The Pretty One(58)

It’s a low blow, but Lucy doesn’t seem to realize it. She is just standing there giving me her cool-as-a-cucumber icy glare.

I forget all about my vow to be nice. As far as I’m concerned, the gloves are off. “Well,” I say, “you’ll be glad to know that my kissing ability has improved significantly. Drew and I worked on our kiss all afternoon and according to him, I’m a natural.”

“Good for you,” she snaps.

But I don’t gloat. I send the e-mail to George as Lucy gathers her pajamas, her pillow, and her comforter and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. As I look at the bulletin board crammed with all her theater pictures, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia and longing for simpler times, when my dream of looking like Lucy hadn’t come true yet.





nineteen

rehearsal (noun): a practice session, usually private, in preparation for a public performance.

Dear Megan,

I know you’re a novice in love and life and I fear I have frightened you by my exuberance. All I can say is that your smile continues to haunt my sleep. Go with me to the fall festival. It is the only way to soothe my restless soul.





G




“That’s pathetic,” Simon says, as he finishes reading George’s note. “Oooh. I am haunting your dreams, wooooo.”

“Woooo,” I say, but it’s a halfhearted, sick to my stomach, wooo.

A week has passed since I sent George that e-mail and I haven’t spoken or communicated with him at all. I was just beginning to relax and not run in the opposite direction when I saw him. But his note put me back on high alert. As a result, even though it’s been raining off and on all day, Simon and I are eating our lunch on the steps of a deserted church a block away from school. “What’s it going to take for old Wayne Newton to get the message?” Simon asks.

“Wayne Newton?”

“Tony Roberts.”

“Tony Roberts? The giant you-can-do-it guy?”

“That’s Tony Robbins. I was trying to think of some big Broadway singer.”

“Kristin Chenoweth,” I say.

“What’s it going to take for old Kristin to get the message?” Simon asks.

“I wish I knew.”


I take back the note and stick it into my purse. I rub my half-frozen hands together. Baltimore has been suffering through a totally schizoid fall with hot, sunny days sandwiched in between unusually cold and damp weather. Today it’s freezing cold, and even though I’m wearing two hoodies underneath my giant raincoat from last year, I’m still shivering.

I pick up my turkey sandwich (that was made as designated by my Lucy diet: whole wheat bread, mustard—no mayo) and a glob of mustard slides off the sandwich onto the step. As I wipe it off with my napkin, I’m happy that no one (besides Simon) is there to witness my messy eating. “I have to say I’m surprised. I thought this whole dating thing was a dead issue.”

“What does Lucy say?”

“She’s not really talking to me these days,” I say, choking down a bite. I really hate mustard. “We’ve gotten into fights before but nothing ever like this. She’s really ticked about the way I’ve handled this whole George thing.”

“I guarantee you, Lucy couldn’t care less about George. She’s just jealous,” he says matter-of-factly as he leans back and tucks his hands into the pocket of his brown corduroy jacket. Simon is an incredibly fast eater, and as per usual, he’s already finished with his lunch.

“Because I got the part in Drew’s play?”

“She’s used to being the star of the show. And now you’re the pretty one.”

“Don’t say that,” I say quickly.

“Why not? It’s true,” Simon says. “In fact, I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Amazingly enough, I’m no longer cold. In fact, I’m so warm I’ve begun to sweat. I fiddle with the napkin in my lap. “So what should I do about George?”

“Maybe you should accept a date to the fall festival with someone else. He’ll get the message.”

“That’s an idea,” I say. I stick the lite fruit cocktail back in my bag, untouched.

“What about Drew?”

I have thought about this, of course. I have thought about this a lot. But although practice has been coming along really well and we always have a great time together (at least, I think so) and my kissing had improved dramatically (at least, I think so), I still can’t tell if he’s really into me or not.

“I’m not sure how much Drew likes me. A little bit at least, but then he and Lucy are going to see that play at the Kennedy Center tomorrow, so I don’t really know.” I have discovered they’re going to a matinee, not an evening performance, which makes me feel a tiny bit better since it doesn’t seem so date-ish. But still, just thinking about it is enough to make my angina flare up.

“So maybe you should go to the dance with me,” Simon says casually.

My heart begins thwacking. “Oh, Simon,” I say, with a little forced laugh as I clutch my chest. “I made you take me last year. You should ask someone you really like.”

“I just did: you.”