three digits she stopped and stared at the receiver, feeling her attempt at a good mood slipping away. She and Elizabeth still weren't talking.
She set down the phone, and it rang, causing Maria to jump. She hit the talk button while trying to calm her racing heart.
"Hello?"
"Hello, could I speak with Maria, please?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
"This is Maria," she said.
"Hi, Maria. This is Ms. Delaney. I hate to bother you at home, but if you have a second, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."
"Sure," Maria answered, wondering what she could possibly have done wrong to merit a call from her drama teacher on the weekend.
"You must have heard about the play we're doing this year," Ms. Delaney continued. "Courting Priscilla?"
"Yeah," Maria responded. Tia and Jessica had been going to practices every day for over two weeks. It had taken the place of cheerleading as their number-one topic of discussion.
"Well, I'm afraid we've run into a bit of a snag, and I was hoping you could help us out. Our female lead, Renee Talbot, is in the hospital."
"Oh, no," Maria said with a gasp. "I hope she's okay."
"She's fine," Ms. Delaney assured her. "Just a routine appendectomy, but unfortunately she's going to be out of commission for a week or two, and we open this Saturday."
"That's too bad," Maria said, wondering where Ms. Delaney was going with this.
"So," Ms. Delaney said slowly, "I was hoping you could take over her role. I've seen your ability in class, and I think you would be perfect."
Maria almost dropped the phone. She hadn't even auditioned for the play. "Me? But I don't even know the part. Isn't there an understudy or something?"
"Not officially, although there are a few girls in the cast who could probably pull it off. But I'll be honest with you, Maria," Ms. Delaney said, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Quite frankly, none of them possesses even one ounce of your stage presence."
Maria's jaw fell. She nervously twirled a strand of her thick, black hair around one finger. I can't believe this is happening, she thought.
"In fact," Ms. Delaney continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have play Priscilla."
"Uh, I--um," Maria stammered.
"Don't decide now," Ms. Delaney instructed her. "I'll tell you what. There's an afternoon rehearsal today at two-thirty. Go to the library, find a copy of the play, and read through it. Then if you're interested, come to the rehearsal. All you have to do is show up and the part is yours."
"Wow," Maria said, her eyes so wide, she was sure Ms. Delaney could see them over the phone. "All right. I'll look it over."
"Great. I hope to see you later," Ms. Delaney said.
"Yeah . . . bye," Maria responded, slowly replacing the phone in its cradle. For a moment she stood staring out the window at the backyard. "Unbelievable."
Maria walked back to the kitchen and pulled a dark blue mug from one of the cabinets. She shakily poured herself some of the freshly made coffee, added a little milk, and swirled it slowly with a spoon. The very idea of starring in a play after one week of rehearsal was petrifying.
She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back against the butcher-block island in the center of the kitchen.
"But on the other hand . . ."
A playful smile lit Maria's face. She placed her cup on the counter and grabbed a piece of notepaper and a pen from her mother's small desk.
11 a.m.Mom and Dad,
Gone to the library and then possibly to the school for a play rehearsal! (I'll explain why when I get home.) Back by 5 p.m.
Love,
Maria
Maria propped the slip of paper up against a vase of flowers on the kitchen table and returned to the sunroom. There was one more thing she needed to do before heading to the library.
She picked up the phone and punched in a number, aware that her heart had been beating double time ever since she had spoken with Ms. Delaney. I'm way too hyped up to make this decision on my own, she thought. I definitely need a second opinion.
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal
For the first time, I have a real girlfriend.
I mean, I've dated girls before, but Jessica is everything a girlfriend is supposed to be. She's changed my entire life. I smile more. I laugh more. And not only when she's around. Just in general. Like knowing she's out there, being my girlfriend, makes everything easier.
I don't know how I would have gotten through all this stuff without her. And right now, I don't know how I would get through a regular day without her.
I hope I never have to find out.
Will Simmons
I feel like my life is mine again. I never realized how much I was tiptoeing around Melissa, censoring everything I did so I wouldn't upset her, down to what kind of pizza to order. I don't even remember what kind of pizza I like. It's been so long since anybody asked.
Most people would think I'm insane for wanting to start up another relationship right away. I probably am insane, but with Jessica, I can't help myself. Jessica is not Melissa.
Jessica is very, very different.
