At First Sight (10 page)

I sighed. “Oh, I have some details for you, all right.”

She blinked, leaning closer to scrutinize my expression. “What's that face?
That doesn't look like a happy blissed-out-in-love Lauren face. What happened? Did he turn out to have bad breath, stinky feet, an obsession with stamp collecting? What?”

She looked so frenetic that I couldn't help laughing a little. “Shut up already and I'll tell you… .”

On our way up to my room, I filled her in on everything, including the recent exchange of FB messages.

“So basically,” I finished at last, “even though I had a great time with him last night—”

“At least before Boobsy McSlutterson showed up,” Britt put in, nodding sympathetically from her position sprawled out on my bed.

“Yeah, that. Anyway, it's just totally frustrating. If he thought I was The One at the planetarium when I was tripping over my own feet and falling all over him in the dark, why can't he see it when I'm standing there in front of him? Especially since, like he pointed out himself, there aren't that many girls around who are so into the Beast. I mean, what the hell?”

“I don't know.” Britt shrugged. “Guys are a mystery.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you were the world's leading expert on the species.”

“Oh, I totally am! But that doesn't mean I actually understand them. I just know how to make them behave.” She grinned. “Sort of like a lion tamer or something.” Then she went serious again. “The question is, babe, do
you
still feel those sparks? Because if you do, it's worth trying to whip that lion into shape.”

I kicked back in my desk chair, staring at my laptop and feeling kind of moody. “Yeah. That's the crazy thing. After getting to know him better, I'm feeling more sparks than ever.” I shrugged and glanced at her. “Which brings me back to my main question. Why doesn't he feel it too? Why can't he see that
I'm
the girl from the planetarium—or at least that I'm the one who's right for him?”

“It's not that simple,” Britt said. “Guys are, like, total idiots about this kind of stuff. All you have to do is prove to him that you two are meant to be, and he'll come around. We just need a plan.”

“A plan?” I echoed dubiously.

“Sure.” Britt was lying on her stomach
with her feet sticking up behind her, and as her face went into thoughtful mode, her feet started waggling around—sort of like how Meow's tail twitches when he's pondering a pounce on my dad's toes.

I was thinking too. Mostly about how there had been enough game playing already between me and Riley.

“I don't know … ,” I began.

“I've got it!” Britt sat bolt upright. “How about if I call and tell him you were in a terrible accident and you're in the hospital? That should shake him up and make him realize what you mean to him!”

“Ew, no!” I was horrified by the very thought. “What is this, my life or some cheesy soap opera? Besides, what happens if he does show up at the hospital and I'm not there?”

She shrugged, seemingly untroubled by my reaction. “Okay, then how about this?” she said. “We create a fake Facebook account and pretend to be one of the Planetarium Girl fakers. Then we arrange for our faker to meet him in some out of the way but totally romantic spot, like maybe the steps of the Lincoln Memorial or something. Then when she stands him up—of course, since she
doesn't exist—and you happen to walk past at just the right time—”

“Are you kidding? This is me we're talking about here, not Drew Barrymore starring in some madcap, zany romantic comedy movie.”

“So what? Maybe if you lived your life like a romantic comedy, you'd get more dates.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, the point is, I'm disappointed, but I'm not desperate. If Riley has decided for whatever reason that he doesn't want to be with me as more than a music buddy or whatever, I'll just have to deal.” I sighed, my mind drifting to the way his arms had felt holding me in the planetarium, and then to our awesome conversation in the ice cream parlor. “It's just a shame this didn't work out… .”

Britt looked sort of annoyed. “So you're really just going to give up? Even after the sparks and everything?”

“I told you I didn't believe in love at first sight. Maybe this just proves I was right.”

She glared at me for a second, looking sort of sullen. Then her expression cleared. “Okay, whatevs,” she said with a wave of
one hand. “If that's really the way you want to go, I'm with you. BFFs, right?”

“Right,” I said, relieved for once that she had such a short attention span, especially when it came to guys.

