Gimme a Call (22 page)

Joelle crosses her arms defiantly. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s just
enough
. He broke up with you
three
years ago. It’s time to move on. It’s time to stop obsessing over him, stop going to his shows, and stop waiting for him to ask you to prom. He’s not going to.”

Ouch. Tash is being harsh. On the other hand … it has been three years. Hasn’t it? I can’t keep track anymore. “Can’t you just go with someone else?” I ask, trying to make peace.

“There isn’t anyone
else
I like,” Joelle snaps. “Letting him slip away was the biggest mistake of my life. I wish you guys could understand that. I’m going inside. Later.” She spins and walks away without looking at any of us.

Tash sighs and grabs a handful of pretzels from a plastic bowl. “She’s such a drama queen. I don’t even think she likes Jerome. She just likes the idea of being a tortured artist.” She waves at someone across the room.

I look in the direction she’s staring in and see Nick Dennings with his arm around Elle Mangerls, his sophomore girlfriend. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, but he definitely has a geeky-cute thing going on. He laughs at something his girlfriend says, and it’s a nice belly laugh, one that echoes around the room.

“I heard his parents bought him a plane for graduation,” Karin whispers.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask. That seems insane. “Like with a crew and everything?”

“No—a small one. That he could fly.”

“How does he know how to fly a plane?”

“He’s been taking lessons,” Tash says.

Imagine—having your own plane. Or having a boyfriend who has his own plane. Maybe I should go out with him. Not now, obviously—he has a girlfriend—but as a freshman. And he’s supersmart. And has a great laugh. So what if he had acne? He grows out of it. He’s a superb long-term investment. It would be nice to have a boyfriend again. And Nick would have to be a better boyfriend than Bryan. At least he wouldn’t one day decide he wants to move to Canada.

I excuse myself to call Frosh. “Hey,” I say.

“What’s up?” she asks. “I thought you were trying to save battery.”

“I am. But I have an idea. Since you’re so desperate to have a boyfriend—”

“I am not!”

“Whatever. Do you know Nick Dennings?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Go out with him,” I say.

“Nooooo.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t judge him by his acne.” She’s so superficial.

“It’s not
because
of his acne. I tried talking to him tonight, and he was completely lame.”

“Give him another chance. He’s a
great
guy.”

“Why, what does he do?” she asks with interest. “Cure cancer or something?”

“Not everyone can be on the cancer-curing track,” I say. “He’s smart. And has a great laugh. And he has a plane.”

“Excuse me?”

Eeeeeep!

Even though the sound gives me a mini heart attack, I ignore it and rush on. “He’s getting his own airplane! How cool is that? His mom sold her Internet company for a ton. Plus, his acne clears up and he’s actually really cute. You should lock him up early. He’s a keeper. He’d probably pay for our college too. And think of it—I could fly anywhere I want this summer! L.A., Miami, wherever!”

She laughs. “You want me to go out with someone
now
because in three years his
mother
is going to be rich?”

“It sounds kind of crass when you say it like
that
.”

She sighs. “If I went out with him now, wouldn’t I have to stay with him until senior year?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s a lot of time for a trip to South Beach.”

“It’s not
just
for a trip to South Beach.” Although that would be fun.

“I’m not dating some guy with the personality of a wet sponge just so you can get a free trip. Sorry.”

“Just talk to him again! That’s all I’m asking. Give him a chance. Please?”

She clucks her tongue. “I’ll talk to him again. But that’s it. If there are no sparks, I’m giving up.”

“Deal.” Oh! I have a brilliant idea. “If you don’t like him … see if Joelle does!”

“But she’s still obsessing over Jerome Cohen,” she says cluelessly.

“Exactly! Let’s get rid of Jerome Cohen. That relationship was obviously no good for her. If she falls for someone else instead, she won’t be obsessed with Jerome.”

“Ha. You just want to have a best friend who has a boyfriend with a plane.”

I laugh. “It can’t hurt.”

chapter thirty-two
Saturday, September 17
Freshman Year

I find Karin, Joelle, and Tash on Kellerman’s living room couch. When I spot Nick Dennings standing by himself, fiddling with an iPod, I wave him over. I definitely don’t think he’s the right guy for me, but I’m happy to play matchmaker and try to fix him up with Joelle.

He looks at me, looks away, and then looks back at me. He seems unsure if I’m actually motioning to him.

I wave again.

He blushes in a “who-me?” way and then shuffles over.

