Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better (11 page)

“What? No, I was about to fall.” I hold up my crazy boots to illustrate the point. “See? I’m wearing completely ridiculous and inappropriate boots that I stole from my mother.”

At that moment, Mel comes wandering into Bailey’s family room, looking confused.

“There you are!” she says when she spots me. “I’ve
been ringing the doorbell forever, but no one came. So finally I just walked in.”

“I guess no one could hear it with all the music going on.” Mel looks out onto the dance floor, where Bailey and Kim are basically doing a pole dance around Greg.

“Is that Greg?” Mel sounds doubtful.

“Yup,” I say. “That’s Greg. My
ex-
boyfriend. Who I’m totally over.” I raise my voice a little so that Luke will be sure to hear. “And who’s obviously totally over me, since he’s out there dancing with two other girls.”

“Oh, please,” Luke scoffs. “It’s obvious that he’s dancing with them just to make you jealous.” He drains the rest of the soda that’s in his cup. “I’m going to get another drink,” he says. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” I say. “I’m good.” I take a sip of my Sprite.

“Right,” he says, walking off.

“No, wait, actually, I mean I’d like a Coke!” I yell after him. But he doesn’t hear me. Either that, or he just doesn’t want to listen. Mel and I watch as he walks over to the table where the drinks are, pours himself a cup of soda, and then starts talking to Lexi and Jared. He doesn’t seem like he’s in too much of a hurry to get back over to me.

“Wow,” Mel says. “What did I miss?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say. “It’s a complete and total disaster.” I sit back down on the couch, and Mel slides down next to me. For the first time, I notice Mel’s all dressed up. And not in the going-to-a-party-at-Bailey-Barelli’s kind of way, but more of a going-to-church-and-or-my-grandma’s-house kind of way. She’s wearing a long black dress and black flats, and her hair is pulled back into a neat bun. “Why are you all dressed up?” I asked her.

“I just felt like it,” Mel says, looking down at the floor. I frown. Lexi and I offered to give Mel a ride over here with us, but she turned it down, saying that her mom would drive her. It seemed a little weird at the time, but I was so consumed with what was going to happen at the party, that I didn’t really think too much about it. But now it seems
very
weird.

“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” She tries to look innocent, but I’m not buying it. Her eyes flutter over to the soda table. “Do they have iced tea over there? I could really use a drink.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” I say. I stand up, grab her hand, and march her into the hallway outside of Bailey’s family room. The walls there are covered with pictures of Bailey and her sister. Bailey on a
beach, Bailey in second grade, Bailey, Bailey, Bailey. I resist the urge to study some of the group shots up close, to see if Luke is in any of them. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing going on,” she says. Her eyes are darting around nervously, like she’s some kind of animal that I have cornered.

“I don’t believe you,” I challenge. “You’ve been acting weird for the past week. There was that paper that fell out of your locker, and how you didn’t want me and Lexi to stay for dinner, and how you didn’t want to ride over here with us.” She doesn’t say anything, and just bites her lip. “And then when you do show up, you’re dressed like you’ve been . . . I dunno, at some kind of college interview or something.” I expect her to laugh, but a look of panic flashes across her face.

“That’s crazy.” She forces a laugh.

“Is it?”

She slides down the wall and collapses into a heap on the floor of Bailey Barelli’s front hallway. Her dress makes a pool around her knees, and she looks like she’s floating in a sea of black skirt.

“What is it?” I ask. I try to get down next to her, but my jeans won’t really let me. So I settle for crouching, but that doesn’t really work either, because of my boots. Finally, I give up and just plop down on my
butt, sprawling out next to her.

And then I notice that Mel is crying. A big tear slides down her cheek and lands on the floor.

“What is it?” I repeat. “Mel, what’s wrong?” Then I realize I’ve never seen Mel wear all black before. “Were you . . . were you at a funeral?” Mel is very close to her Grandma Purvis, her dad’s mom. Maybe she’s been sick or something, and Mel didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want me to worry. And now I’ve made her come all the way out here to stupid Bailey Barelli’s house, so that she could provide moral support because of my stupid fake boyfriend situation. I should be ashamed of myself.

“No,” Mel says. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “No one died.”