Jessica Wakefield
Getting crushed, dissed, and generally humiliated by Will Simmons taught me a lesson. It made me appreciate a really nice guy like Jeremy Aames.
Okay. The fact that Jeremy is drop-dead gorgeous doesn't exactly hurt. But that's not why I'm with him. Really. It's because he's a wonderful person who really cares about me. The resemblance to Tom Cruise is purely coincidental.
When I was so sure I was in love with Will Simmons, I didn't know a thing about him except that he was cool, cocky, and good-looking. And look where it got me.
Well, I'm done with acting on impulse. My relationship with Jeremy is perfect. And I'm not doing anything to screw it up.
"Surprise," Will Simmons said softly. He tried to smile, but he was too nervous. A light mist was turning into a heavy drizzle. The coliseum lights shone on Jessica Wakefield's rain-slicked features, highlighting her perfect cheekbones, blue-green eyes, and glossy blond hair, and he took a step closer. Only then did he notice the look on her face.
He had been prepared for her to be angry at him. He had hoped she'd be excited. But he hadn't expected disgusted horror. He also hadn't counted on an audience. Jessica's twin sister, Elizabeth, and their friend Tia Ramirez were standing right behind Jessica. They glanced at each other, their eyes wide with wary surprise.
Well, there's no turning back now, Will thought. He took a deep breath and pulled a bunch of red roses from behind his back.
Jessica took a step back, as if he were holding out a knife. "You're kidding me, right?"
"No," Will said. "These are for you."
"I don't want them," Jessica answered evenly. "I don't want anything from you." Her narrow-eyed look of anger left him speechless.
"You're the one who's been leaving me all those presents?" she demanded. "Is this your idea of some sick joke? Haven't you done enough to me already?" Jessica glared at him, ignoring the rain dripping down her face like angry tears.
"No! It's not like that. I just wanted to . . . talk to you." He glanced at Tia and Elizabeth, and they looked away.
"I should have known it was you!" she said bitterly. "It's like messing with my head is one of your favorite pastimes."
"Jess--"
"I can't believe you," she continued. "You said you just wanted to be friends! And the whole time you were leaving me notes, setting me up to meet you here . . . and then what? Have a good laugh with your friends because I fell for it?" She tossed her head, causing a spray of droplets to flash in the harsh fluorescent lights.
Will gave her a second to make sure she was done. She just stood there and glared at him.
"Okay," Will said. "Can I just say something?" He stood stiffly, the roses hanging at his side.
"No. You can't," Jessica said. "Just stay away from me. I've had it with you and your psycho girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend," Will said numbly.
"Right. For how long?" Jessica said sarcastically. "Wait. You know what? It doesn't matter. Because I don't care."
"You don't understand," Will said, clenching his teeth. "I broke up with her because of you."
"So, now you're blaming me?" Jessica held up her hand. "I'm not getting in the middle again."
He swallowed hard and looked down at his soggy sneakers. "What I'm trying to say is . . ." He paused. He hated doing this in front of all of them, but if he didn't say it now, he might never get another chance. "Ever since I met you, I knew I had to be with you." He looked up and saw three mouths gaping at him. "Give me another chance?"
"Are you out of your mind?" Jessica looked like she was ready to spit flames. "After what you two did to me, you expect me to go out with you? Do you really think a few presents and some cheesy poetry are going to make me forget the whole school was calling me a slut?"
"I told you I'm sorry about all that," Will said, trying to stay calm.
"And you know I have a boyfriend!" Jessica continued as if he hadn't spoken. "What did you think I was going to do--sneak around behind his back? Just because you cheat on your girlfriend doesn't mean I'm the same way!"
"What are you doing here, then?" Will demanded, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Where's your boyfriend now?"
Jessica's eyes clouded.
"I came here," she said in a low voice, "to tell my secret admirer thanks but no thanks. I thought I owed him that much. If I had known it was you, I would never have come." She spun around and headed for her Jeep, which was parked by the curb with its hazards on.
Will watched, stunned, as Jessica yanked open the car door and climbed in, slamming it behind her. Tia and Elizabeth scrambled in the passenger side, and they tore off, spattering Will with muddy water. All Will could do was stare after them, too stunned to move.
Jeremy plopped the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. At least he'd made it home. His car had been running on empty, but he hadn't had enough money for gas after picking up the groceries. If his mom couldn't come up with a few bucks, he wasn't sure his car would make it to school tomorrow.
