Lola and the Boy Next Door (25 page)
I’ll find it. I just have to keep trying them on.
So it annoys me when Lindsey suggests I’m not trying hard enough to find something to curl my hair. My fake hair. She’s balancing chemistry equations while I borrow her parents’ handheld steamer to bend my white hair into the appropriately sized curls. Later, I’ll spray-glue them to my Marie Antoinette wig. But first I need to curl the stupid curls.
“Don’t you have anything bigger? Or smaller?” I gesture to the cylindrical shapes—pens, markers, glassware, even a monocular spy scope—spread before me. None of them is the right size.
She flips a textbook page. “Got me. It’s your wig. Try harder.”
I search her room, but I know I won’t find anything. Her bedroom is so well ordered that I would have already seen it if she had it. Lindsey’s walls are painted classic Nancy Drew–spine yellow. Her complete collection of the novels is lined up in neat rows across the top shelves of her bookcase and below them, alphabetical by author, are titles like
History’s Greatest Spies, Detecting for Dummies,
and
The Tao of Crime Fighting.
Beside her bed are meticulously organized magazine holders with four years’ worth of back issues of
Eye Spy Intelligence Magazine
and a dozen
Spy Gear
catalogs tabbed with sticky notes marking wishlist items.
History’s Greatest Spies, Detecting for Dummies,
and
The Tao of Crime Fighting.
Beside her bed are meticulously organized magazine holders with four years’ worth of back issues of
Eye Spy Intelligence Magazine
and a dozen
Spy Gear
catalogs tabbed with sticky notes marking wishlist items.
But her room is devoid of any further cylindrical objects.
“And in the closest race of the night, New York senator Joseph Wasserstein is still fighting to hold on to his seat,” the toupee-d newsman says. It’s Election Day, and since the Lims don’t get cable, every channel is filled with boring coverage. The only reason the television is on is to drown out the sound of Mrs. Lim blasting Neil Diamond. He’s this superold pop singer who wears sequined shirts. Even the sparkles aren’t enough to sway me, though I’d never tell her that. When she’s not cooking killer Korean barbecue at the restaurant, she blogs for his secondlargest fansite.
I point at the newsman. “I bet that guy could help me. Does he seriously think that rug on his head looks real?” It switches to a clip of Senator Wasserstein and his family waiting for the final tallies. His wife has that perfectly coiffed hair and that toothy political smile, but his teenage son looks uncomfortable and out of place. He’s actually kinda cute. I say so, and Lindsey looks up at the screen. “God. You are so predictable.”
“What?”
“He looks miserable. You only like guys who look pissed off.”
“That’s not true.” I turn off the television, and Neil’s vibrato shakes the floor.
Lindsey laughs. “Yeah, Max is known for his charming smile.”
I frown.Two Sundays have passed, and we didn’t have brunch on either one. Max called the morning after Halloween and told me he wouldn’t be coming—that day or any Sunday after. I can’t blame him for being tired of the scrutiny. I told my parents that he had more shows scheduled, and they’re still too frazzled by Norah to inquire further. Truthfully, I hope my parents will just sort of
forget
that brunch was ever a requirement.
forget
that brunch was ever a requirement.
I’ve been seeing Max at odd times—before a weekend shift at the theater, during a dinner break, and once at his apartment after school. My parents thought I was at Lindsey’s. But I’ve seen a lot of Cricket. It only took him one more night to finish the panniers, plus an afternoon at my house with final fittings. They’re gigantic and amazing. It’s like wearing the framework of a horizontal skyscraper.
And I’ve finished the stays, so I’m working on the best part now: the gown itself. Cricket helped measure and cut the fabric. It turns out that not only is he handy because of his math and science skills, but he also knows a little about sewing because of Calliope’s costumes, which are in constant need of repair.
I’ve only had one more run-in with Calliope, another beforeschool incident, although this was accidental. She actually ran into me when she was leaving her house and didn’t see me coming. At least, I think it was accidental. “You just can’t stay away, can you?” she grumbled, before jogging away.
“I LIVE HERE!” I said, rubbing my bruised arm.
She ignored me.
But since Cricket and I have been busy with my project, it’s been easier to be friends. There was only one awkward moment, when he came over the first time. I hadn’t thought to clean up my room, and there was a hot pink bra thrown on the center of my floor. He turned the same shade of magenta when he saw it.
