Sam’s is a little general store that’s about five minutes from Heywood. Only seniors are allowed to leave school premises during the day, and mostly they just go to Sam’s. Not that there’s anything to do there except buy food—they have amazing potato logs, these huge french fry wedges that you can get loaded with sour cream and cheese and just about anything else in the deli—but at any rate, it’s somewhere to go. Usually there’s at least a few Heywood seniors sitting in their cars in the parking lot killing time before they have to make it back for the next class. But when we pulled into the gravel parking lot, it was empty.
“I used to wonder what went on here,” I told Luke, glancing around the vacant lot. “Apparently I wasn’t missing much.”
“That’s funny. I used to picture all the seniors huddled over a bong in Billy Stratton’s car feeding their munchies with potato logs.”
Was Luke talking about my Billy Stratton? The Billy Stratton I used to imagine coming over to my house one afternoon and proclaiming his love for me? “Billy Stratton used to carry a bong around in his car?”
“I don’t know if he actually carried it around in his car, but he was always stoned, so it had to be somewhere.”
“Are you sure? How do you know all this?”
“Everyone knew; it’s a small school, Emily. What, did you think he walked around with his head down because he found the pattern on the linoleum floor fascinating?”
“I just thought he was shy and aloof.”
“No, Emily, he was baked out of his mind most of the time.”
And, just like that, my fantasy of shy, perfect Billy Stratton with the faraway eyes evaporated in a puff of pot smoke.
Luke must have noticed I was spending way too much time thinking about this news, because he waved his hand in front of my eyes in an attempt to get my attention. “Not you, too.”
“Me, too, what?”
“You were hot for Billy Stratton.”
“I was not,” I protested, although I don’t know why. It’s not like I was the only one.
“You don’t have to deny it. We knew all the girls were hot for him.”
“And how did you know that?”
Luke squinted at me and tapped his head with an index finger. “I watch things,” he told me, his voice soft, like he was telling me a secret.
“Like what things?” I wanted to know.
Luke leaned across the seats and got so close I swear I could smell the fabric softener on his collar. “Like how you were standing outside Mrs. Blackwell’s class waiting for me.”
“What?” I pulled away too fast and smacked my head on the passenger window.
“I saw you there talking with Owen, how you wouldn’t go in until you knew I’d seen you,” Luke explained, still hovering awfully close.
God, the ego on this guy. What next, I moved back to Branford just to be near him? “I was not waiting for you,” I insisted.
“You weren’t?” He sat back and toyed with the buckle on his seat belt. “Then what were you doing out there?”
I almost told him that I was preparing myself to go into the classroom, that I was thinking about everything I’d left behind in Chicago, when I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be trying to convince Luke that I wasn’t interested in him. I was supposed to be convincing him I was. Step one was earning Luke’s trust, and I was about to try and do that.
“Okay, you’re right,” I admitted, trying to sound like he’d found me out. “I was waiting for you.”
Luke smiled and leaned toward me again. “See, I thought so.”
I avoided looking at him, and instead stared at the windshield, which, with all our conversation going on inside, and the frigid temperatures outside, had fogged up.
This was probably how Luke approached all the girls he thought he could make out with. He lured them into his car, parked in a deserted parking lot, and then moved in. Maybe this was even how he confirmed the accuracy of his jiggle scale.
I stared straight ahead and braced myself for what I was sure would be a kiss somewhere in the vicinity of my lips. But instead of making a move on me, Luke opened his car door, letting in a cold gust that wasn’t nearly as warm as the kiss I’d been expecting. “Come on, I’m starving.”
Luke ordered Sam’s famous potato logs and I asked for a turkey sandwich, something I figured wouldn’t make a mess in Luke’s car. Not that I should have been all that concerned about messing up his upholstery, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been brought up to believe that cleanliness was next to godliness, and that godliness extended to the interior of automobiles.
Once we were back in the car, Luke really did seem more interested in his potato logs than the girl in his passenger seat. Mainly, me. The very same girl who was supposed to be taking care of step one.