Oh, well, tomorrow was tomorrow. All he could do was take one day at a time. At least now there was hope.
He forced himself to get up, put away the groceries, and start boiling some water on the stove.
"Jeremy." His six-year-old sister, Trisha, ran up to him. He bent down, and she gave him a sloppy kiss.
"How you doin', squirt?" he said.
She beamed at him. "Look what I drew!" she said proudly, thrusting a messy drawing at him.
"Wow! Hey, I'm putting that right on the refrigerator," he said, giving her a hug. He opened a kitchen drawer and tore two tiny pieces of tape off a slim roll.
"Are you hungry?" Jeremy asked. "I'm making your favorite, macaroni and cheese."
"Surprise, surprise." Jeremy looked up to see his twelve-year-old sister, Emma, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. "What does that make, the third time this week? Are we going for a world record or something?"
"Hey, we've got a case of the stuff. We might as well use it, right?" Jeremy answered.
"Why can't we eat something good?" Emma demanded. "I'm sick of eating the same thing all the time. Oatmeal for breakfast. Peanut butter for lunch. Mac-'n'-cheese for dinner. I can't remember the last time we had steak."
"Funny you should say that," Jeremy said, breaking out into a grin. He opened the refrigerator and whipped out a large, shrink-wrapped package. "You just guessed course number two!" With his other hand he held out a bottle of sparkling cider. "Anyone care for a little champagne first?"
"What's going on?" Emma asked suspiciously.
"We're celebrating," Jeremy said. He popped the top off the cider bottle and filled three glasses. "Here's to Dad's new job!" He clicked the plastic rim of his glass against the top of his sisters' cups, and they both giggled.
"Are we having cake for dessert too?" Trisha asked, clapping.
"No. But how about if we bake some cookies?" Jeremy said.
"Yippee! Chocolate-chip cookies!" shouted Trisha.
Jeremy opened the cupboard and examined the barren shelves. Except for the bread and peanut butter he had just bought, there wasn't much there. Splurging on steak had cleaned him out. "Hmmm. We seem to be out of chocolate chips right now," he said.
"We're out of everything," Emma grumbled.
"I know," Jeremy said. "How about peanut-butter cookies?"
"Yay!" Trisha cheered.
"Cool. We can surprise Mom when she gets home." Jeremy handed Emma the cookbook, and to his relief, after a brief hesitation she opened it.
Jeremy felt his shoulders untense. Now, assuming they had enough flour, sugar, butter, and eggs, he would be able to keep his sisters happy and occupied until his mother got home. Then maybe he could finally do a little homework before crashing.
He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. It was getting harder and harder to keep the whole happy-family thing going. But if his dad's new job panned out, things would start getting back to normal. He knocked on the wooden cutting board for luck.
On impulse Jeremy reached for the phone and dialed Jessica's number. It had been so long since he'd had anything happy to tell her, he couldn't wait to share the good news about the venture-capital firm that had decided to invest in his dad's company.
"Fowler residence. How may I help you?" a cold, formal voice answered.
"Uh, yes, this is Jeremy Aames. Is Jessica Wakefield there, please?" It always made him uncomfortable to speak to the Fowlers' servants.
"Jessica is not in. May I take a message?"
"No, thanks." Jeremy hung up the phone, disappointed. He could have sworn Jessica had said she was going to stay home and study tonight.
Oh, well, Jeremy thought, trying to keep up his energy. It'll still be good news later.
"Are you okay, Jess?" Elizabeth asked, glancing at her sister from the front passenger seat.
"I'm fine," Jessica said. A drop of water dripped from her wet hair into her right eye, and she wiped it away. The rain was still coming down hard outside, and she was driving fast. She turned abruptly, sending a spray of water onto the sidewalk.
"Maybe you should slow down a little," Elizabeth said. Jessica ignored her.
"I can't believe your secret admirer turned out to be Will," Tia said, leaning over from the backseat so she could be heard. "I'm still in shock."
"I know. He's insane," Jessica said. "He spreads lies about me all over school, then he expects me to go out with him. How egotistical can you get?" She bit her lip, remembering the look on his face when he had arrived at the theater. He had looked anything but conceited tonight. Hopeful, eager--maybe even a bit nervous. Not at all like that first week of school, when he had been so obviously sure that he was going to be running the place. Jessica flushed as she remembered Will standing over her in the Fowlers' family room, his eyes burning into her as he leaned forward and they kissed--
"Look out!" Elizabeth shouted.
