“Hey, who wants to make one last run?” Luke asked, coming toward us with Matt and Owen trailing behind.
Nobody volunteered.
“Come on, anybody?” Luke tried again.
Owen pulled out the chair next to Lucy and sat down. Matt was already taking off his coat.
My thighs were burning, my lips were chapped, and the only run I wanted to make was to the cafeteria line to get a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream.
“I’ll go,” I offered halfheartedly, hoping Luke would see it was just the two of us and decide to call it a day.
Instead he reached for my hand and pulled me up off my seat. “Come on.”
“Can I run to the bathroom first?” I asked, thinking perhaps I should try to shake out my hat head or, at the very least, blow my running nose.
“We don’t have time if we’re going to catch the last gondola.”
Josie and Lucy watched for my answer, probably thinking my bathroom request was precipitated by a full bladder when it was really a result of my desire to look hot for Luke. “Okay,” I told Luke. “Let’s go.”
The lift line was empty, so we had our very own gondola to the top of the mountain. I fished around in my coat pocket for the tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm I’d made a point to remember.
“Want some?” I held the tube out for Luke.
He shook his head. “That’s okay.”
“You’re a really good skier. I guess you’ve been skiing a long time.”
“Don’t you remember that ski trip our freshman year?”
I vaguely remembered a day trip we all took to Jiminy Peak. “I guess so. Why?”
“You don’t remember how I could barely stop and went plowing into Mr. Wesley, who went plowing into Nurse Kelly, who went plowing into the entire ski lift line and proceeded to knock everyone down like dominoes?”
“Come on, I think I would have remembered that.”
“Nah, you probably wouldn’t. You were going out with Owen.”
“So?”
“So? So I wasn’t exactly on your radar then. Remember?”
The funny thing is, he was right. I could remember Owen exactly, including the navy blue ski jacket he wore, with the red piping down the sides, and how his goggles left an impression in his hair. But Luke bowling over an entire lift line? Not one bit.
“All set?” I asked, holding on to the metal handrail to keep from being jostled around as the gondola made its way into the lift shed.
Luke stood up next to me. “Almost,” he told me, before leaning over and kissing me. “I decided I needed some of your lip stuff after all.”
Here’s what I wrote:
Saturday Night—Luke, Owen, and Matt show up at Josie’s. Five minutes late. Luke says his watch is slow. Decide to believe him but tell him to get new battery when he gets home.
Here’s what I didn’t write:
Two words—hot tub.
I’d made it through a day of skiing without causing any serious damage, unless you counted the blister on my pinkie toe, a little windburn and sunburn on my cheeks, and what felt like a bruise along the entire right side of my leg. But skiing was nothing compared to the test waiting for me that night. A test that included a hundred and sixty jets with wave-massage motion, contoured seating, and minimal skin coverage.
Underneath my jeans and top I had on my favorite bikini—favorite because it made me look like I had bigger boobs than I did without making me look like I’d stuffed a roll of Bounty in the cups. The plan was for Josie and Lucy to take Matt and Owen downstairs to the game room so Luke and I could be alone on the deck. Alone and half-naked, that is. Because essentially that’s what hanging out in a hot tub meant. I’d never seen Luke without his shirt off (unless you counted our trip to Block Island freshman year, which I didn’t). But I knew he was going to look good. And so I wanted to look better than good. I wanted to look killer. I knew the whole point was to not really care what Luke thought of me, but somewhere along the way that had changed. It was Stephanie Potter syndrome all over again. I could see caring from an objective “Is our plan working?” point of view, but this was different. I didn’t know if it started when he took me to Friendly’s or when he helped me up after my wipeout on our last run down the mountain, but I cared. Probably more than I should have. Make that definitely more than I should have.
Josie’s parents were gone by 6:30, and around 7:00 the doorbell rang and Owen, Luke, and Matt stood outside on the front steps, waiting for us to answer the door.
“Ready?” Lucy and Josie looked at me and waited for my answer.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my bikini top, and nodded. “Ready.”
“Wow, this place is huge.” Owen craned his neck as he followed the wall of windows up toward the roofline and the second-floor loft.
“The pool table’s downstairs,” Lucy told him. “And there’s air hockey, too.”
“Cool, show me the way.” Owen followed Lucy down the hallway and she seemed more than eager to lead the way. She probably couldn’t wait to kick his ass at air hockey—which I knew she would.
It took less than ten minutes for the six of us to pair off, and before you could say “take off your clothes and climb into six hundred gallons of bubbling water,” Luke and I were in the hot tub.
I don’t care how much self-tanner you slather on your body for a week, when it’s twenty degrees outside and you skin is sprouting goose bumps from every pore, it’s not a tan you’re thinking about. You’re just hoping you make it into the water before the guy you’re with notices you look like something that belongs in the Butterball aisle—or the fact that your nipples are standing at attention.
“Cold?” Luke asked, as if he hadn’t noticed my nipples poking through my bathing suit top.
I slipped down into the water and sat across from him on the bench. “A little bit.”
“My legs are killing me.” He made a point of rubbing his thighs, which only reminded me that there was more skin in the hot tub than bathing suit. “That was fun today.”
