Jinx (14 page)

Finally, at nearly seven thirty, they let us leave, and we climbed into the waiting limo and breathed a group sigh of relief.

“Shoot me,” Tory said, from the middle of the fluffy white puddle her skirt made against the dark leather seat, “if I ever get like that, will you?” Meaning like her parents.

“I thought it was sweet,” I said. “Mortifying. But sweet.”

I tried not to let it show how impressed I was to be
riding in a limo. I had never been in one, of course. I saw there was a real decanter of whiskey in the light-up side bar, and a flat-panel TV that dropped down from the ceiling on a hinge.

But I didn't mess around with the buttons or anything, in case it gave away the fact that this wasn't something I did every day. Ride in a limo, I mean.

And then we were there. Because the Chapman School has no gym, they had to have their annual Spring Formal in a hotel ballroom. The hotel they'd chosen for this year's dance was the Waldorf-Astoria. The Waldorf is a huge fancy hotel on Park Avenue. When our limo pulled up in front of it, a doorman in red-and-gold livery opened the limo's door for us. Tory was the first one out, followed by me, then Zach.

Tory didn't wait for us, though. As we climbed out of the limo, she was already heading in through the big gold revolving doors.

“Okay,” Zach said. “Someone's eager to get to the punch.”

“I know,” I said uncomfortably. “I hope she doesn't throw a fit when she finds out it's not sugar-free.”

Then, looking down at me as we climbed the red-carpeted stairs to the revolving door, Zach asked, “Hey, did I tell you how great you look in that dress?”

“No,” I said, blushing to my hairline and hoping he wouldn't notice. “You didn't.”

“Well, you look great in that dress.”

“Thanks,” I said. What was going on here? Zach was
almost…well,
flirting
with me. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

“Well,” Zach said, with a mock dramatic sigh. “I do what I can.”

Then we were through the revolving door and inside the high-ceilinged, dramatic lobby.

“Oh my God, Jean!” Chanelle was suddenly at my side, dragging a very alert-looking Robert behind her. “You look so fabulous! That dress is GREAT. Oh, hi, Zach. So what's with Tory?” Chanelle asked, not waiting for a reply. “She blew past us like a white tornado. And did you get a load of that dress? Who does she think she is, anyway? Princess Freaking Diana?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I thought you said everyone wears black to the Spring Formal.”

“Everyone DOES,” Chanelle said, indicating her own black cocktail gown, which probably cost a YEAR of my allowance.

Robert looked at Zach and said, “Dude. You got any weed on you?”

“No,” Zach said. “And I don't think you're allowed to smoke in here.”

“I know,” Robert said. “I was just, you know. Asking. For later.”

“You guys have got to see the ballroom,” Chanelle said, leading us toward a set of double doors outside of which sat a calligraphied sign that read,
THE CHAPMAN SCHOOL SPRING FORMAL
.
“It is set up so cheesy. I don't know what the dance committee was thinking. Like, wait until you—”

But Chanelle never got out what she found so cheesy about the way the dance committee had set up the ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria for the Chapman School Spring Formal. Because at that moment, Tory came rushing up to us, a tall, blond guy in a tux at her side.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “I want you to meet the new man in my life. I didn't tell you all before, because I wanted it to be a surprise. This is my date. Oh, actually, Jinx, I think you know him.”

And, surprised, I looked up into her date's face.

And almost fainted dead away.

I have a very special thank-you I've been saving up, just for Jinx.

That's what Tory had said. I'd been a fool not to see it coming. I'd been a fool to ever think she hadn't meant it.

“I can't believe it,” I murmured into the paper bag. “I just can't believe it.”

“Shhh,” Chanelle said. “Just breathe.”

“I can't believe she was lying,” I lifted my face out of the paper bag to say. “The whole time. She hasn't changed. She said she had a very special thank-you for me…and she did.”

“If you don't breathe into the bag,” Chanelle said, “you won't stop hyperventilating.”

I breathed into the bag.

This was horrible. It was worse than horrible. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me
in my whole life.

And, you know, considering the kind of luck I've had in my life, that is really saying something.

Seeing that I was breathing a bit more regularly, Chanelle—whose concern for me was consummate and heartfelt…she was, after all, the person who'd hustled me into the ladies' room in the first place—quit checking out her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror above the sinks and went, “Better now?”

I nodded into the bag.

“Okay,” she said. “Then tell me. Who's the guy?”

I lowered the bag and was surprised to find that I could breathe quite normally again. God bless the little bathroom attendant lady, who'd had a paper bag on hand, and who now sat gazing at me with motherly concern in her little black-and-white uniform.

“His name's Dylan,” I said. “He…he's a friend of mine from back home.” I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't. It was too horrible.

Chanelle arched a single brow. “That's it? So what made you freak like that?”

“I just…I was surprised to see him here, is all,” I said. My heart had stilled its frantic thumping, but I still felt agitated.
What was he doing here? How had he gotten here?

But I knew the answer to both questions. I knew only too well.