“What are you doing?” Karin whispers.

“Isn’t he kind of cute?” I say. “He’s smart too. I think he’s a way better catch than Jerome Cohen.”

“You’re crazy,” Joelle says under her breath.

“Hello,” Nick says. “I’m Nick.”

Er. “Yeah, we met before,” Joelle says, rolling her eyes. No, I don’t think the two of them are going to hit it off. They’re kind of like water and oil. Or water and a cell phone. And not in the good way.

“Sorry,” he says, blushing.

“I never remember people either,” I hurry to say. “I have the worst memory. It’s a problem.”

Nick cocks his head to the side and smiles. “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate.”

Huh? Was that English?

Tash laughs. A big, deep, hearty laugh.

“I don’t get it,” Karin says.

I shrug.

Joelle’s gaze bounces between Nick and Tash.

“Old science joke,” Tash says, blushing.

Interesting. Very interesting.

chapter thirty-three
Sunday, June 1
Senior Year

There’s a loud knock on my door on Sunday morning.

Early Sunday morning. Seven-thirty on Sunday morning.

“Hon?” my dad says, opening the door. He’s dressed in pleated khaki pants and a crisp white shirt. “You’re still in bed? We tee off in half an hour. You better get a move on.”

Huh? Obviously something has changed but I don’t under stand what. Why is my dad up so early? Why is he not in his bathrobe? Why is he looking fit? “We’re going for tea?”

He laughs. “We’re playing golf. In half an hour. Get moving. I just put on a pot of coffee.”

Seriously? I jump out of bed. I don’t think I’ve seen my dad out of bed this early since before he lost his job. And we’re going to play … just the two of us? What if we have nothing to talk about? And how does one play golf exactly? And what does one wear to play golf? I open my closet door and rummage through my stuff. Can I wear jeans? I have no idea.

I happily discover a pleated white skort, a pale pink shirt, and a matching cardigan that I’ve never seen before. These must be for golf. Good. One problem solved.

I put them on, find a pair of sport socks in my drawer, tie my hair back into a low ponytail, and hurry downstairs for a cup of coffee.

I pull my arms and shoulders back and swing. Not only does the ball connect with my club, but it goes soaring over the lush green public course.

I am a golf natural. It’s so weird. I don’t consciously know what I’m doing, but my body does. As soon as I felt the club in my hand, I knew what to do. Apparently I have a handicap of ten. I have no idea what that means.

“Great shot!” my dad says, giving me a thumbs-up.

So far, we’re having a great day. A wonderful day. The sun is shining. My dad and I are bonding. We haven’t had such a nice time together since … well, I don’t remember the last time.

The tip of my nose feels hot and I reach into my bag and dab on some extra sunscreen. “Dad, come here. The back of your neck is burning.”

He strolls over and turns around. “What would I do without you, kid? I’m really going to miss you when you’re at UCLA.”

He knows about L.A.? Of course he knows about UCLA. If it’s on my wall, then it’s in my life. “I’m going to miss you too.” I’m just getting to know him again and now I’m moving to the other side of the country!

“And I don’t want you to worry so much about the tuition. I’m sorry the golf and academic scholarships didn’t come through, but it’s the right time to sell anyway.”

Huh? I close the lotion and put it back into my bag. “To sell what?”

“The house,” he says, and then pulls his clubs along.

My jaw drops and I chase after him. “You’re selling the house?”

“Not again,” he says. “We’ve been through this. Your mother and I just don’t need four bedrooms anymore. Your sister rarely comes home, and with you on the other side of the country—I’m sure the two-bedroom condo in town will be just fine for us. Cozy.”

Uh-oh.

chapter thirty-four
Monday, September 19
Freshman Year

When I slide into my seat for the first period of the day, Madame Ritale purses her lipstick-smeared lips (she tends to get it on her teeth) and says in French, “I hope you all did your homework, because we are having a pop quiz!”

Um … I never got around to doing my homework this weekend. I needed to decompose. I mean decompress. I mean … I forget. I did not review my SAT words this weekend either. I did spend four hours on Sunday at play practice and another four hours researching golf. Yup, Ivy got to play golf with Dad while I had to research it. When I heard the news, the jealousy felt like a lit match in my chest.

I stare at the test paper. I blink. I look up. I look back down.

If no one was watching, I’d take out my phone and text my future self: Aidez-moi!

Or maybe: Au secours!

If I knew which one, I wouldn’t need help, would I?