“You couldn’t have sent Mia?”
This is why my dad is a dick. He always wants us to seem like we’re this completely down-to-earth family who does things for themselves. Then he gets on my mom for not sending the housekeeper out to get the filet mignon he wanted her to pick up. I’m starting to feel angry, which doesn’t bode well for this dinner.
“Leave it alone,” I say, a little louder than I intended.
“Everything okay?” George Donahue asks, looking over his shoulder at us with concern.
“Everything’s great,” my dad says cheerfully.
I roll my eyes behind his back. We sit down at the table. It’s set with a flower centerpiece, and there’s already a pear-and-walnut salad at each place.
“This looks amazing, Mom,” I say honestly.
“Yes, Ellen,” George Donahue says, “it looks delicious.”
We make it through dinner without any mishaps. We talk and laugh, and I think George and my dad both get a little tipsy on scotch. Which probably helps to set the scene for what happens next.
When dinner’s over, my dad walks George to the door while my mom starts to work on the dishes.
“Well, I guess that went well,” my dad says as he comes back into the kitchen. “Do you think George had a nice time?”
“Dad,” I say, heading to the sink and grabbing a sponge so that I can start helping my mom, “it was a great night. Everyone had fun.”
“Hopefully, he’ll be able to overlook the off-color jokes and overcooked chicken,” my dad says.
“What off-color jokes?” my mom asks.
“Stop,” I say.
“Excuse me?” my dad asks. He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his cranberry-colored sweater.
“Knock it off,” I tell him. “You’re acting like an asshole. Mom made an amazing dinner for us, no one told any off-color jokes, and you’re making it out like the whole night was a disaster.”
“Isaac,” my mom says, “it’s fine, don’t—”
“It’s not fine,” I say. “Dad’s being a prick.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Isaac,” he says, and takes a step toward me. “You show me respect in this house.”
“You have to give respect to get respect,” I mutter under my breath. But my dad must hear me because the next thing I know, he’s right there next to me, breathing scotch into my face.
“What did you say?” he growls.
“You heard me.”
“Go to your room.”
“Please.” I throw the sponge down in the sink. “I’m not twelve.”
I walk out of the house without looking back.
• • •
I end up at the Sportstar Arcade, mostly because they have batting cages. Baseball’s never really been my thing, but I need to blow off some steam, and swinging the bat will be good for me.
I feed a twenty into the change machine, collect my quarters, then pump them into the batting machine. Sportstar’s more like a sports complex than an arcade, with not only games, but laser tag, a food court, and even a few rides. It’s usually packed, but the batting cages are dead tonight.
I put on a helmet and step into the middle cage. I whale away at the ball, not caring if I swing and miss, not even aiming for anything, just trying to hit hard. After half an hour I’ve worked up a sweat, and I’m starting to feel a little better.
I’m also starting to think that maybe boarding school overseas might not be that bad an idea. At least it would get me away from my dad.
I’m just about to start up another round when I hear someone clapping behind me. I turn around. Marina.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a smile. “Wicked swing.”
I don’t answer, just sort of nod.
“What are you doing here?” she tries.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask. I sound like an asshole, because even though I’m feeling better, I’m still in a horrible fucking mood. And to be asked what I’m doing when I’m obviously using the batting cages doesn’t exactly brighten up my night. It just annoys me.
“It looks like you’re whaling away on some balls,” she says, giggling. She walks right into the batting cage, even though you’re not supposed to be in here without a helmet. “So either you’re really frustrated, or you’re angry.” She gets really close to me then, and I can feel her boobs pushed against my chest. “Or maybe both.”
“Probably both.” I take a step back. She’s hot, I won’t deny it. But I was just kissing Kelsey a few hours ago. And I like Kelsey. A lot. She’s cool and fun and smart, and she makes me feel like I’m cool and fun and smart. And Marina’s crazy. She stopped texting me when it became obvious I wasn’t going to reply, and she stopped bothering me at school when it became obvious I was avoiding her. But she still makes me nervous.
“So, what are you doing after this?” she asks.
“I’m busy.” I put money into the machine, and it whirs to life.
“That’s too bad,” Marina says. She’s on her way out of the batting cage, and she glances over her shoulder. “We’re all going down to the beach. You were supposed to come, remember?”
“That’s tonight?”
She nods. “We couldn’t go last week. Rain.” She puffs out her bottom lip. “There’s going to be beer.”
The baseball comes flying out of the cannon, and I pull the bat back and slam it into the ball. It goes flying against the backstop. Beer sounds good. Really good. I think about how I have nothing to do after this except go home. How my dad’s probably waiting up for me, hoping for some kind of confrontation.
“Fine,” I say, slamming the next ball as hard as I can. I turn around to look at Marina. “But can I invite Kelsey?”
Her smile falters for a second, but then she recovers. “Of course.”
She waits while I finish my round of balls, then brings me over to the snack bar, where a couple of other girls are sitting at the counter sipping fountain sodas and eating nachos. “This is Raya and Nicole.”
“Hey,” they say. The spin around on their stools and size me up. I’m not in the mood to meet new people.
“Hi.” I give them a nod.