Jessica looked up just in time to swerve out of the way of a delivery truck backing out of a driveway. "Jess? Are you sure you're okay?" Elizabeth asked. "Maybe I should drive."
"I'm fine," Jessica replied, gasping for breath. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and it wasn't just because of their near collision.
"Seeing Will really rattled you, huh?" Elizabeth said.
"Of course it did!" Jessica snapped, gripping the wheel tightly and peering out into the rainy night. "Why can't he just leave me alone?"
"I'm surprised he had the guts to show his face after what he and Melissa put you through," Tia said, leaning against the back of Jessica's seat.
Elizabeth turned to face them. "I don't know. That was more Melissa than Will. Besides, he apologized for that already, didn't he?"
"What?" Tia asked, almost hitting her head on the roof "When did this happen? How could you not tell me?"
"He came by the house the other day," Jessica admitted, keeping an eye on the road. "He asked if I thought I could ever be friends with him."
"And you didn't think this was worth mentioning?" Tia said. "Come on, give it up. What did you tell him?"
Jessica sighed in frustration. "I said it was possible. Possible! How was I supposed to know he would pull a stupid stunt like this?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and stared at her curiously. "Are you sure you're not being a little hard on the guy? Maybe he really does like you. I mean, what if he meant all that stuff he said?"
Jessica stomped on the gas pedal, and Elizabeth winced. "Please! Will hasn't been honest with me once since the day I met him," Jessica fumed, passing a minivan on the right. "First he dates me behind Melissa's back--conveniently forgetting to tell me that he already has a girlfriend. Then when she finds out, he denies the whole thing and claims I came on to him. Then he stands by while she turns all my friends against me and spreads rumors all over school. Now, when his girlfriend completely loses it, he decides he wants to be with me. And I'm supposed to be flattered?" She snorted. "He's not even straightforward about that! No, he has to leave a bunch of secret notes and gifts, then ambush me. And remember, this is right after he says he just wants to be friends. I'm sorry--I don't care if he sends me a truckload of diamonds. I don't need him. I found somebody ten times better than him anyway."
A dull ache that felt suspiciously like longing started to emanate from Jessica's heart. She forced herself to focus on the anger.
"Don't get me wrong--Jeremy is great," Elizabeth agreed, shifting in her seat. She hesitated, then continued. "I was just saying, Will seemed like he felt pretty bad about what happened. I think he really cares about you."
Tia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right," she said.
"Will doesn't care about anybody but himself," Jessica agreed, spraying water on a motorcycle as she sped past. "Jeremy is worth ten of him."
"Yeah, come on, Liz," Tia said, turning toward her. "His girlfriend just got out of the hospital, and he starts hitting on the person she hates the most? I'm sorry. The guy's got no class." She tossed her dark hair in disgust.
"Exactly," Jessica said. But her heart was still pounding with the memory of his kiss, and she felt like a liar. "All Will does is make me appreciate how lucky I am to have a great boyfriend like Jeremy." She licked her lips, as if to wipe away the memory of Will's kiss.
"You know what?" she said impulsively. "I'm going to drop you guys off and go visit Jeremy right now."
"Sounds like a plan," Tia said quickly.
Jessica rolled her shoulders back in an attempt to loosen the knots that had rapidly formed there. Forget about Will, she told herself. It was time to start concentrating on someone worth caring about. And there was no one more worthy of her time than Jeremy.
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal
It's really late. For three and a half hours all I've done is stare at the glowing red numbers on my digital clock. If I don't get to sleep soon, I'm going to be walking around school tomorrow looking like someone left me in the microwave too long.
I hate hurting people.
I should just go to sleep. Tomorrow I'll straighten everything out. There's really nothing to worry about because I haven't done anything wrong. Jeremy has to understand.
But if I haven't done anything wrong, why do I feel so guilty?
Tia Ramirez
2:27 A.M.
When Angel didn't show up to hang out with me and Conner, I was so mad. I'd spent the early evening on emergency baby-sitting duty, and all I wanted to do was to kick back with my best friend and my boyfriend and relax, but Angel was a no-show.
I figured they'd called him to work a shift after the riot and he'd forgot to tell me. After all, that's all he's been doing lately--work like it's the only way we can spend time together is if I buy a drink from him.
