Crash Test Love (15 page)

“What? No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m real y too young to be a grandmother,” she says, taking a bot le of water out of the fridge and downing it.

“You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“Good. So what do you want for dinner? Turkey? Not like I cooked a turkey. I do have cold cuts, though. I could make you a sandwich.”

“That’s okay. I’m eating dinner with some friends from school.”

“Those girls you’ve been talking about?” She looks at me as though I’ve been lying about the J Squad these past few weeks.

“Yes, Mother. Those girls. Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not. Or rather, I am a lit le bit, but I’m glad you’re making friends. Friends who don’t have penises. Can I meet them? Just to make sure they don’t only exist in your head?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’l embarrass me. And these are new friends. I don’t want to scare them away.”

“You know,” she says, taking o the bandana and dabbing the back of her neck with it, “when I was in high school I had dozens of friends.

Mil ions. I was friend central. No one thought I was embarrassing then!”

“Yeah, wel , times change. What can I tel you. I’ve got a get ready.”

“Have you spoken to Amy recently?” she yel s as I’m running up the stairs. “How’s she doing?”

“Fine,” I say, even though I have no idea if this is actual y true.

“Tel her I say yodelay hee hoo! the next time you talk to her,” Mom screeches.

Sure. And I’l tel her a whole lot more than that.

I almost forget how mad I am at Amy for dropping the bal on our friendship, because dinner with the J Squad is real y “Fabulous” (Paul McCartney, 1999). I never realized how sil y things can get with a few girls, some pasta, and a cute waiter.

“How come I’ve never seen you guys at any parties?” Devin, our waiter, asks us. When he’d mentioned that he went to Hofstra, we’d told him we were rst-semester sophomores there.

“We don’t real y party,” Jyl ian says. “We mostly stay in and play with my Ouija board.”

“Real y?” he asks.

“We’re trying to communicate with the ghost of my dead twin,” London says. “She was trampled by a horse.” Devin looks real y sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” London says casual y. “She was fat. Can I have another Diet Coke?”

“Uh, sure.”

“I love messing with waiters,” she says once he’s gone. “They’re al so … gul ible.”

“You know what else are gul ible? Fish,” I say, pretending my hands are gil s.

No one laughs.

“So I’ve narrowed down my dress options for Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen,” Jyl ian says. The invitations came in the mail the other day—I was invited!—and according to the J Squad, guring out what to wear is going to occupy pret y much the entire month of October.

“What color scheme are you going with?” Jessica asks, biting into a breadstick and slipping another one into her purse. “Rainbow?”

“Black,” Jyl ian says. “I want something classic and slut y, but not slut y slut y, you know? Classy slut y. Clut y. I want guys watching MTV to want me, not think I’m a whore.”

“But you are a whore,” London says. “No o ense.”

“None taken,” Jyl ian says, turning to me and shrugging. “I kind of am.”

“I want to wear something lavish and purple,” London says, “but not bright purple. Sort of a dul purple.”

“Lavender?” Jessica asks.

“Absolutely not,” London says, looking horri ed. “Lavender is for freaks. That color is so rusty.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“What about you, Garret ?”

“What about you, Garret ?”

I haven’t thought much about my dress yet, but I like things that are simple and elegant. And somewhat a ordable. “I actual y saw a dress at Anthropologie the other day that was real y cute. It was teal, but not in a tacky way.”

“OMG,” Jessica says, “I know exactly which dress you’re talking about. It would look lavish on you. You have to get it.”

“I think I wil .”

Amy is (was—are we even friends anymore?) kind of tomboyish; she plays lacrosse and soccer, and her idea of dressing up is not wearing a pair of cleats. I can’t even begin to imagine talking about Sweet Sixteens and dresses and shopping with her. While those things aren’t my entire life, they are part of my life. It’s nice to have girlfriends to share that with.

“So,” London says while we’re guring out what to order for dessert, “what’s the latest Henry update?”

“He’s in my gym class, and this morning we were doing sit-ups, and I wasn’t his partner but I was next to his partner, and I peeked over while he was doing them—he can do so many—and I’m not sure but, like, I think I saw his bal s,” Jyl ian says without stopping to breathe.

London smacks her. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Garret .”

Jyl ian giggles. “Oh. Right.” She leans forward and says, “If they were his bal s, then they’re huge.”

“That’s enough,” London says. “Real y.”

I can’t help but laugh. One of the reasons I like the J Squad is because, wel , they’re outrageous. “Henry’s good,” I say. “Things are good.”

“Details!” Jessica demands, taking a straw out of her purse and dropping it into her drink. “Juicy ones!” I tel them about our “date” to the drive-in. What I don’t tel them is how much we’ve spoken since then—every night—and how oddly special the time we spend together is. When I agreed to the J Squad’s bet, I never imagined Henry would turn into someone I could actual y see myself dating. Of course, there’s my personal mantra: I don’t want a boyfriend. Only, Henry makes me wonder if said mantra is actual y true.

“I cannot believe Henry Arlington took you on a date,” Jyl ian says. “He’s never done that. For anyone. And I mean anyone.” She shoots London a sideways glance. “Not even you.”

Not even you? What does that mean? I stare at London for a hint, but she doesn’t provide one.

“What’s he like?” Jessica asks, sighing. “I mean, what’s he real y like? When you’re alone together.” I don’t want to reveal too much, but I also want them to know how far along I am in this “LoveGame” (Lady Gaga, 2008). “He’s very sweet,” I tel them, “and he real y likes movies. He’s very smart about lm in general.”

“More!” Jessica says. “Tel us more!”

I notice that London is completely silent.

Final y, she says: “I heard he crashed a Sweet Sixteen in Carle Place the other night.” He did?