“He’s the strong, silent type,” Marina says, giggling. She leans into me, and I think I can smell alcohol on her. Has she been drinking already? Who the fuck drinks and then comes to the arcade?
“Whatever,” I say. “Are we going to go?”
“Geez, impatient much?” Marina asks. Her friends laugh. “Do you want to leave your car here? Raya’s the designated driver.”
“Fine.” I hate the thought of leaving my car, but I’m too amped up to drive. So I follow them out to the parking lot, pulling out my phone so that I can call Kelsey on the way.
The Aftermath
Kelsey
“So, it seems like things were on the right track,” Dr. Ostrander says. “You had a meeting. You were getting ready to send a letter to Concordia Prep.”
“Yes.” I nod. “We did, and we were—”
Next to me, Isaac laughs.
“Is there something you’d like to add to the discussion, Mr. Brandano?”
“No,” Isaac says, shrugging. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t really give a shit about this whole thing.”
Dr. Ostrander has been pretty cool this whole time, considering the PR nightmare that the school is having. But Isaac’s remark seems to make him mad. Justifiably so. I mean, Isaac, as usual, is acting like an asshole.
“Mr. Brandano, that kind of language won’t be tolerated in here.”
I look down at my hands and feel my eyes start to fill with tears. Isaac pulling an attitude is definitely not going to help my cause. Whether I like it or not, we’re in this together. What he does affects me. And vice versa. The worst part is that I know some of the reason he’s acting like this is because he wants to see me get in trouble. Not that I can blame him. But it still sucks.
“Sorry,” Isaac mumbles. But he’s back
to slouching down in his chair, and he doesn’t sound like he means it.
“I’m going to step out for a minute,” Dr. Ostrander says. “And when I come back, I trust that you’ll both be ready to discuss this like adults.” He keeps his eyes on us for a moment, looking back and forth between us like he’s trying to convey just how serious this is. Then he stands up and walks out of the room, leaving me and Isaac alone.
“Isaac—” I start.
“Save it,” he says, looking away from me and down at the floor. “Just save it.”
“I know you’re mad,” I say quietly. “And I don’t blame you. But—”
“You know I’m mad?” he spits. He sits up in his chair and turns toward me. “Are you kidding me? Kelsey, I told you I was falling in love with you. Do you know how many girls I’ve said that to?”
I don’t say anything because there’s a huge lump in my throat that’s making it impossible to talk.
“None,” he says. “You’re the only one. The very first one I ever said that to. So when I found out you lied to me about Rex, do you know how that made me feel?”
“Terrible,” I whisper. I think about it. How Isaac looked at Face It Down Day, how he looked when Rex told him the truth about everything. I can’t stand that I disappointed him like that, that I let him down that way, that I hurt him so much.
“Terrible’s an understatement,” he says bitterly. “So, sorry if I’m not psyched to sit here and try to convince the superintendent that we shouldn’t be punished.”
“Isaac,” I say, “I’m so sorry. I am. I’m embarrassed and humiliated, and if you just . . .” I’m crying now, big sloppy tears that are making it hard to talk. I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
Isaac’s looking right at me, and for a second his face softens. For one wonderful and perfect moment I think that maybe he’s going to forgive me, that maybe he’s going to take me in his arms and tell me that it’s all okay, that he forgives me, that we’re going to be together, that we’ll work it out.
But then his face gets hard again, and he shakes his head and looks away.
And then Dr. Ostrander is back, a cup of coffee in his hand, a serious look on his face.
“So,” he says, “now that we’ve had a break, I’m going to assume that you’ve both had sufficient time to get your anger under control.”
And then, suddenly, it’s like a switch flips inside me. It pisses me off that Dr. Ostrander’s acting like just because Isaac freaked out and swore at him, that means I’m the one who has to get my anger under control. And that’s when I feel my fire come back. I sit up straight. If Isaac’s determined to bring me down, then I’m going to have to fight like hell to prove this thing isn’t my fault, that it was just a bunch of bad circumstances and coincidences that led to everything going wrong.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re ready.”
Isaac’s head snaps up, and he looks at me. I guess because my tone is completely different than it was just a second ago. I wipe my eyes carefully with a tissue from my bag, making sure not to smudge my mascara.
“Now, where were we?” Dr. Ostrander asks.
“We were just about to talk,” I say, “about how Isaac kissed Marina Ruiz.”
Before
Kelsey
“So, you kissed him?” Rielle’s asking. We’re in her room later that night, drinking lemonade, sharing a bowl of popcorn mixed with M&M’s, listening to music, and trying on her sister’s clothes. Rielle’s sister, Nadia, is away at Harvard, and so we regularly raid her closet. Nadia doesn’t mind, as long as we wash the stuff and put it back when we’re finished. Not that I’ve been over here much lately, raiding closets or doing anything else.
Like I said, me and Rielle have hardly talked. So when she called me earlier tonight and invited me over, I was shocked. I had a nagging feeling that maybe she had other plans that got canceled and was just calling me because she was bored. But I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, because (a) I miss her a lot, and (b) I was dying to tell someone about what happened with me and Isaac.