Then Conner brings me to the track to look for him. I thought he was out of his mind. No way would Angel be hanging out there with all the lowlifes. Not my boyfriend.
But there he was. And that wasn't the worst part. I had no idea what I was in for.
Conner McDermott
2:29 A.M.
Angel has that blank stare.
I've seen it before, on my mother.
Whenever I catch her with a drink in her hand.
Angel Desmond shifted on the hard wooden bleacher, staring at a crack in the floor between his feet. His girlfriend, Tia Ramirez, hovered over him, the bright racetrack lights combining with her form to cast a shadow over his face. He couldn't even lift his chin to meet her shocked, disappointed gaze. The guilt was too heavy.
Conner McDermott, the other friend who had shown up just in time to witness Angel's worst life moment, stood directly in front of Angel.
"When you say you lost all your money . . . what exactly do you mean by that?" Conner asked.
Now Angel was staring at Conner's beat-up work boots. "I mean I've lost everything," he replied, briefly glancing up at Conner's clouded green eyes. "My entire savings account is cleaned out. I have nothing." His voice diminished into a hoarse whisper.
"Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke," Tia demanded. Angel flinched at the harsh tone in her voice. Her brown eyes were wide, and her beautiful, olive skin had turned pale. "Answer me, Angel! Tell me what the hell happened!"
Angel fought the urge to run and hide, to streak off into the darkness as fast as his legs could propel him--faster, certainly, than any of the horses he'd bet on that night. At that moment he had no idea which was more painful: realizing the severity of his situation or seeing the devastated expression on Tia's face.
For as long as they'd been a couple, Angel had never seen her look at him this way. Like he was some kind of criminal instead of her boyfriend. It tore right into his heart. He wanted to say something--anything to soften that look.
"Tia," he began, aI . . . I . . ." Good, he thought. Very articulate.
Tia shook her head slowly. "You what?" she asked. "Say something!"
Angel stared down at the grimy floor, made colorful by a mosaic of scattered betting receipts. Hundreds of scraps of paper representing hundreds of wasted hopes--not to mention thousands of wasted dollars.
"I . . . I was on a streak!" he blurted out, realizing how lame his reply sounded. "Everything was just fine! But then my luck just . . . turned or something."
Tia let out an exasperated sigh and brought one hand to her forehead. "I don't get it," she said, glancing at Conner as if he held the answers. Conner just shook his head and looked away. "This isn't like you, Angel," Tia continued. "You would never, ever do something like this. I mean, what were you thinking? What?"
He opened his mouth to reply, then immediately closed it again. What could he say anyway? He hadn't been thinking--at least not effectively. There had only been an overwhelming hope that his bets would pay off, just like they had before. But there was no way he could explain all that.
Tia climbed down over the bleacher in front of Angel and stood next to Conner. "Talk to me! Make me understand!"
Angel just stared back at her, letting her angry words wash over him as Conner wandered off a bit. Angel wished she would just go away. Who told them to show up anyway? Here he was in the middle of a living nightmare, and they had to walk in uninvited.
"You weren't here!" he said through clenched teeth. "I had it all under control!"
Tia's mouth fell open. "What does that mean? Obviously you didn't have it under control or you wouldn't be broke!"
"Hey, Tee," Conner said, walking over to her and placing his hand on her upper arm. Angel felt a slight sense of relief.
"What?" Tia snapped.
"Look, he already knows he screwed up royally," Conner replied calmly.
Gee, thanks, Angel thought. Way to stick up for me.
"But this doesn't make any sense!" Tia shouted, yanking her arm away from Conner. "There must be some mistake! You didn't actually lose all of your money, right? I mean, there's gotta be some left."
Angel felt as if she had shoved her hand through his chest and twisted his heart. He looked past her at the quiet racetrack. "I don't believe this!" she spat.
For a moment no one spoke. Angel could only hear the pounding of his heart and the whistling of a nearby janitor. Eventually Tia grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face her.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked shakily.
The question reverberated through Angel's head. What could he do? Obviously turning back time was not an option. Other than that, he was fresh out of ideas.
Angel sighed heavily. "I'm going to the rest room," he mumbled. Then he stood shakily and climbed the bleachers before Tia could say anything further.
"Hey, pal. We're closed," one of the employees called out gruffly.
"Don't worry," Angel answered. "Just give me two seconds and I'll be out of here." Forever, he added silently.
