Just Like the Movies (9 page)

“A pinkie swear.”

I frown. “What movie is that from?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “A pinkie swear between me and you.”

I roll my eyes. “We
really
don't need to do that.”

“Um, pinkie swears are promises. And breaking them equals perjury. Gimme your hand.”

Reluctantly, I reach across the table and latch my left pinkie with her right one.

“I swear,” Marijke says solemnly, “that I will uphold my agreement to make our lives just like the movies. I promise to do whatever it takes, even if it's totally embarrassing, to get Joe Lombardi to notice you.”

I shake my head, but I can't help the smile spreading over my face.

“Now you,” she prompts.

“I swear,” I say slowly, “that I will uphold my agreement . . . what was the rest?”

“To make our lives just like the movies.”

“To make our lives just like the movies,” I repeat. “And I'll do whatever it takes to get Tommy Lawson to fall madly, passionately in love with you and only you.”

“And ask me to prom.”

“Fine, and ask you to prom. But only if Joe asks me too.”

“Perfect.” She pulls her pinkie away, grinning. “Now all we have to do is make a foolproof plan, and there's only one way to do that.”

“Oh, and what's that?”

She raises her eyebrows and gestures to our list of movies.

“A movie binge, of course—a marathon of flicks all night until we can't see straight. Until we're quoting them in our sleep. We can crash at my house; I've got Blu-ray. Whaddya say?”

Well, it's not like I've got anything to rush home for.

“Only if I can pick the first movie,” I say. Marijke grins.

“Deal.”

I'm sort of surprised when Tommy pulls up to my house Monday morning. We didn't talk all weekend, so I'd asked my dad to drive me to school. But as Tommy rolls up, windows down and music blasting, I feel a thick, molasseslike dread creeping through my veins. It's slow and methodical, coating all my nerves with something like fear.

I can remember every second of Friday's disaster—the way my hand clenched around his phone, the way I shoved it at his body as if it were my worst enemy.

“I know the truth,” I had hissed at him. “I know all about you and Jess Myers.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” I said, eyes narrowed. “I read the texts. I know she wants you back.”

My fury began to boil over when Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Baby, she's harmless,” he'd said. “I mean, yeah, she sent me a couple texts last week. I didn't think it was important. I don't want to get with her or anything.”

To which I responded, “The least you could have done is shoot her down!”

Which is when Tommy threw up his hands and shook his head, looking at me with something like defeat.

“Why do you always think I'm cheating on you because I talk to other girls?
You
decided to look through my phone, and
you
got mad about something that is completely innocent. Talking to other girls does not equal cheating. Especially since
she
texted
me
.”

“Whatever,” I'd said, the hurt leaking into my voice. Tommy exhaled hard.

“Marijke, I don't touch other girls, I don't hang out with them alone, I don't go behind your back. I talk to them. I'm
nice
to them. That's it. And that's why this”—he gestures between the two of us—“clearly isn't working. Because you can't trust me, and I'm tired of trying to prove myself to you.”

When he'd walked away, I was sure he wouldn't actually get in his car.

When he got in his car, I didn't think he'd really start it.

When he started it, I was positive he wouldn't drive away.

But the roar of General Qi's engine as Tommy drove away had made my heart sink to my knees. Now, the same
roar has transformed to a purr as the car idles by my mailbox. I'm hesitant as I reach the passenger door. Tommy looks at me, and his mouth quirks into a small smile.

“Ready for school?”

I nod, still feeling unsure.

“I didn't know if you'd be here today,” I say as I slide in next to him. He immediately puts his hand in mine and a sense of ease begins to fill my body.

“Baby,” he says, curling a finger under my chin, “Friday was awful. I think we both said things we didn't mean.”

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. He nudges my chin up and over until our eyes meet.

“Do you believe me when I say that I'm not cheating on you?”

I nod slowly, biting my lip. Tommy sighs and moves to put his sunglasses on.

“I'm tired of fighting with you. I've told you that you are the only person I want to be with. What's it going to take for you to believe me?”

I blink at him.

“You're right,” I finally say. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Tommy exhales, smiling at me.

As he pulls away from the curb, I settle back into my seat and look out the window. His hand has moved to my knee, which he's stroking in little circles. Those circles feel like an entire solar system rotating around my body.

Tommy is here, in this car, next to me, and he's mine. I need to remember that.

When we get to school, I find Lily at her locker, poring over a textbook thicker than a brick. We stayed up until after midnight on Friday, watching all the best parts from a bunch of different movies—the kissing scenes, the fighting scenes, the I-can't-live-without-you scenes. When she'd left a little after midnight, yawning but smiling, we both reconfirmed our commitment to the pact.