“Well, he kissed me,” I say, pulling out this really adorable off-the-shoulder ruffly top in a paisley print. It still has the price tag on it. “Do you think your sister would mind if I wore this?” I ask. “It’s brand-new.”
Rielle waves her hand. “She probably won’t even know it’s gone.” She drops the slinky blue dress she’s holding into a heap on the floor. “So, how was the kiss?” she asks.
“Perfect,” I say. “Amazing.” I’m pulling off my T-shirt and trying on the ruffly top.
“So then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘then what’?” I yank the top down. I’m going to need a strapless bra with this one, for sure. I’m not the kind of girl who can get away with not wearing a bra. My boobs are a little too big. Plus I’m always paranoid that I’m going to have some kind of wardrobe malfunction and everyone will be staring at my nipples without me even knowing it.
“Then what happened after you kissed?”
“He drove me home.”
“He drove you home?” Rielle frowns, and I feel a little bit of panic start to rise up in me. So far I haven’t really let myself think too much about the kiss. Yes, I was dying to tell Rielle about it, but other than that, I’ve been working really hard not to get too worked up. I mean, the last thing I need is a boyfriend. Or even a crush.
“Yeah,” I say. I shrug and throw the shirt onto the growing pile of stuff that I’m borrowing. “It’s not like it’s a big thing or anything.”
“Okay,” Rielle says, not sounding convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say, “I’m totally sure.” Suddenly I want to change the subject, to stop talking about Isaac. “Hey,” I say, “you want to go for pedicures? There’s this new place in the mall I’ve been dying to try.”
Rielle looks at me like she wants to say something else. But then she just shrugs. “Yeah,” she says, “sure.”
• • •
An hour later we’re at the pedicure place, our feet in those little paper flip-flops and drying under the dryer.
“So are you upset?” Rielle asks. She turns the page of the magazine she’s reading, an old Us Weekly that has the best and worst bikini bodies on the front.
“No,” I say, looking down at my crimson toes. “I love this color. The only thing that sucks is that I’m not sure it’s going to be warm enough to wear sandals and show them off.” They really should figure out a way around that. I mean, you spend all this money to make your feet look cute, and then after summer there’s no way to really show them off.
“No,” she says, “I mean because that guy Isaac hasn’t called you?”
“No.” I shrug. “Why would I be upset about that?”
“Um, because you guys kissed?”
When I think about kissing him, my heart starts to beat fast. But then I see the way Rielle’s looking at me. With a mixture of concern and worry. I know it’s because she thinks that if I get involved with another guy, I might go crazy again, the way I did with Rex. And I’m about to open my mouth to tell her that I’m fine, but then I shut it. Because the truth is, I’m not sure if I’m fine.
I mean, how do I know for certain that if I get close to another guy, I’m not going to go crazy again? I don’t. And so letting myself start to even think that anything could happen between me and Isaac is probably a really bad idea.
And besides, even if I were ready to get involved with someone, the last person it would be is Isaac Brandano. I mean, the guy’s like a big red flag. A red flag with arms and legs and killer abs. In fact, they should call him Red Flag Guy.
“I’m not upset at all,” I say to Rielle. “He’s like Red Flag Guy. Fun to kiss, but now that that’s been accomplished, I’m totally going to stay away from him.”
She grins, showing off her professionally whitened smile. “God, Kels, I am sooo glad you just said that. Honestly, after what happened with Rex, I was really worried about you.”
/>
“Why? Were you afraid I was going to get all crazy again?”
“No,” she says, “just that, I don’t know, you might be scarred for life or something.” She holds her hand out in front of her face and frowns down at her nails. “I knew I should have gotten a manicure, too.”
“Scarred for life?”
“Yeah.” She pulls her feet away from the dryer and wiggles her toes. Rielle has very cute feet. Perfect size six, which means that we can never share shoes. I’m an eight and a half, a nine if I’m being completely honest. “You know how you always hear about things like that? Like, how people had a bad relationship in high school, and now all their relationships are a big mess?”
“Who?” I ask, and frown. “Who have you heard about that happening to?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “All those people on those shows about thirtysomethings, like Sex and the City or whatever. They’re all, like, damaged.”
“I think that’s because they all have daddy issues,” I say, “not because they had broken hearts in high school.”
“Well, you have daddy issues too,” she says, grinning. “We all do.”
Ain’t that the truth. Still. I’m not sure I buy into her whole theory. It seems crazy that a high school relationship could mess you up for life. But something about the conversation must strike a chord with me, because when my phone rings a few minutes later and it’s Isaac, I don’t know if I should answer it or not.
“It’s him,” I say, staring down at the caller ID. “He’s calling me.”
My heart is bouncing around happily in my chest. It almost doesn’t seem real, his name flashing on the screen. I feel like I need to peer at it closely, to look at each letter, to make sure it’s really him. Weird, right? Even weirder is that even after that whole semilecture from Rielle, I really, really want to talk to him.
“Are you going to answer it?” Rielle asks. And maybe it’s the way Rielle’s looking at me. Or maybe it’s just because I want to prove to myself that I don’t need Isaac Brandano. But before I know it, my hand is over the reject button. And then I decline the call and send it to voicemail.