He pushed through the squeaky door of the bathroom and took a deep breath of the foul-smelling air. Every step echoed off the tile walls as he made his way over to the line of sinks. He imagined himself a prisoner, taking his final walk to the gas chamber and certain death. Not too far off the mark, he thought. In a few hours I'll have to face Dad.
Angel turned on the cold faucet and splashed his face with handfuls of icy water. He wanted to wake himself up--to somehow dissolve the nightmare around him. But it didn't work. He was still there. Still broke. Still left without a future. The nightmare was real.
He turned off the tap and stood up straight, staring at his face in the mirror. His bloodshot eyes stared back, and droplets of water ran down his cheeks like heavy perspiration. He watched as they zigzagged around the thick stubble on his chin before faring into the sink below.
No wonder Tia's looking at me that way, he thought. I look like a crazed asylum escapee.
If only. That would make everything easier to explain. He could tells his parents he'd temporarily lost his sanity and ended up squandering his future at the track. At least then he'd have something to blame it on. Something besides his own stupidity.
Angel's throat tightened as he thought about all the times he'd overheard his father bragging to his customers about how "his boy" was going to Stanford. And just a few days earlier his mother had surprised him with a Stanford University sweatshirt--a really expensive one. Now that money was squandered too.
"You let them down, man," he said to his reflection. "Mom and Dad believed in you, and you let them down."
How in the world was he going to tell them? If Tia could freak this much, how would his folks react? Would they scream and yell? Throw knives? Banish him from the house?
It doesn't matter, he thought, dabbing his face with a paper towel. Whatever they do to me, I deserve it.
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal Back to Top
Okay, so I kissed Will. So? It was just a fluke, right? One harmless little kiss that lasted for five seconds, tops. But if it was nothing, why can't I stop thinking about it?
I keep seeing his face, inches away from mine, with that intense look in his gorgeous blue-gray eyes--the look that had me breathing heavy before he even touched me. And then when he kissed me...wow. First it was hard, like he couldn't control himself, and then it was soft and sweet as he traced the line of my jaw with his hand. It was like he was studying my face, memorizing it. Then he slid his fingers behind my neck and up through my hair, which was just--
I have to stop obsessing over this--over him. And I will.
As soon as I catch my breath.
Conner McDermott
AP English
Mr. Collins
Question #4: In communication, there is often a disparity between what a person says and how others hear it. Using the passages handed out in class or quotes of your own, show how simple messages can be interpreted in more than one way. Give at least three examples.
There are two sides to every story. Even with fortune cookies. Most people take them at face value, but if you ask me, there's always a hidden meaning. You just have to look.
Example #1
Fortune: You are a very kind and patient person.
What it really says: Wake up. Everyone's walking all over you and you don't even see it.
Example #2
Fortune: Your wisdom will guide you through a difficult situation.
What it really says: You're on your own. Don't even bother asking for help because you won't get any.
Example #3
Fortune: You will soon receive a surprise in the mail.
What it really says: You know that package you just got? Hold it up to your ear. If it's ticking, think twice before you open it.
Angel Desmond
RESIDENT ASSISTANT APPLICATION
In the space provided below, please list five reasons you believe you would be an asset to the RA program.
1. I'm very personable and easy to get along with, so other students would be comfortable talking to me about their problems and concerns.
All right, that's a good one. This is going to be easy.
2. I work well with others and can easily take on leadership roles or sit back and assist while someone else leads.
I'm a shoo-in for this position. How could they not hire me?
3. I'm responsible and trustworthy.
Except for the fact that I just gambled away my entire college tuition in one night at the racetrack.
4. I'm a hard worker and a good problem solver. I've held down a job fixing cars at my father's garage ever since I was old enough to buy a screwdriver.
Although he did fire me because of the whole gambling thing.
5. I'm ready to face the challenges of being a good RA, and I believe I could enforce university policies in a fair and effective manner.
Besides, if you don't hire me, I won't be able to afford college at all, so I'd pretty much do anything you asked me to at this point.
Elizabeth Wakefield
Once, when I was in fifth grade, I crossed the road without waiting for my bus driver to flag me on. She made me write "I will not cross the road without waiting for the signal from Lucille" one hundred times as a punishment, and I never forgot to look up at her again. So here goes:
1. I will not think about Conner McDermott.
2. I will not think about Conner McDermott.
3. I will not think about Conner McDermott.
Ugh!
