The Best Laid Plans(60)

It feels like she’s flirting with him just to torture me, just to throw everything in my face. But she doesn’t know anything about what happened. She doesn’t know about the Plan. I’m the one being ridiculous. I’m sitting across the booth from James Dean; I shouldn’t care about hands in Andrew’s hair—hers or mine.

I narrow my eyes and send her a text back.

    Yup, definitely have it in me





Then I text Andrew.

    What are you doing?? You don’t even like her





“So, is this the first time you guys have ever been on a double date together?” Danielle asks, motioning to Andrew and me. “Actually, forget that. I don’t want to know about this guy’s dating history.” She slaps him playfully on the arm. “Sophie’s already told me too much.”

“You couldn’t handle it,” he says to her.

“Whatever, Reed. I can handle anything.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

I don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore. Their flirting feels so dumb and scripted. Party Andrew is out in full force. I bring my wineglass up to my lips and try to take a sip but realize it’s empty.

    ANDREW

Why do you think I don’t like her?





ME

She’s a hand grenade, remember?





ANDREW

That’s what makes it exciting





“Keely, do you want some of my water?” Danielle asks, holding the wine in my direction. I grab it from her gratefully, taking a long swig. It burns the back of my throat.

“So, what’s the deal with you two?” Dean asks, motioning a toned arm at Danielle and Andrew.

“Well, I mean, there’s always sort of been a thing,” Danielle says, reaching up to play with her necklace.

“Always?” I ask, because it’s definitely not true.

“Remember when you gave me that stupid valentine in sixth grade?” Danielle asks, ignoring my question. She leans forward, eyes sparkling.

“Um.” Andrew pauses, fiddling with the fork sitting on the folded napkin in front of him. There’s an annoying tap tap tap sound as it hits the table. His cheeks are tinged pink. “I try not to remember that.”

“It had one of those weird fighting turtles on it,” she says.

“Ninja Turtles,” Andrew corrects.

I think about the hours we spent on the couch in his basement watching reruns of the Ninja Turtles on TV; how we used cardboard paper towel rolls as weapons and ran around the room sparring with each other. I don’t know how sixth-grade Andrew could have ever thought sending a Ninja Turtle–themed valentine to Danielle would be a good idea.

“Whatever,” she says. “It said: ‘I love you more than pizza.’”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” Andrew says, running a hand over the back of his neck. He looks a little sweaty, like he’s just come down with a fever.

“Hard to forget something that embarrassing,” she says. “You were such a nerd.”

Why didn’t he ask me for advice back then? It seems like something he would have checked in with me about. I could have told him the valentine was a terrible idea; that he should have given her something with glitter. I’m surprised he managed to keep this secret for so many years. What else don’t I know about?

The waitress comes by with a basket of breadsticks, some butter, and dipping sauce, and puts it down on the table in front of us, leaving with a smile in Dean’s direction. I grab one and rip into it, spraying crumbs over the tabletop.

“Anyway, you’ve liked me for years,” Danielle says, cocking her head in Andrew’s direction.

“Pretty confident of you,” Dean says, taking a sip of his wine.

Danielle shrugs. “I’m a confident person.”

“So I’ve gathered.” His mouth curls up on one side. She imitates his expression, quirking her mouth into a matching smirk, hers artificial lipstick red. It strikes me suddenly how similar they are. It seems backward that I’m the one with Dean instead of her. But then it hits me—haven’t I been imitating her this whole time? He’s with Danielle and he doesn’t even know it.

“I just don’t know why it took you so many years to make a move,” she says to Andrew.

“It wasn’t that many years.” He reaches over for the water bottle and takes a sip. I feel his leg brush against mine again under the table, and I move mine quickly away. It’s getting exhausting trying not to touch him.

“Until junior year? That’s a long time,” Danielle says.

“But you’re seniors,” Dean says, stiffening. “You’re about to graduate. Right?”

Danielle laughs. “Duh, James Dean. Don’t freak out. You’re not being pervy. Keely’s eighteen.”

“What happened junior year?” I pick up another breadstick and slather butter onto it, holding the knife stiffly in my hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew says. “It’s weird we’re talking about it.”