Forbidden Sister (9 page)

“I don’t want to get grounded tonight,” he added, and then, without any warning, he kissed me good-bye and told me in French that he would see me later.

I watched him walk off.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. Moments later, Chastity was at my side. “Don’t think just because he kissed you that he really likes you,” she warned.

“Why are you so down on him? Whenever we talked about him before, you were complimentary. I think you even said he was dreamy or something.”

“I’m not saying he’s not good-looking.”

“And popular,” I reminded her.

“And popular. But how come he’s so interested in you all of a sudden?”

“Maybe he is taking advantage of me,” I said.

“You think so?” Her eyes lit up with hope.

“Yes, to learn French and do better in class.”

“What?” She shook her head. She couldn’t see the small smile on my lips. “He’s not interested in your French. I heard some of the girls in his class talking about him today. He has a reputation for dating a girl for only one thing. If he can’t get it, he drops her fast.” I knew she was either lying or exaggerating. Her eyes were moving like pinballs, looking at everything but me.

“Well, you’re the one who’s always telling me we should be as sexually liberated as the boys are.”

For a few moments, her mouth opened and closed without making a sound. “You mean, you would . . . you would do it with him, maybe on the first date?”

“I don’t know. Weren’t you the one who said that you read it’s usually impossible to plan these things? Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know,” I said.

She was stunned enough to be quiet for the rest of the way until she had to cut off to go home. “I’m really worried about you,” she said.

I patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you tomorrow to tell you how it went. I’ll tell you everything in detail,” I promised, actually offered as a peace token. She seemed happy enough about that.

“If it doesn’t go well, or even if it does, you probably won’t see him again Saturday night. You can come over then, and we can go up to your sister’s hotel and—”

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” I said quickly, and walked on. I was really beginning to regret ever having let Chastity know about Roxy. With no real social life or excitement, it had become her own single most precious thing. As I drew closer to home, I pushed her out of my mind and concentrated on preparing for my date with Evan.

I could see that Mama was sincerely happy for me. She would never say it, but she was very worried that the situation with Roxy would have so heavy and negative an impact on me that I would have a horrible young life. Papa was like a dark cloud hovering above anything I would do that could draw me closer to being the kind of daughter Roxy had been. I was sure Mama felt she had failed terribly with Roxy and was afraid that she would do something to cause a repeated disaster involving me. It took great courage for her to stand up to Papa and insist that I have more fashionable clothing and be more of a teenager now. He didn’t know it, but Evan was very important in my life. He was my first real date, and if he was a disaster, or if anything Chastity said was even slightly true, I could have a very big setback. Actually, both Mama and I could.

Thinking these things, I almost decided against putting on the new dress, but when I did, I looked so good in it that I was determined to challenge Papa if he should disapprove. I waited as long as I could before going downstairs, and I did put on my trench coat first. Papa had been sure to get home from work in time to meet Evan. He was sitting in the living room reading the
Wall Street Journal
when I came down. Mama was in the kitchen. If Evan was on time, I thought, he would be there within five minutes.
Please be on time,
I prayed.

“Oh, you look so nice,” Mama said, hurrying to see me.

“How can you tell? She’s wearing that coat,” Papa said.

Mama could see I was wearing the new dress and quickly figured out why I was being so cautious. “I mean her hair, her face, Norton. Can’t you give your beautiful daughter a compliment?” she asked, putting him on the defensive immediately. I knew Mama’s strategy. “Young girls are very sensitive and need some confidence building.”

“What? No. I mean, of course. Yes, you’re beautiful, Emmie. I didn’t mean . . .”

The doorbell rang. I sighed with relief.

“That must be your young man,” Mama said. She went to the door quickly. Papa looked at the hallway in anticipation.

“
Bonsoir,
I’m Evan Styles,” Evan said to my mother.

“Bonsoir. Bienvenu,”
Mama said.

Evan stepped in and saw me. “
Bonsoir,
Emmie.
Comment allez-vous?
”

Impatient, Papa rose and came to the living-room doorway. “So, this is the young man trying to learn French?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Evan said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Wilcox.” Evan extended his hand and then looked at me. “Or should I say,
enchanté
?”

Papa relaxed his shoulders and shook Evan’s hand. I should have warned Evan about his handshake. It was extra firm, almost to the point of causing a little pain. Evan didn’t blink, however.

He was wearing the tie he promised he’d wear. He looked very handsome and sweet.

Papa put his hands on his hips, taking on that drill-sergeant demeanor. “I don’t want her out past midnight,” he said.

“Zero hundred hours, sir. I understand.”

Papa didn’t smile. He glanced at me and then at Mama. “We don’t go by military time, son,” he said. “Midnight is just midnight.”

“I understand,” Evan said. For a moment, I held my breath. He looked as if he might salute, and I knew Papa wouldn’t find that at all funny. Thankfully, he didn’t.

“Well you two have a wonderful time,” Mama said.

“Un merveilleux temps,”
Evan said, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me.

“Très bon,”
Mama said. “Yes, have a wonderful time.”

Papa still hadn’t cracked a smile. “Be careful,” he told me, and returned to his chair and his paper.

Mama gave me a kiss, and I walked out with Evan.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re not on military time, but I bet your father’s on guard duty tonight. I hope you remember the password to get back in.”

“I do. It’s ‘I’m home,’ ” I said, and he laughed.

We hurried to the corner, where he flagged a taxi. I took a deep breath when he opened the door for me.