Oh. Phew. “Then what is it? Does it have to do with Dylan? What did that jerk do? I swear to God I’ll—”

“No,” Mel says. “It’s not Dylan.” Oh. Right. Why would Dylan make Mel dress all in black? Unless she was in mourning for him or something. But that’s ridiculous. Obviously I’m not a very good guesser. So I decide to just wait. I mean, Mel will tell me, right? And if she doesn’t want to, then I have to respect that. I’ll be hurt, of course, but a girl has to have
some—

“Private school,” Mel whispers. She looks up at me, her eyes watery, like two dark pools.

“Private school? Ooh,” I say, nodding. “Does this have anything to do with those two girls who live down the street from you?” There are these two totally obnoxious girls who live a few doors down from Mel—I can never remember their names, Cyn and Win, or something. They’re twins. Anyway, they go to private school and are super snotty. Sometimes they make fun of Mel, and one time, when we were in fourth grade, they wrote “Mel Smells” on her driveway in chalk. Super mature, that Cyn and Win. “Are they giving you a hard time again? Don’t worry about it, we’ll get Lexi to come over and talk to them.” Lexi’s very tough. Most people are scared of her, especially when she gets really angry.

“Devon,” Mel says. She grabs my shoulders. “This has nothing to do with Molly and Polly.” Aha! Molly and Polly! I should have remembered, since Polly totally sounds like a parrot when she talks.

“Then what does it have to do with private school?”

“My mom wants me to go,” she says, shrugging. “To private school. Starting this year. Soon. As soon as
she can get me in.”

“What?!” I’m so shocked that if I weren’t already sprawled in Bailey’s hallway, I probably would have fallen over. “What do you mean, your mom wants you to go to private school?”

“My mom wants me to go to private school,” Mel repeats, speaking slowly so I’ll understand.

“But
why
?” Private school sounds horrible. Uniforms. Girls like Cyn and Win. Tons of homework. And no BFF, i.e., me.

“She thinks I’d do better if I was in a different academic environment,” Mel says. “She thinks that since I’m only a few years away from high school, I really need to start focusing on school so that I can get into a good college.”

“But can’t you just focus on school at our school?” I’m starting to know what people mean when they say they’re having a panic attack. My heart is in my chest, and the room feels very, very small. Of course, that could be because we’re sitting in a very small hallway, but still. I can’t even imagine not being in school with Mel. Not dropping off our notebook in her locker every day. Not eating lunch with her. Not meeting her before class. Not talking to her during science. What if she makes a new best friend? A new, cooler, private-school
best friend, and she forgets all about me? I feel a lump rise in my throat.

“Not according to my mom,” Mel says. “Devon, what am I going to do? At first I thought she was just sort of messing around with the idea, you know?” She sniffles. “But now she’s actually taking it seriously. The reason I’m dressed up is because I had an admissions interview this morning.” She sniffs again, and I stand up and head into Barelli’s downstairs bathroom to get Mel a tissue.

“Here,” I say, giving Mel her tissue. She wipes her nose, and then hiccups.

“What am I going to do?” she says again.

“Don’t worry,” I say, giving her a hug. “We’ll figure it out.”

“But
how
?” Mel wails.

Greg/Ryan pops his head around the wall, and peers into the bathroom, obviously not caring that it might be slightly inappropriate to look into a bathroom when someone’s in it. Even if we did leave the door open. “There you are, babe,” he says. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

And then it hits me. The perfect way to keep Mel out of private school. “Hey, Greg,” I say. “What are you doing next weekend?”

By the time the party is over, I still haven’t figured things out with Luke. He was perfectly nice to me for the rest of the party, but we ended up sitting in a group for most of the time, hanging out with everyone. And not really talking just to each other. Although at one point, when Mel, Greg/Ryan and I got back from the bathroom, Luke said, “Where were you?” and I said, “Talking to Mel.” Which was true. But Luke obviously knew that Greg/Ryan followed us.

And I can’t tell him that we were hatching a plan to get Greg back here next weekend, so that he can pretend to be a student at St. Mary’s, the private school Mel’s mom wants to send her to. We figured out that if we can get Greg/Ryan to act all crazy in front of her, then maybe Mel’s mom will see that boarding school isn’t the right place for her after all.

“You should totally grow a mustache,” Lexi says from the front seat when we’re on our way home in her mom’s car. “You would look so hard-core.”