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I’m sure,” she says, nodding. “He can’t like you that much if he’s stil crashing parties, Garret .” Her tone implies that I have failed, somehow. It frustrates me. If Henry’s stil crashing Sweet Sixteens, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

“I wonder if he hooked up with anyone,” Jessica says. “That would be so … rusty.” I can’t help but wonder the very same thing. I thought we connected during our date. But maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe I need to do more.

“Did you guys decide on a dessert?” Devin asks, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“Yes,” Jyl ian says, squishing her boobs together with her arms. “We’l have the tiramisu for two for four.”

“Coming right up!”

“And a cappuccino,” London cal s after him.

“And another one,” Jessica says.

“Make that three,” I say. Then I look at Jyl ian. “Do you want one?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no thanks. My parents don’t believe in cappuccino.”

“What?”

“They think it’s the devil’s drink.”

“Back to you,” says London, reapplying lip gloss with her pinky. “It sounds like you real y like him. Like, real y like him.” I need to steer this conversation away from dangerous territory. “I have no desire to date Henry. I just want to win.” London looks at me skeptical y. “Are you sure?”

My hands start shaking and I hide them under the table. “Absolutely.”

“Wel , whatever you do,” she says, smacking her lips together and staring at me with smoldering eyes, “don’t fal in love with him.” I try to mirror her intensity, but instead of coming o smoldering, I come o cross-eyed.

“Did your contacts dry up?” Jyl ian asks. “I have re-wet ing drops in my bag.”

“I’m ne.”

“Because you look a lit le wonky …”

“Garret said she was ne,” London says sharply. She continues to stare at me, even once the cappuccinos arrive and the tiramisu disappears and we pay the bil . She only breaks her gaze when it’s time to leave.

“So how was dinner?” Henry asks me later that night on the phone. It’s incredible, real y—the way he pays at ention to everything I say.

“Fine,” I say. “We talked a lot about Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen. They’re al real y excited.”

“I’m sure.” I can hear the laughter in his voice. God knows what he thinks of the J Squad. Probably that they’re nasty and why the hel am I friends with them anyway? I want to ask whether he’s hooked up with any of them, but I can’t tel if Henry is someone who likes to talk about that kind of stu or not. I assume not. He hasn’t asked me about any of my past relationships (not that I want him to—awkward), but it does strike me as odd that we’re skirting around the fact that I know he has a reputation as a total player. I’m dying to know why he told people that we hooked up, and why he’s stil crashing parties, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Are you excited?” he asks.

“Are you excited?” he asks.

“I guess. I’ve never been to anything that’s been lmed for TV before.”

“I was an extra once,” he says.

“Real y?”

“Not on purpose or anything. I was at this amusement park a few years ago and they were lming that awful movie with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore, where he’s some, like, aging pop star.”

“Music and Lyrics?”

“That’s it. Anyway, you see my face for al of ve seconds.”

“Wow,” I say. “I had no idea I was talking to a movie star.”

“Oh yeah, baby. You know it.”

There’s a bit of silence after he cal s me baby, even though I know he meant it casual y.

“Wel ,” I say, “you must be pret y excited for Destiny’s big bash.”

“Oh?”

“Seeing as how you love Sweet Sixteens and al .”

He laughs.

“It’s true!”

“I’m actual y not,” he says. “That excited.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather just hang out with you.”

More silence. Honesty. I am about to say We could just skip it and watch a movie, but the entire point of this charade is to show up with Henry as his date. I know that if I do, he’l get his feelings hurt, and if I don’t, the J Squad wil make my life miserable. Either way, this has become a lose-lose situation.

I go back and forth about how to respond until I remember the rumor about us hooking up and why I started on this quest in the rst place.

“We could go together,” I suggest. “You could show me what a Sweet Sixteen is like through Henry Arlington’s eyes. If you want.”

“I’d love to,” he says. Judging from how quickly he answers, I know he means it. “I would love to go with you.” This makes me feel a bunch of things at once: happiness (at get ing one step closer to completing the J Squad’s plan), sadness (at get ing one step closer to screwing Henry over), and general confusion about how to move forward.

“Okay then,” I say. “It’s set led.”

We continue talking about anything and everything. There is no lter with Henry. We talk about movies and music and art and TV and Duke and Nigel and the J Squad and col ege basketbal (he’s a Duke fan). Before I know it, it’s practical y three a.m. We’ve been on the phone for nearly four hours.

“We’ve been talking for a long time,” I say.

“I know. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with anyone that lasted longer than ve minutes.” I’ve had longer conversations than that, sure, but never like this. Not even with Ben. I don’t say anything. I am thinking about what—if anything, and surely the ease at which we can communicate is something—this means.

“You know what’s crazy?” he asks.

“No. What?”

He takes a breath that is so deep I can hear it. “I could keep talking to you. Forever.” I’m not heartless, you know. When I hear him say this, everything inside me screams Tel him about the bet you made with the J Squad! I don’t, though. If I tel him, he wil stop talking to me; I’l lose the bet and then I wil be left with no one. With nothing. And I do like talking to Henry. A lot, actual y. But I also like hanging out with the J Squad.

I’m not sure what to do. I need more time to think.

“I’m tired,” I say. “I should probably go.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding slightly disappointed. “See you tomorrow?”

“Mm-hmm. G’night.”

I hang up the phone and wonder if I’m a terrible, horrible person or if, unwit ingly, the game I have been playing is in fact playing me.

HENRY

In 2002, the American Film Institute (AFI) published a list of the one hundred greatest love stories on lm. I don’t particularly believe in lists like this one (what quali es the AFI to decide the “best” movies in any genre?), but Roger thought it would be a good gimmick for the cinema, so starting tonight we’re showing the Top Ten lms on the AFI’s list, one per night.

ROGER

It’ll be good for couples. Y’know. Romantic and shit.