I’m on my first date,
I thought, and then I suddenly wondered if Roxy had ever had a formal first date or if she simply met boys places without telling Papa and Mama. I had no idea why that would make a difference to me now, but it did.

It was almost as if I wanted to be very sure that I didn’t do anything she had done.

That way, Papa would go on loving me forever, and I’d never end up without a family, living in a hotel, whether I was pampered and beautiful or not.

Loneliness, after all, hunts especially for the hearts of orphans.

I had no way to judge my first date with a boy, but to me, it seemed as if every moment that passed was better than the previous one. When I took off my trench coat in the restaurant, Evan’s eyes widened, and a big smile rippled across his face.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s a beautiful dress, but it’s only beautiful because you’re wearing it,” he quickly followed.

I blushed so deeply it made me tremble. “Thank you.”

I slipped into the booth quickly. For a moment, he just stood there looking at me.

“What’s that line they use in the movies?” he asked as he sat across from me. “Where have you been all my life?”

He was so good at these compliments that I began to worry that maybe Chastity was right. If there was one thing I didn’t want to be, it was gullible. Girls had to navigate a fine line, I thought. It was wonderful to have these nice things said about you, but how deep did sincerity go in them? Should they sound
warnings? Should I graciously accept them or flick them off as if they were so much sparkle? I didn’t want to offend him, but I didn’t want to appear naïve, either.

“I was always just down the hall, Evan.”

“Yeah. Well, it serves me right for not looking in more than one direction.”

The waitress brought us menus, and we ordered soft drinks.

“I have a confession to make,” he said as he read the menu.

“So soon?”

He laughed. “Not that sort of confession. You know Buzzy Gibson? He’s a junior.”

“I don’t really know him.”

“Well, he was the one who told me to check you out. He’s going with Missy Wagner, otherwise you might be sitting here across from him tonight.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I don’t know him, but I know who he is. I mean . . .”

“He’s not your type? Girls make that decision quickly, I hear. At least, they do when it comes to who is definitely not their type.”

“Maybe. I don’t think I can speak for all girls, even most. I can only speak for myself.”

He widened his eyes. What I said obviously impressed him.

The waitress brought our drinks.

“I think I’ll have the chicken salad,” I told her.

“La même chose,”
Evan said.

“Pardon?”

“He means the same thing,” I told her. She shrugged and wrote it down. “You pronounced that very well,” I said.

“Another confession,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I spent most of the afternoon memorizing some common French expressions just to impress you. It can’t hurt my grade in class, either, I guess.”

“If you learn everything yourself, I won’t be able to help,” I teased.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll need your help for years.”

I smiled and sipped my soda. The waitress brought us some bread and butter. I finally looked around the restaurant. It wasn’t very big or expensive-looking, but it wasn’t a fast-food place, either.

“Have you been here often?”

“I suppose,” he said. “My father likes places like this. He calls them unassuming and places where you can talk to real people, whoever they are.”

“Maybe he just means people who aren’t phonies.”

“You mean like plastic socialites?”

I shrugged. “Is your father going to run for some office?” I asked.

“Probably. Actually,” he said, “it’s supposed to be a secret, but the mayor is working on getting him the nomination for congressman, but if he’s elected, we’re not moving to Washington, D.C. New York is close enough.”

“Now it’s no longer a secret,” I said.

“Somehow, I feel I can trust you.”

“Why?” I asked, really curious.

“It’s in your eyes. You’re the type of person who hates telling lies or hurting someone else’s feelings. Am I wrong?”

I shook my head, but I wanted to tell him it wasn’t wise to believe in someone’s goodness too soon. Did older boys, especially boys like him who came from wealthy, famous families, appreciate advice from someone like me? If he was too arrogant to accept good advice no matter what the source of it, he wasn’t for me, I thought.
Not my type,
I told myself. I couldn’t help the small smile on my lips, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The waitress brought our platters, and we started to eat. He talked more about his family, especially his sister. He was very proud of her. She had been her high school’s valedictorian and was on the dean’s list at college. He said her plan was to go to Harvard Law School and become editor of the
Law Review
.

“I guess I have some impressive footsteps to follow,” he said.

I admired the relationship he apparently had with his sister. I think he saw that in my face when he finished talking about her.

“What’s it like being an only child?” he asked. “Are you spoiled?”

“Hardly,” I said, and described my responsibilities at home, my father’s military style, and my efforts always to please him. “I mean, I love him dearly,” I said. “But as you know, he is the son of an Army general.”

Evan smiled. “I’m glad my suspicions about you were correct,” he said.

“What were they?”

“Simply that you’d be great to talk to, someone who was sincere, honest, and sweet.”

More wonderful compliments, I thought. They made me nervous. Again, I wondered if most girls would be grateful and leave it at that. Was it good or bad that I had such distrust? Roxy surely knew how to handle men. Wouldn’t it have been great to have had a relationship with an older, more experienced sister? There was only so much I felt comfortable asking my mother. I couldn’t simply shake off all of my father’s warnings. Was it really that dangerous simply to put all your trust in your own feelings?

“Shouldn’t we get going for the movie?” I asked. His compliments were beginning to make me feel a little uncomfortable, anyway, especially since I wasn’t being completely honest, letting him believe I was an only child.

“Right.” He signaled for the waitress. “I hope that was all right,” he said, referring to the restaurant, when we left.

“Oh, it was perfect. Thank you.”

He held my hand, and we hurried up the street and then crossed to the movie theater.