“Then the next item on the agenda is cheering you up and helping you forget all about Mr. Planetarium What's-His-Name.” She beamed at me. “And what better way to forget one guy than with another one? Better yet, a whole bunch of other ones?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tonight's that party over in Silver Grove, remember? The one Tommo invited us to.”

“Invited
you
to,” I corrected. “I just happened to be sitting there.”

She ignored that. “You saw for yourself that Tommo's superhot,” she said. “I'm dying to get to know him a little better, see what he's all about. So how about it? Want to hit the Grove scene tonight and do some dancing?”

“Silver Grove?” I said. “That's where Riley lives. What if he's at the party? I don't want him to think I'm stalking him like one of those crazy posers from Facebook.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot Riley goes
to Grove too. Still, he and Tommo don't exactly seem like they'd hang with the same crowd.”

Yeah. That was the understatement of the year.

“And anyway, if he does show, can't you just, like, avoid him or whatever?” Britt's voice took on a pleading tone. “See, Tommo's totally hot, but like you said yourself, he's maybe kind of nuts, too. If I'm going to this party, I'd rather have my wingwoman along just in case I need a handy excuse to cut out early, know what I mean?”

I hesitated, but only for a moment. This wasn't the first time Britt had asked me to play her sidekick at a party or other event. And normally I was happy to do it. That was what friends were for, right? So why should I let a guy—no matter how cute yet exasperating—come between BFFs?

“Okay,” I said, trying not to let my reluctance show. “I guess I'm there.”

I stared at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. If I did say so myself, I was looking pretty great. My hair fell over my shoulders in glossy waves, my lips were sporting the latest hot shade of scarlet, and I'd put together a killer outfit: a sassy red-and-white print dress from my favorite vintage clothing shop on U Street, some cute ballet flats, and a few key pieces of funky jewelry.

As I surveyed my party-ready look, I did my best to quiet my nerves. Moving on was one thing. Was it a huge mistake to try to do it at a party in Riley's hometown? Different crowds or not, what if he
did
show up?

But I knew it was too late to back out
now. I couldn't leave Britt in the lurch, especially since I was more than a little dubious about Tommo's sanity myself.

“Plus, it would be a waste of an awesome look,” I whispered to my reflection. I spun around to get all the angles, hoping to psych myself up. It worked—but only a little. Still, it was enough to get me moving out the door and down the stairs.

As I headed for the front door to watch for Britt, I saw my parents bustling around the kitchen, unpacking weird-looking ingredients from several shopping bags. They were laughing and chatting, and my mom was holding a glass of wine. Chairman Meow was weaving in and out between their legs, clearly hoping for a treat.

“Oh, right,” I said. “It's date night.”

My dad looked up from unpacking a bunch of bags of nuts and raisins and stuff. “That's right, Lauren,” he said. “We're kicking off Moroccan week with some
ferakh maamer
. Want to join us?”

“Wouldn't that sort of defeat the purpose?” I leaned against the doorframe. “I mean, date night should be about romance.” I shot a look at the raw chicken my mom had just taken out of its own bag. “Not that
cooking up your own dinner and then hanging around the house seems all that super-romantic to me.”

They both just chuckled and exchanged an amused look. Typical. What they called date night usually consisted of little more than staying home, cooking a meal of whatever exotic ethnic cuisine they'd chosen for the week, and then playing board games or looking through old photos or just hanging out and playing with Meow. Like I said, not exactly super-romantic in my book.

“You look nice tonight, honey,” Mom said, taking in my outfit.

Dad nodded. “Looks like you're ready to go out dancing,” he added.

“Thanks.” I twirled to give them the full effect. “So why don't you two ever make date night a
real
date night? You know—get all dressed up in your best clothes, hit the town, go out dancing …”

Again they both chuckled. “Dancing? Us?” Mom said.

Dad did a funny little shuffle in his slippers. “Do any of the hot new dances call for two left feet?” he joked.

“I'm being serious,” I said. “Why not give it a try?”