“Thanks for inviting me to have lunch with you,” I said, and then couldn’t resist adding, “I mean, sacrificing your tableside service and all.”
Luke laughed and suddenly seemed awfully intent on the Styrofoam container in his lap. “Yeah, well…” Luke avoided looking up at me and, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looked embarrassed.
“When you asked me to come to Sam’s, I almost thought you’d expect me to carry your lunch to the car,” I went on, enjoying his discomfort a little too much.
“They’re sophomores,” he told me, tearing open a couple of packets of ketchup and squirting a pool of it next to his potato logs. “What can I say?”
There was a lot he could say. He could say it was disgusting to expect a bunch of girls to serve him lunch every day. He could admit that it verged on degrading every single girl who stood next to his table asking if he needed a straw for his drink. He could even tell me that tomorrow he’d ask them to stop.
But I didn’t point that out. Instead I took a bite of my turkey sandwich. “I guess it beats waiting in line for sloppy joe’s, right?” It wasn’t like I expected Luke to offer an excuse, or even an explanation, for the lunch legion, but that’s exactly what he did.
“Look, I don’t ask them to bring me lunch. I don’t force them. They offer. Besides, they like it.”
The sad thing was, Luke was possibly right. Bringing Luke his lunch was probably the highlight of their day. As sad as that was. I know if Billy Stratton had given me a chance to bring him his lunch, I would have donned an apron and hopped to it. Amazing how four years and a little perspective can change things.
“I guess,” I told him, covering my mouth with a napkin so I didn’t spit shredded lettuce all over his dashboard. “And to think I remember the good old days in middle school, when you had to actually wait in line with everyone else.”
“Is that what they were? The good old days?”
“Why, are you saying they weren’t?”
“I’m just saying maybe you and I remember things differently.” Luke dipped a log in the pool of ketchup. “So, are you glad you’re back? Did you miss Branford?”
I didn’t really feel like talking about myself with Luke, but I couldn’t ignore the lesson learned from all those cop shows where the detective creates a rapport with his suspect by talking about himself. If I had to offer Luke a few personal tidbits to earn his trust, then that’s what I’d do.
“I don’t know if ‘glad’ is the right word, but things haven’t changed as much as I was afraid they would.” I glanced over at Luke and watched him take a bite of his potato log. “Well, most things, I mean.”
“It must have been tough, moving in the middle of senior year.”
“It was,” I told him, and it occurred to me that Luke was the first person to acknowledge how hard it was. My parents always acted like it was no big deal because we were just moving back to Branford. TJ didn’t have any problem leaving his old friends and taking up right where he left off in seventh grade. Even Lucy and Josie never acted like they thought it was any big deal, they were just glad I was back.
“I bet you were wondering what we’d all think of you,” Luke went on, like
he’d been reading some self-help book on all the things that go through your head when you move.
“Maybe,” I hedged.
“But I guess you aren’t wondering anymore. Everyone seems to be glad you’re back.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I must have sounded like I was trying to be modest or something, because Luke went on. “You guess so? Come on, who are you kidding? Everyone always liked you.” He dipped another potato log in ketchup. “Well, unless you count Stephanie Potter.”
For a minute I thought Luke was making fun of me, but then he laughed. “I’m just kidding.”
“How do you know Stephanie Potter didn’t like me?” I asked.
“I watch things, remember?” Again, he tapped the side of his head with his index finger.
“That’s right. I forgot.”
I went back to eating my sandwich, but it sort of bothered me that Luke knew about me and Stephanie Potter.
“It bugs you, doesn’t it? You wanted her to like you.”
“No it doesn’t.” I shook my head and a piece of lettuce flung across the car and landed against Luke’s driver’s side window.
“If it helps any, I never really liked Stephanie that much.” Luke reached for the lettuce and flicked it off the window.
“You didn’t?”
“Nope. Didn’t like her at all.”
I didn’t know why, but for some reason that did help.