4. I will think about Conner McDermott whenever something Conner-related passes in front of my eyes. Like a guitar. Or a Monopoly game. Or a Mustang.
5. I will think about Conner McDermott even when something not remotely Conner-related passes in front of my eyes. Like crab cakes. Or a gum wad. Or a ministapler.
6. I will mope around thinking about Conner until he begs me to come back.
I don't need to write that one a hundred times. It's already etched in my brain.
"God, Jess. What's in here? Wet towels?" Steven Wakefield asked, groaning as he loaded a large box marked Jessica's Room into the back of his tan Explorer.
Jessica glanced at the crate her brother was carrying and squinted.
"No, I think that's the one I packed with all of the silver from the Fowlers' kitchen," she said, throwing a saccharine smile at Lila Fowler. Steven chuckled, but Lila didn't look amused. She had been hovering around the entrance to her family's mansion all morning, watching Steven, Jessica, and Elizabeth as they packed their belongings into their cars.
"Very funny," Lila said, glaring at Jessica. She took a long sip of ice water from her crystal glass. "Not that I'm totally convinced you're kidding," she added, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the white stucco archway that led into the main foyer. Jessica watched as her sister, Elizabeth, squeezed past Lila with another load. Lila didn't budge.
"Next time I'll go through her," Elizabeth muttered to her sister.
"Oh, please, let me," Jessica whispered back. It was bad enough that she'd had to live with the Fowlers the entire time Lila and Melissa Fox were collaborating to make life hell for Jessica, but did Lila really have to be there on the day that the Wakefields were finally moving out?
It doesn't matter, Jessica decided. We're getting out of here and into our new house. Not even Lila can ruin this day.
"What are you doing out here anyway?" Jessica asked, running a hand through her fine blond hair as she headed back toward the house. "Don't you have riding lessons or something?"
Lila smiled tightly. "Let's just say I'm making sure that you don't accidentally leave with any of my clothes. I know how easy it is to get my designer labels mixed up with--well, whatever it is you wear these days," she said, gesturing at the plastic-wrapped garments Elizabeth was carrying.
Jessica sighed. Lila was such a snob that her comment was almost funny. Almost. "As if I'd steal anything from your overpriced, overrated wardrobe," she said, walking back toward the foyer for another load.
"Well, you didn't seem to have any problem with stealing Melissa's boyfriend," Lila said.
Jessica stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, determined to keep her cool despite the fact that she could feel her cheeks flaring.
"Come on, Lila. Everyone knows that was a lie," Jessica said. "Why don't you get some new material?"
Lila's eyes widened. "You mean that wasn't true?"
Jessica groaned. "You know it wasn't," she said, clenching her fists at her sides.
"Then what's he doing here?" Lila asked, all innocence.
Jessica's brow furrowed. "What are you--"
Her voice trailed off as she followed Lila's gaze. A blue Blazer had just pulled up, and Jessica was fairly certain she knew who was behind the wheel. Oh God, not now, she thought, her heart skipping a beat. Will Simmons jumped out of the Blazer and began walking toward her even as she wished him away.
Jessica exchanged a nervous glance with Elizabeth and then focused what she hoped was a bland expression on Will. Bland equals not interested equals go away, Jessica thought. She only hoped he would get the hint.
"Hey," Will said, smiling warmly at Jessica. The hint had obviously mixfired, and unfortunately Jessica could never keep herself from grinning like an idiot when he smiled at her. "Lila," he said, nodding stiffly in her direction. Lila glared at him and walked inside. Will smirked. "I don't think she likes me."
"Join the club," Jessica said. She sounded normal. Odd, considering the fact that her heart was doing distinctly abnormal dance moves. "I think I'm number one on her most hated list."
"Tell me you left something behind for her," Will said, his eyes sparkling. "You know, like blue dye in her shampoo or shaving cream in her shoes."
Jessica laughed in spite of herself. "Where were you two days ago when I had time to plan something like that?"
"I would have been here." Will shrugged and looked her directly in the eyes. "All you had to do was ask," he said quietly.
Jessica's stomach flopped, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. This was not good. She could not let herself fall for this guy all over again. Not after everything he'd done.
"Um, Will?" she began, narrowing her eyes. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but . . . what are you doing here?"