“Hey, I've got a question for you.”

Lily glances over at me and grins. When she sees Tommy standing a few feet behind me chatting with Doug Mason, she shoots me a questioning look.

“Is everything . . . copacetic?”

I frown. “Well, I have no idea what that means, but if you're asking me if we made up, the answer is yes.”

She laughs. “While we're making over our love lives, can we work on making over your vocabulary?”

“Har, har,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“By the way,” she says, handing me a stapled packet of papers, “I typed up our plan this morning. I figured we should keep it organized, you know? Then I can revise it as we go.”

I stare down at the title THE MOVIE EXPERIMENT in bold letters and shake my head.

“You did
this
this morning? You're going to make me self-conscious with your overachieverness.”

“Well,
you
are going to make me late to class,” she
counters, slamming her locker shut. “And overachieverness isn't a word.”

“Listen,” I say, ignoring her last comment, “I wanted to talk to you about doing a couples feature in the newspaper. Like, the love stories of the senior class. Don't you think that would be awesome?”

“I, uh, sure. I can talk to Tricia about it . . .” She glances at her watch, then back up at me.

“Why can't you just write it yourself?” I press.

“Seriously?” she asks, lowering her voice. “You want me to add a pukeworthy page of high school romances to the next edition of the paper?”

“What, you don't think the readers would eat it up?”

“Baby, we're gonna be late,” Tommy says behind me.

“No, it's fine. Our classes are right here,” I look back at Lily. “Well, what do you think?”

“I'm not sure,” she says uncertainly, “but he's right—the bell is going to ring any second.”

“Nah, we've got plenty of time!” I argue.

“Marijke—” Tommy begins.

And then it happens—he's drowned out by the screeching, alarmlike bell that marks the beginning of the school day. I can't help my grin as Tommy jumps through the doorway of Mr. Miller's history class. I can hear him call out, “I'm here—totally on time! Nobody panic!” I manage to dodge into the doorway of my first period too.

Lily, on the other hand, is at the opposite end of the hall
from her first class. I watch as she slams her locker shut and starts half-running, half-skidding when Mr. McCarthy, one of our assistant principals, rounds the corner.

“You're late, young lady,” he says sternly, pointing at her.

“I—yes, I know. I'm sorry, I got . . . caught up,” I hear her pant.

“You know the rules—zero tolerance for tardiness,” he scolds, pulling a detention slip from his pocket and uncapping a pen. I hold back a squeal of glee.

One down, one to go.

Now I just need to figure out how to get Joe Lombardi in detention today.

I really might kill Marijke. Worst. New-friend-slash-partnerin-deception.
Ever.

I've never had detention before. I don't even know where to
go
for detention. At the end of the day, I have to stop in the front office and ask one of the secretaries.
So
embarrassing.

When I slip into the third-floor classroom, it's empty except for two people. Mr. Marsden, the computer science teacher, is hunched over his desk, flipping through a stack of papers. There's one guy in detention with me—he's sitting at a student desk with his head buried in his arms.

“Name?” Mr. Marsden asks, looking at a clipboard.

“Lily,” I say softly, so as not to wake the sleeper. “Lily Spencer.”

“Right.” He checks something off on the clipboard and
motions toward the empty desks. “Pick one and settle in. You'll be here a while.”

I turn back around and heave my bag up onto my shoulder. When I glance around at the desks, trying to decide where to sit, my eyes lock with the now-awake student. Slowly, his green eyes crinkle and his lips spread into a smile.

My fellow detentiongoer is Joe Lombardi.

I suck in a breath but try not to make it obvious that I'm flustered. I can't believe this is happening. I don't know whether I'm mortified or thrilled.

“I know you,” Joe says as I get closer. “How's the head?”

“Shh!” Mr. Marsden hushes him, scowling. “No talking!”

Joe throws him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mr. M—just being friendly.”

“That's not necessary, Joseph. How about you focus on ways you can avoid being late to class? Then you might not land yourself in here again.”

Slowly, I slide into the desk next to him. Joe smiles at me again and I smile back, willing my face to stop going all tomato on me.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Hey yourself. Fancy meeting you here.”

I nod and start pulling books from my bag. Joe puts his head back down, but this time he's propped it on one arm. It takes me a second to realize that he's watching me. I glance back at Mr. Marsden, who's just put in a pair of
earbuds and is rocking out to his easy-listening jams. Way to supervise, dude. I could be plotting a bank heist and you'd have no clue.

“Is that all homework?” Joe asks, incredulous. I glance at the stack of books and papers I've piled on my desk and shrug.