“Obviously you’re not counting my thoroughly humiliating wreck at the end of the day.”
“Actually, that was the most fun part.” Luke slid toward me. “You looked cute all covered in snow.”
I hadn’t been just covered in snow; I’d lost my hat and one ski about halfway up the run. My goggles were only covering one eye and I had enough snow up my back to make a decent-size snowman.
“Thanks, but it was way too painful to be cute.”
Luke slipped his hand under mine and he laced our fingers together. I wondered if it was a move he’d perfected with other girls. Maybe even in other hot tubs. I tried not to think about how good he looked or how I wanted to reach out and touch him, and instead tried to see the situation for what it was. Just another phase in the plan.
Only it didn’t feel like a phase. Or even like just part of a plan. It felt right. Absolutely one hundred percent perfect.
“Look at all the stars.” I tipped my head back and rested it against the edge of the hot tub. “Is that bright one there the North Star?”
Luke rested his head next to mine. “Well, I’d say yes if it wasn’t for the blinking blue light and the fact that it probably has a Delta logo on its side.”
I watched my North Star moving away and saw that he was right. “Plane, star, what’s the difference?”
“For our purposes, not much.” Luke turned his head toward me and placed a kiss on my nose.
“You missed,” I joked. “My lips are a little lower.”
“Then let me try again.”
This time he found his target just right.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
Luke reached over and wiped a few droplets of water from my cheek. “Sure.”
How was it possible that the guy sitting next to me was the same person who devised a scale that measured the buoyancy of a girl’s breasts? Maybe Josie and Lucy were mistaken. Maybe the jiggle scale was something else
entirely.
“What’s with the jiggle scale?”
Luke smiled. “What do you mean, what’s with it?”
“I mean, it’s kind of obnoxious.”
“It was just a joke, Emily. As in ha-ha funny.”
“Well, it’s not very funny. Would you like us to go around rating you guys?”
“You already do,” he told me.
“We do not.”
“Really? Then what do you call it when you comment on how some guy’s ass looks in a pair of soccer shorts?”
He had me there. “An observation,” I suggested. “At least we’re not rating you.”
“So, we’re obnoxious because we do the same exact thing you do, but we just happened to come up with a name for it?”
I knew I’d sound ridiculous if I said yes. Besides, he had a point.
“Do you still use it? The scale?” I asked.
Luke shook his head. “The scale has been retired.”
I wanted to believe him, and not just because I wanted Luke to be better than the creator of the jiggle scale. I was almost hoping that, after me, he didn’t even notice anyone else’s jiggling anymore. “Good.”
I don’t know if it was the sound of the bubbling water, the feel of Luke’s warm skin pressed against mine, or the way he slid his hand lightly down my side until it rested on my waist, but I couldn’t think of the last time I felt like this. Like I was exactly where I wanted to be with exactly the right person.
I tried to remember how Sean kissed, but all I could recall was how the last time I’d kissed him he’d tasted like a sesame bagel with a hint of garlic. And that thought alone made me lean into Luke and kiss him again. Because it was so much better.
And then I didn’t just not think of Sean, I didn’t think period.
This is what I wrote:
Tuesday Night—Home. All in all, a productive four days. Luke seems well on his way to improving. April deadline seems possible for an entirely new-and-improved Luke Preston.
But this is what I didn’t write:
My hand reached around Luke’s neck and rested on the wet curls of hair clinging to his skin. I was all too aware that the only things between us were a Victoria’s Secret Miracle Bra bikini and Luke’s nylon swim trunks. And when you think about it, those aren’t exactly hard barriers to overcome. If you wanted to.
Luke’s fingers wandered up my back until they reached the thin string of my bikini top. I know I probably should have stopped him. I probably should have been thinking about the jiggle meter and how he’d no doubt tell Owen and Matt what we were about to do. But I wasn’t. All I was thinking was that I didn’t want him to stop.
And that wasn’t just not part of the plan. It was downright dangerous.
Chapter Fifteen
The Guy’s Guide Tip #51:
We all learned penmanship in kindergarten, but why hasn’t your handwriting gotten any better? A little effort would be appreciated.
The Monday after spring break, Lucy started lacrosse practice and Josie was busy working on the yearbook. Thank God. It saved me from having to come up with ways to avoid them. The last thing I wanted to do was spend another afternoon with Josie and Lucy talking about the guide. Or what I wrote in the guide. Or how Luke was changing because of the guide.
It was bad enough feeling guilty about my feelings for Luke. I practically couldn’t look Josie or Lucy in the eye for fear they’d see that all my talk about how everything was going according to plan was complete crap. Every time I had to replay another one of our conversations or recount what happened when Luke and I went to lunch, I managed to avoid their gazes. Because they knew me too well. And they’d be able to tell that something wasn’t right. That something was going horribly wrong. And I had to do something about it.
“Hey, Josie.” I pushed back the heavy black plastic curtain to the photo lab and stepped into the darkened room. Somehow, the idea of not being able to completely see the look on Josie’s face made what I was about to try and do a little easier.