I have a very special thank-you I've been saving up, just for Jinx.

And when she walked in a second later, looking as if
butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, it was all I could do not to run, screaming, from the Waldorf-Astoria ladies' room.

“Oh, Jinx, there you are.” Tory stood there, gleaming in her incredible white dress. She looked concerned, the picture of cousinly devotion. “Everyone's so worried about you, the way you just ran off back there. Is everything all right?”

“She's fine,” Chanelle said, giving my shoulder a pat. “Just had a little bit of a shock.”

“I know I should have told you about Dylan,” Tory said, smiling at the bathroom attendant, who had risen and was rearranging her collection of hairspray bottles, bobby pins, and tampons and stuff, pretending not to be eavesdropping on our conversation. “But I thought it would be a nice surprise. Considering that you two were so…close.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling like I might soon have another use for the paper bag, my stomach was heaving so hard. “It was a surprise, all right.”

“A pleasant one, I hope,” Tory said, her dazzling smile never leaving her perfectly made-up lips. “Dylan's really glad to see you. Why don't you come out now and say hi? He and Zach are getting along really well.”

“I
bet
they are,” I said. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have actually thought she'd changed? Zach had warned me and I hadn't listened, because I'd wanted so badly to be right about her.

When the truth was, I couldn't have been more wrong.

“Come on, sillies.” Tory, inspecting her reflection, gave her updo a final pat and turned to leave. “Let's not leave the boys waiting.”

Chanelle turned to me. “Are you really all right now, Jinx?”

“Oh,” I said, climbing shakily to my feet. Maybe I could quietly get Security. Yeah, that was it. I could just tell Security that Dylan…

…that Dylan what? He hadn't done anything. He was an invited guest of one of the Chapman School's students. Even if Security did agree to remove him, Dylan would, rightfully, protest. He'd probably end up making a scene. And if he didn't, Tory certainly would. It would ruin the dance…not just for me, but for Zach, too. Having Dylan removed would just draw
more
attention to the problem….

When the truth was, I didn't even know for sure there still
was
a problem. A lot of time had passed since I'd last seen him. Maybe he was over it. Maybe it would be fine….

Yeah. And maybe it was me Zach was in love with, and not Petra. Right.

“I'm just fine,” I said in response to Chanelle's question. Because there was nothing—absolutely nothing—else I could do.

“Great.” Tory leveled another beauty-queen smile my way. “Let's go.”

My stomach was so knotted, it felt as if someone
had kicked me in the gut, I followed Tory and Chanelle back into the hotel lobby. Just as Tory had said, Dylan and Zach were shooting the breeze outside the ballroom doors, while Robert stood there, looking as if he wished he were someplace else…probably the Gardiners' gazebo.

I didn't blame him. I wished I were there, too.

Zach, who'd obviously been watching the ladies' room door for me, brightened when he saw me up and around. Dylan, apparently noticing Zach's smile, turned to face me and brightened as well.

“There you are,” Dylan said as we approached. “We were worried.”

“Just a girl thing,” Chanelle said chipperly. “It's all good now.”

“That's good to hear,” Dylan said. He was smiling down at me, those blue eyes I'd once been so convinced I loved filled with concern…and adoration. Okay. Well, maybe he wasn't quite back to normal yet. But that didn't mean…“Now we can say hello properly. It's been a long time, Jean. It's really good to see you.”

Then he stooped down to kiss me.

Just a kiss hello. Just a friendly
Haven't seen you in a while
kiss.

But I still took an involuntary step backward to avoid it.

Yes, that's right. I recoiled. Recoiled from the kiss of a totally hot guy I'd once been in love with.

Or thought I'd been in love with, anyway.

“It's good to see you, too, Dylan,” I said quickly, offering out my right hand to seize his. “How are you?”

“Uh,” Dylan said, looking down at our clasped hands as I gave him a hearty shake. “I'm fine.”

“Good,” I said, too loudly. Other people, filing into the ballroom in their evening finery, looked at me curiously. Every single girl but Tory was wearing black. “That's good. Well.” I dropped his hand and wrapped my fingers around Zach's arm. “We better get in there. Get the party started and all. See you later.”

And I proceeded to drag Zach into the Waldorf-Astoria ballroom, a fake smile plastered onto my face as we stopped by the seating chart to see which table we'd been assigned to.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Zach asked me, an equally fake smile plastered to his own face. Only on him, it looked adorable.

“Nothing,” I said through my smile. “Nothing at all. Everything's fine. Oh, look, Table Seven. And here it is, over by the window.”

“Everything is
not
fine,” Zach said, as he nodded at some other juniors he knew who'd walked by and said,
Hey, Rosen
. “I'm not an idiot. It's not exactly reassuring when a guy's date gets a glimpse of some other guy at a dance and starts to hyperventilate.”

“Oh,” I said, dropping the smile. “You noticed that?”

“Yeah,” Zach said, his own smile vanishing as well. “I
noticed that. Who is he, Jean? What's going on?”