For the first time since we got to Sam’s, I looked at Luke instead of keeping a safe distance between us, afraid he would try to kiss me or something. There was no way he was kissing me with a mouth full of potato and ketchup. And as I watched him eat his lunch it dawned on me that, as much as I wanted to hate Luke, maybe he wasn’t all bad.
“So, maybe you want to do something Saturday night?” Luke asked. At least I think he did. I mean, really, does asking somebody if they maybe want to do something count as actually asking anything at all?
Not that it mattered. I couldn’t do something maybe anyway. I’d promised my mom’s friends I’d babysit Saturday night so they could go out to dinner. And, while most girls would probably ditch a babysitting job in two seconds flat for a date with Luke Preston, I wasn’t one of them. My mom had written an entire chapter in one of her books on babysitting etiquette and lesson number one was that you don’t cancel on a family once you’ve made a commitment unless life or limb is at stake. A date with a guy didn’t exactly count as either. Even if it was Luke.
“I can’t. I’m babysitting for some family friends.”
“Too bad, Curtis is having a party this weekend. His parents are going out of town.” Luke reached for the radio dial and flipped the station. “Maybe I’ll stop by and see you, say hi.”
Babysitting etiquette number two: no guests allowed.
“That’s not a good idea. I don’t think the Brocks would like it if I had any visitors.” I pointed to his chin. “You have some ketchup there.”
Luke dabbed his finger against his cheek. “Where, here?”
I shook my head.
“Here?” He wiped his sleeve along the other cheek.
I shook my head again.
“Wouldn’t this just be easier if you took that napkin you have folded on your lap and wiped away the ketchup yourself?” Luke suggested.
“But it’s more fun watching you try to find it.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see.” Luke dipped a potato log into the pool of ketchup and dabbed it on my nose. “Um, you’ve got a little ketchup there,” he mimicked, not sounding anything like me.
I reached for a potato log and swiped it in the dollop of red on my nose. “That’s actually quite good. And convenient.”
Luke took his half-eaten log and dabbed it against my nose. “You’re right. This is very convenient. Maybe the next time the cafeteria has french fries for lunch I’ll suggest you walk around and offer up your nose.”
“Maybe when they have fish sticks I can serve tarter sauce instead.”
Luke made a gagging sound. “Okay, that’s not even funny. It’s just gross.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, picturing it. “It is.”
“So.” Luke continued to eat his potato logs but forgot to wipe the ketchup off his chin. “Why the sudden change?”
“What sudden change?” I asked, finding it difficult to keep my eyes from zooming in on the condiment precariously perched on his chin, waiting for it to fall off into his lap at any moment.
“You went from a nasty greeting in the hall to ignoring me to asking me to a dance? I thought Josie turned you against me.”
I focused on my turkey sandwich in an attempt to keep from staring at Luke’s chin. You’d think I’d be grossed out, but all I could think was that even with ketchup on his chin, Luke still looked pretty hot. “Yeah, well, moving kind of put me in a bad mood. Besides, Josie’s over it now,” I added, just so he’d know there were no reasons why he shouldn’t fall in love with me right then and there.
Luke dipped another potato log in his pool of ketchup, and as he raised it to his mouth, another drop of red landed on his chin. “Do you miss living in Chicago?”
It was a serious question and I wanted to answer him, but all I could do was laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he wanted to know.
I pointed to his chin.
“We’re not going through this again.” This time he reached for my napkin and wiped the condiment off himself. “Maybe next time we get lunch I should order something else. Something that can’t drip.”
“Next time?” I repeated, just to make sure I heard him right. “Will there be a next time?”
Luke squinted his eyes and pretended to examine me before wiping off the ketchup that still clung to my nose. “We’ll see. It depends on what your nose is serving.”
I laughed again, and this time he laughed with me.
If you set aside the fact that Luke was way too cocky, that he could be obnoxious, and that he’d cheated on my best friend, he might actually be cute. No, he was definitely cute. And he might actually be likeable.