“We're just not ‘going out' people, Lauren,” my mother said with a smile, reaching over to give Dad's arm a fond squeeze. “Come to think of it, weren't you asking the other day how we got together? Because that's how.”

“What do you mean?”

“She means that back in college, we were the two who always wanted to hang out at the dorm instead of hitting all the parties.” Dad shrugged. “And even now, we still have the most fun just spending time together like this.”

“Okay, if you say so … ,” I said just as the doorbell rang. “That's Britt. See you later.”

“Don't be too late,” Mom called after me as I headed down the hall.

“And have fun!” Dad added. “Do some extra dancing for us!”

“Wow. When Tommo said half of metro DC would be here, guess he wasn't exaggerating,” Britt said as she threw her car into park.

“At least not much,” I agreed. We'd finally found a free space where Britt could wedge her car in between a Prius and a
motorcycle. The rest of the leafy suburban block was completely packed with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. And it wasn't hard to tell where most of the drivers and passengers had gone. A stately Georgian-style house near the middle of the block was lit up like the Fourth of July, with loud music blaring out of every window. If the neighbors hadn't called the police already, I was sure it was only a matter of time.

Britt climbed out of the driver's seat, smoothing down her trendy cami top and sleek True Religions. She shot me a look across the top of the car as I got out too. “Ready to rumble?” she asked, looking eager and confident. As always.

“Sure, I guess.” I was feeling anything but eager and confident myself. More like nauseated. My stomach had started doing flips as soon as we'd reached Silver Grove. I wasn't sure whether that was because I was afraid of running into Riley, or because I was hoping I
would
run into him. Frankly, the very possibility was giving me the major shivery chills.

When we reached the party house, the front door was standing wide open. Inside we could see throngs of teenagers mingling
and having fun. Loud voices competed with the blaring music, and the air was rich with the scents of sweat, beer, and cologne.

Nobody paid much attention to us as we entered the foyer. Well, aside from the usual guys checking Britt out. She gets that everywhere she goes; I usually don't even notice it anymore. Although this time I couldn't help noticing that some of the guys were giving
me
the once-over, too. Yay for my awesome outfit!

“How are we ever going to find Tommo in this crowd?” I asked, speaking directly into Britt's ear so she could hear me over all the racket.

Britt shrugged. “He's not too hard to spot,” she shouted back.

She had a point there. Tommo was the type of guy who'd be hard to miss even in the middle of a hurricane or something. We didn't see him in the formal living room off to the right, where a couple of hippie chicks were doing some sort of interpretive dance while a bearded guy with glasses played the ukulele. I wasn't sure how they heard him, since the hip-hop music from the next room was so loud it was making the whole house throb. But they seemed happy enough in
their own little world. They didn't even seem to notice the couple making out on the sofa, or the kid drawing on his own arm with a marking pen, or the two teams of meatheads laughing uproariously as they winged Doritos at each other.

We pushed our way through all that to another room behind the first, where the music was even louder. That was because the house's expensive-looking stereo system was in there. It was hard to tell what the room's usual purpose was, since all the furniture had been shoved back against the walls to create a dance floor. At least two or three dozen people were currently bopping, grooving, grinding, and/or writhing to the beat while others were lined up around the edges to watch.

I took a look around, feeling sort of like some kind of explorer in a foreign land. It was weird to be at a party where I didn't recognize a soul. Or did I? I suddenly noticed a vaguely familiar blond head bouncing up and down at the far end of the room. I poked Britt on the shoulder.

“I think Tommo's over there,” I shouted in her ear, hoping she could hear me over the wall of bass blasting out of the stereo.

Her eyes lit up as she looked where I was pointing. “Wish me luck!” she said.

At least that was my best guess at what she said, based on prior knowledge of her speech patterns and some rough amateur lip-reading. I smiled and nodded, patting the pocket in my skirt to indicate my cell phone, which was set on vibrate. We'd already agreed on a bunch of secret code words and stuff that she could use if she wanted me to come rescue her.