“He's just…” My shoulders slumped…which was dangerous, because if I didn't stand up straight, the spaghetti straps of my dress would fall down, and that was not a good thing, considering they were pretty much the only thing keeping my dress up. “He's just…
him
,” I said miserably.

“Him who?” Zach asked, sounding frustrated.

“Him,”
I said meaningfully. “The guy. The guy I came here to get away from.”

“Wait.” Zach looked over his shoulder at Tory and Dylan, who were checking the seating chart to see where they were supposed to be. “Him? He's THAT guy? The one who was stalking you?”

“Shhhh,” I said, as a girl at a nearby table looked up sharply, having heard the word
stalking
. “He wasn't—I told you. He wasn't exactly stalking me. Well, I mean, he was, but…”

“He's here, isn't he?” Zach demanded. “I would call that stalking you.”

“He's here because Tory invited him here,” I said.

“Why the
hell
would she do that?”

“To get back at me,” I said.

We'd reached our assigned seats at Table Seven. There were six places, each beautifully set with about thirty pieces of silverware and eight or so plates. This was a lot fancier than our school dances back in Hancock, where we had dinner before the dance, not AT it, and generally
at the local Applebee's. Then we'd gather in the gym with a DJ and some party streamers, not a full orchestra and chandeliers.

“Tory flew him all the way out here,” Zach said, “to get back at you for…what, exactly? The witch thing? What you did with the pills? Shawn? Or…
me
?”

“You name it,” I said. “It could be any of the above. Or all of the above. Or even something else entirely. Who knows, with Tory?” And we'd thought she was doing so much better.

Correction. Everyone but Zach had thought she was doing so much better.

“Well, what's the deal with this guy?” he wanted to know. “Is he dangerous? Should we get Security? Jean—do you want to go?”

“No,” I said, sitting down in my assigned seat. “Oh, no, Zach. It's nothing like that. He just…he just really liked me, okay? And the feeling wasn't mutual. At least, it was once, but not anymore. But he…he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept calling the house at all hours, and…and showing up there, too. Like in the middle of the night. My dad finally had to tell him to leave me alone. But even then, he kept showing up everywhere I was—church. The library. Babysitting jobs. He just kept sort of…following me. So finally we decided I should go away for a while. So I came here.”

I couldn't, of course, tell Zach the whole truth. Not by a long shot. That at first I'd been thrilled by Dylan's attentions. I mean, I'd had a crush on him since freshman
year, when he'd cut such a romantic and seemingly unattainable figure, captain of the football team, class president, straight-A student, sought-after by cheerleaders and lowly orchestra geeks such as myself.

When, in his senior year, he'd finally noticed me, then asked me out, I'd been over the moon. My girlfriends could hardly believe it, and neither could I—that I, Jinx Honeychurch, who, if it weren't for bad luck, would have no luck at all, had been asked out by Dylan Peterson, the most popular guy at Hancock High.

But it was true. It happened. And no sooner had we shared our first Blizzard at Dairy Queen together, than Dylan asked me to be his girlfriend, and I, thinking I'd died and gone to heaven, said I would.

But being Dylan's girlfriend, it turned out, was a lot more complicated than I'd ever anticipated. He expected me to be there for every single one of his games…even the ones that conflicted with my orchestra concerts. If I wasn't there, he got upset and said I didn't really love him. Which wasn't true.

At least at first.

Then he didn't just want me at his football games. He wanted me to be with him all the time. He wanted to drive me to school in the morning, then eat lunch with him, then watch him at football practice after school, then have dinner at his house, and do my homework with him…he'd have expected me to spend the night, I'm sure, if his parents—and mine—would have allowed it. He got upset if I said I wanted to go to the movies with
my girlfriends, or stay home and practice my violin.

All too soon what I'd thought had been a dream come true turned into a living nightmare….

Until I finally realized that whatever love I'd felt for him had disappeared, and I didn't want to spend ANY time with him, let alone every waking moment of the day, the way he wanted me to.

So I broke up with him.

I tried to be nice about it. I told him it wasn't him, it was me. I told him I wasn't mature enough for a relationship of this kind of intensity, and that things were going too fast for me. I said I needed some space, and that I had to concentrate on school and my music right now. I told him I needed to be able to see my friends and babysit on the weekends, not just spend all my time with him.

He said he totally understood and if I'd just give him another chance, he would let me have my space.

But the thing is, I didn't
want
to give him another chance. Because by then, I didn't even like him anymore.

So I told him a lie. I told him my parents had said I couldn't go out with him anymore, because he was too old for me, and they thought things were moving too fast. Hey, I'm a preacher's daughter, so what did he expect?

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have just said from the beginning, “I don't love you anymore.”

Because then he decided that we were these star-crossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet, and that my parents
were out to keep us apart, and that if it weren't for them, we'd be together. That's when the phone calls and the showing up at the house in the middle of the night and the following me everywhere started.

I did finally tell him one night—after he'd woken me up at four in the morning by throwing pebbles at my window and begging me to come down to talk to him—that I didn't love him, and that he should just leave me alone.