“Okay, I take back what I said.” Josie bit her lip. “This is weird.”
When Luke dropped me off at the front door, Josie had been waiting for me, pacing back and forth like an expectant father.
Apparently, the parking lot at Sam’s hadn’t been vacant the entire time—or at least not while Luke and I were eating our lunch inside the steamed-up windows. “I told you it would be. If you hate hearing about it, how do you think I feel doing it?”
“I know. It’s that, well, he cheated on me, but I still liked him. I mean, I was planning to sleep with the guy, and now I’m watching one of my best friends hit on him.”
“I wasn’t hitting on him,” I told her for what seemed like the billionth time. “We were just talking.”
“Yeah, well, Matt came back from Sam’s and he couldn’t wait to tell everyone how you and Luke fogged up the car windows.”
“If the windows were all fogged up, how did he even know it was me?”
“But it was you,” Josie stated matter-of-factly. “So what’s your point?”
What was my point? “My point is that, yes, I was in the car with Luke, but, no, we were not making out. Look, I was just doing what you guys said I should do. We don’t have to go on with this if you don’t want to,” I offered, almost hoping Josie would take me up on my offer. Okay, I was hoping Josie would take me up on my offer.
Josie didn’t even hesitate before shaking her head. “We’re doing the guide. We have to. But here,” she said, taking the brown recycled notebook out of her backpack and holding it out to me.
“You take this. I think you should be writing down everything that happens with Luke. And one more thing—if you really think it’s starting to work, I want an apology for what he did to me.”
I didn’t move to take the notebook from her. “I can stop right now and we can forget about the guide,” I offered again, giving her one last chance to put an end
to our plan.
“No, I don’t want to do that. I want an apology.” Josie let out a breath and forced the notebook into my hand. “I’ll get over it. I just wish he wasn’t so freaking hot.”
Yeah, me, too.
Chapter Ten
The Guy’s Guide Tip #30:
When you wear something, wash it. And just because you can turn something inside out does not mean it doesn’t count. Contrary to what you believe, there are not varying degrees of clean. There’s just clean and dirty. Learn the difference.
I’d promised my mom’s friends, the Brocks, that I’d babysit for their little girl on Saturday night. There was no way my mother would let me get out of it—being not only an obligation, but that their reason for needing me in the first place was that the Brocks were having dinner with my mom.
Before we moved away, I used to babysit for the Brocks about every other weekend, and more often than not, Lucy or Josie would come with me. Back then there weren’t any other real options for a Friday or Saturday night, except maybe having a sleep-over and trying out new makeup and stuff like that. It wasn’t like I was making a fortune watching a three-year-old for a few hours, but I always offered to split the money with them. Lucy always said no, but sometimes Josie said yes. Now Josie didn’t need the money, and Lucy didn’t seem that thrilled with the idea of hanging out with a six-year-old whose main interests were the new Barbie town house she got for Christmas and the latest Princess Diaries movie. Besides, tonight was Curtis Ludlow’s party. Sitting around watching TV while a six-year-old sleeps upstairs or going to a party at Curtis Ludlow’s house? I couldn’t really blame them; I would have made the same choice.
The Brocks’ house is down a long wooded driveway and it’s pretty secluded. You can’t even see it from the street. When you’re in an empty house with a six-year-old whose sole means of self-defense is the magic wand she waves around while reciting magic spells, every noise sounds like something worse than it really is. Tree branch scraping against the gutters? Must be somebody trying to get in through a window. Furnace groaning in the basement? Must be someone just waiting for the right time to come upstairs and dismember a little girl and her babysitter. All the noises used to really freak me out, and more than once I’d ended up calling my dad, convinced there was a deranged madman outside the family room trying to jimmy open the sliding glass doors. After those calls, my father would always drive over and reassure me that there wasn’t some serial killer hiding in the basement, or an escaped mental patient squatting behind the shower curtain waiting to attack me while I was on the toilet reaching for some Charmin.