Mrs. Cortland doesn’t even react. Maybe she didn’t hear, since she’s on some kind of business call. She’s talking into her cell phone headset. At least, supposedly it’s a business call. All I’ve heard her do so far is make plans to meet whoever it is she’s talking to
for lunch and a pedicure. Lexi’s mom has her own real estate business, and Lexi says a lot of her mom’s work is networking with the right people. So maybe that’s why she has to go out for manicures a lot.

“A mustache?” I ask, not convinced. I look at Greg/Ryan’s face where he’s sitting next to me in the car. He doesn’t look like he could grow a whisker, much less a full mustache.

“Good idea,” Greg says. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

“Anyway, you can’t go too overboard,” I say. “You have to make it believable.”

“Yeah, like you can’t freak her out too much,” Lexi says. “You just have to make the mom think that you shouldn’t be going to school with her innocent daughter.”

“Ladies,” Greg/Ryan says, leaning back in the seat. He drapes his arms over the back of the seat and gives me a smile. “Wasn’t I good in the role of Devon’s boyfriend?” He looks at me and winks. “Just trust me.”

Right.

I have to make sure to keep my hands in my lap so that there’s no scandalous hand squeezing, but I never thought about him trying to put his arm around me. Not that that’s what he’s doing exactly, but close
enough. What if he tries to squeeze my shoulder? Is shoulder squeezing better or worse than hand squeezing?

I feel my cell phone start to vibrate in my purse, and I pull it out. Yay! It’s probably a text from Luke! Saying he’s sorry that we had such a weird party, and that he’ll see me tomorrow, when we get together to go over some mock trial stuff. And then maybe he’ll sign it with a little heart, like he sometimes does. But it’s not Luke. It’s my mom. When did my mom learn to text? I hope this doesn’t mean she’s going to be texting me all the time. So not cool.

“When will you be home?” it says.

“Two minutes,” I reply, and then shove my phone back into my bag.

When we pull up in front of my house, I thank Mrs. Cortland for the ride, and tell Lexi to call me later. “Uh, nice meeting you, Greg,” I say. “Um, Ryan.”

“Nice meeting you, too, Devi,” he says. He reaches over and grabs me in a hug. Um, eww. He smells nice, though. Like soap and clean clothes. I pull away and disentangle myself from his arms (awwwk-waard), and I’m just about to open the car door when I catch sight of my mom coming out of our house.

Her hair’s swept up in a messy bun, with lots of little tendrils falling out, and she’s wearing jeans and
a black sweater with a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder.

“Hiii,” she calls, waving as she steps through the piles of leaves on our lawn. The dishtowel falls to the ground, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

She rushes right up to the car and over to the driver’s side window. Mrs. Cortland looks at her like she’s crazy as my mom motions for her to roll down the window. Yikes. I hope she didn’t see me hugging Greg.

“Hi,” my mom says once Lexi’s mom has ended her phone call and has rolled down the window. “I’m Marcia Delaney, Devon’s mom.”

“Hi,” Lexi’s mom says.

“Hi, Mrs. Delaney!” Lexi yells from the passenger seat.

“Hello, Lexi,” my mom says. “Don’t you look nice.”

“Thank you.” Lexi preens, and my mom peers into the backseat.

“Oh,” she says. “And who’s this young man back there with Devon?” She says it in a light tone, but I know enough to realize she wants to know exactly who he is, and uh, what he’s doing in the backseat with me.

“Oh, that’s just Greg,” Lexi says, waving her hand as if he’s no one. “Just a friend from my old school. Him and Devon don’t even know each other.”

“Nice to meet you,” Greg/Ryan says. He gives my mom a little signal of salute with his fingers, which is weird, but my mom seems to like it. “You can call me Ryan.” My mom frowns.

“So,” Lexi’s mom says. She leans her hand against the steering wheel and slides her big Paris Hilton sunglasses down over her eyes. Even though it’s not really that sunny out. “It was nice to meet you.”

My mom gets thrown for a second, but recovers quickly. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk for a second. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Diane,” Mrs. Cortland says.

“Diane,” my mom replies. “I wanted to touch base with you about the dance that’s coming up at school.”

Mrs. Cortland looks at my mom blankly. “The dance?” she asks.

“Yes,” my mom says. “The one the girls are planning on going to.”

“There’s a dance at school next week,” Lexi says. “Remember? You said we could go in the Hummer.” She squeals. “Not to mention the pre- and post-parties, holla!”