“Look at this.” Josie held up a piece of eight-by-ten paper still dripping with developer fluid. “What do you think?”
“What is it?” I asked, tipping my head to the side as I tried to figure out what it was. In the red glow of the only lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, it didn’t look like anything I recognized.
“That tree out by the parking lot,” she told me, and I knew exactly the tree she was talking about. The trunk had to be at least five feet around and it’s been hovering over Heywood since the day the school opened. “It’s a close-up of the trunk—see that’s the bark curling up and that mark, there, is where Billy Stratton ran into it with his car that time.”
As soon as Josie said that, I saw the tree through the ragged furrows and wrinkles. I don’t know how I could have missed it. I’d seen that tree almost every day since sixth grade. The tree was even part of the Heywood Academy crest.
“That’s really cool.”
“Thanks.”
“So, I was thinking about it,” I said, “and maybe getting back together with Luke isn’t such a great idea. I mean, what if his change is just temporary and he really isn’t that different after all?”
“Well, we’ll just have to see what happens.” Josie flipped the light switch on and the sudden burst of white nearly blinded me. I rubbed my eyes and tried to get my bearings straight, which, given that I was about to try and convince my best friend that she didn’t want anything to do with Luke, wasn’t easy.
“I’m just saying, it’s not like you really liked him, you know?”
Josie stopped organizing the bottles of chemicals and turned to me. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s not like you ever really like any guy you go out with,” I explained, not that Josie needed an explanation. Everyone knew Josie wasn’t the type to fall head over heels for a guy. “You date them for a little while and then move on.”
“Maybe I used to,” she agreed. “But Luke was different. I really liked him.”
Not exactly the response I was expecting. Or the response I wanted.
There could only be one explanation for Josie’s fixation on Luke—his status as the hottest guy in school. There was no other reason Josie would want Luke any more than she’s wanted the twenty guys she’s gone through since seventh grade.
“There are plenty of other guys who’d go out with you in a heartbeat,” I reminded her. “You don’t really need Luke, do you? Especially after what he did to you.”
Josie went back to cleaning up. “You’re right, I don’t need the old Luke, but it looks like Luke will be new and improved after you’re done with him. And that’s a Luke I’d like to have another shot with, but I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s sweet of you.”
Funny, I’d never use “sweet” to describe what I was doing. “It is?”
“Yeah, I know you just don’t want me to get hurt again. But who says I will? Who says Luke and I can’t end up even better than before?”
For the first time it occurred to me that the Luke Josie was waiting for was a lot like the Luke we knew in eighth grade. The Luke who sent me the valentine and candy.
“Maybe you won’t like the new Luke, either,” I suggested. “It’s not as if you liked him before he became the guy everyone wanted.”
“Maybe I was too busy lusting after Billy Stratton to notice Luke back then.” Josie shook her head and laughed at me. “Is it so hard to believe that I could really like him? You’re talking about eighth grade, Em. We’re totally different people now.”
There was no convincing her. And that meant that I’d have to figure out another way to get out of this. Only at that moment, the single other option I could think of didn’t seem like an option at all.
While I missed hanging out with them after school, I was grateful that my two friends had more going on in their lives than a freaking recycled notebook. Unfortunately, I didn’t.
Coming in midyear, I had no club. No sport
s team. Not even an invitation to help out with the set design for the drama club’s spring production—and they always needed warm bodies as Heywood wasn’t exactly known for its theatrical prowess. In any case, it was my last semester of high school, my last two-and-a-half months at Heywood, and I had nothing to do. But I had plenty to think about.
Mostly I thought about one of two things (three, if you counted the increasingly inspired ways I’d managed to avoid more than a three-minute phone call with my father). I thought about the college acceptances that would be arriving in my mailbox in about four weeks (I say “acceptances” because I couldn’t even fathom the idea that they’d be college rejections—although, with the way my luck had been going, I probably should have considered the possibility). And I thought about Luke. Way more than I should have.
My birthday is April first, April Fool’s Day. In the past this usually meant that my dad would say to me, “What? Today’s your birthday?” and act like he totally forgot. Which he never did, but he just liked yelling “April Fool’s!” before handing over my gift.
So when the phone rang before I even had a chance to brush my teeth, I figured it was my dad calling to wish me a happy birthday. And when my mom called my name and I went to the phone, I knew that before he got to happy birthday, he’d go through the whole April Fool’s thing. But I was wrong.
“Happy birthday,” he said, instead, cutting right to the punch line. “I can’t believe my little girl is eighteen.”
“I know, me neither,” I answered, wondering why this year he’d left out his running joke.
“Big plans today?”
“Not really, just school.”
“Well, I’m sure your mom will make it special.”
“Probably.”
There was an awkward silence and I realized how little my dad knew about what was going on in my life. I’d hardly spoken to him, really spoken to him, since before Christmas.
“I miss you, Emily.” He paused, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something. My dad spoke the words slowly, as if he’d been practicing them for a while, trying to get them right. There was no mistaking the tone in his voice. And the sadness almost made me forget I was mad at him. I almost forgot he was the person who stayed behind in Chicago, the one who let us leave without him, and instead remembered he was my dad.