Will took a step back. "Oh, I . . . uh . . ." He hesitated. "I wanted to thank you for helping out with the kidnap breakfast earlier. I think it went really well."
Jessica tried not to think about the part that had gone really well.
"Like when we picked up Josh," Will continued.
That would be the part, Jessica thought. A shiver passed through her as she remembered the lip lock in Josh Radinsky's bedroom. Lying on the floor with Will's body pressed against hers--stop.
"What do you mean?" she asked, startled at how panicked her voice sounded.
Will smiled again. "Just that everyone was really having a good time by then. What did you think I meant?" he asked. She could tell he was trying hard not to laugh.
"I better get back to work," she said, her face in full-on blush mode. She gestured toward the house. "We're moving."
"I figured that out already," Will said as Elizabeth walked by him, rolling a hand truck full of boxes in front of her.
Jessica laughed, feeling totally lame. Will gazed at her, the same intense look in his eyes that had been there before they kissed yesterday.
I'm lame, and he's still all over me, Jessica thought. What am I supposed to do with that?
"So anyway, thanks for stopping by," she said, staring awkwardly at Will's sneakers. She waited, but he made no sign of leaving. Why can't I get out of this gracefully?
"Can I help?" Will asked, leaning down to catch Jessica's eye.
"Oh, um . . ." Jessica shifted her eyes to the sky momentarily and then back to Will. "That's really nice, but you don't have to--"
"Did I hear someone offer to help?" Steven interrupted, extending his hand to Will. "I'm Steven, Jessica's brother," he said, smiling.
"Will Simmons," Will replied, shaking Steven's hand.
"Good to meet you," Steven said. He snuck a glance at Jessica and raised his eyebrows.
Oh, great, Jessica thought, closing her eyes. She could see the wheels spinning in Steven's mind as he decided that Will must be Jessica's new boyfriend. Now she was in for hours of really uncreative mocking at her brother's hands.
"Anyway," Jessica said. "Will was just saying that he has to get going. He just stopped by to--"
"Help," Will finished, nodding at Steven. "But it looks like I'm a little late," he added, gesturing at the Explorer.
"Don't worry," Stephen responded with a laugh. "There's more inside. Jessica alone must have packed twenty boxes."
All right, that's enough, Jessica thought, turning to face Will. "You know, it's really nice of you to offer, but the truck's almost full, so it really doesn't make sense for you to--"
"Good point," Will said, his index finger and thumb extended like a gun for emphasis.
Oh, just shoot me and get it over with, Jessica thought.
"I'll back up the Blazer and we can start filling that," he suggested, looking at Steven for approval.
"Great," Steven said. "I sent Liz for some rope, but I don't know where she went."
"I've got some in the back of the Blazer," Will offered.
"What are you, a Boy Scout?" Jessica said.
"Always be prepared," Will answered with a grin.
"Good. Why don't you get that and I'll grab my keys?" Steven didn't bother to wait for an answer. He just ran into the house, leaving Will and Jessica alone on the front lawn.
"Will," Jessica said, taking a deep breath and looking into his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you move," Will said matter-of-factly.
Jessica sighed. "You know what I mean."
"Look, Jess," Will began, his face becoming serious. "I'm not gonna just let this go. Not this time."
Jessica looked back at him, dumbfounded. "But--," she started. But what? she thought. I don't want you here? It's not right? I like someone else? She wasn't sure any of those things were true. Part of her did want Will here or at least didn't want him to leave.
"It's just that--"
"Here comes your brother," Will interrupted, nodding toward the door. "I better get that rope." And then he jogged off, leaving Jessica staring after him.
"Hey, for once your jock fetish is working in our favor," Steven said, clapping Jessica on the back as he walked by. "Seems like a nice guy," he added, looking over his shoulder.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Jessica said quietly to herself. Just then her parents pulled into the driveway, back from opening up the new house. Jessica watched as Steven introduced them to Will and her parents took turns shaking hands with him.
They probably think Will is some clean-cut, good-looking, helpful friend of mine instead of the reason half of Sweet Valley still thinks I'm a slut, Jessica thought. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and blew a stray strand of hair off her forehead.
"Next they'll be inviting him over for dinner and referring to him as 'that nice boy, Will,'" she muttered.
Jessica squinted and pinched herself hard on the forearm, but when she opened her eyes, they were all still there. Great, she thought, wincing. It's real.
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal
Copyright© 1999 by Francine Pascal