To be fair, I did, too.
Cricket.
Wait a second.
Wait a second.
I know EXACTLY what I need to curl my wig. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Lindsey, and I pop downstairs, where Mrs. Lim is at the family computer. I raise my voice above Neil’s. “Where do you keep the broom?” Then I add, “I didn’t break anything.”
“In there.” She gives a distracted gesture to the hall closet. “Troll on the message board. He’s saying Wayne Newton is better than Neil Diamond. Do you believe?”
“Totally ridiculous.” I grab the broom. It actually looks just like the one Cricket used to collect my binder. I race upstairs and thrust the handle at Lindsey. “Aha! The perfect circumference.”
She smiles. “And plenty of room for us to steam multiple strands at once. Nice.”
“You’re gonna help?”
“Of course.” And thank goodness she does, because it turns out to be a horrible, time-consuming job. “You’re lucky I love you, Lola.”
Another strand slips to the carpet before curling, and I stifle a scream. She laughs in an exhausted, slaphappy way, and it makes me laugh, too. “This really is one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had,” I say.
“Not one of the worst.
The
worst.” Her strand slips to the floor. “AHH!” she says, and we topple over with laughter. “Let’s hope Cricket is right, and ‘the beauty will be worth the effort.’”
The
worst.” Her strand slips to the floor. “AHH!” she says, and we topple over with laughter. “Let’s hope Cricket is right, and ‘the beauty will be worth the effort.’”
It’s like being hit by a train. “When did he say
that
?”
that
?”
Lindsey’s laughter fades. “Oh. Um. Sunday afternoon.”
“Sunday? This last Sunday?You talked to Cricket on Sunday?”
She keeps her eyes on a new strand of white hair. “Yeah, um, we went out.”
I drop the broom. “WHAT?”
“Not like that,” she says quickly. “I mean, we hung out in a group. As friends.”
My brain is fizzing and popping. “What group? Who?”
“He called to see if I wanted to go bowling with him and Calliope. And . . . with Charlie. You were at work, so you were busy. That’s why we didn’t ask.”
I’ve lost the ability to speak. She lifts my side of the broom and puts it into my hands. I take it numbly. “I told them about Charlie at Scare Francisco, after you left to meet Max,” she continues. “I don’t know why. It just spilled out. Maybe I was bummed you were with Max again, and I was alone.”
Guilt. Guilt, guilt,
guilt.
guilt.
“Anyway, Cricket thought it’d be a good idea if I hung out with Charlie as friends first, in a group. You know. To make it easier.”
THAT WAS MY IDEA. MINE!
“So we went bowling, and . . . we had a fun time.”
I’m not sure what hurts more: that she hadn’t mentioned this until now, that she hung out with Cricket without me, that she hung out with Calliope
at all,
or that Cricket came up with the same brilliant idea that I did and got to take credit for it.
at all,
or that Cricket came up with the same brilliant idea that I did and got to take credit for it.
Okay, so my idea was a double date, and obviously Cricket isn’t dating his sister. BUT STILL. It seems to have worked. And I wasn’t there. And I’m supposed to be the best friend. “Oh. That’s . . . that’s great, Lindsey.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. But I didn’t know how you’d feel about me hanging out with the twins, and I really wanted to go. And you were busy. You’ve been busy a lot in the last few months.”
Since you met Max.
She might as well have said it. I look back at my work. “No, I’m glad you went. I’m glad you had a nice time with Charlie.” Half of that is true.
She might as well have said it. I look back at my work. “No, I’m glad you went. I’m glad you had a nice time with Charlie.” Half of that is true.
“I had a nice time with the twins, too,” she says cautiously. “Once Calliope relaxes, she’s kinda fun. She’s under an insane amount of pressure.”
“Hmph. So people tell me.”
“Honestly, Lo, I don’t think she’s the mean girl she once was. She’s just protective.”
I glare at her. “Her brother is in college. I think he can handle himself.”
“And he does speak his mind now. However strangely it might come out,” she adds. “You know that he never hurt you on purpose. And when you’re not around, he asks a hundred questions about you. About Max, too. He likes you. He’s
always liked you,
remember?”
always liked you,
remember?”
I stop steaming curls.
“And I don’t want you to bite my head off for saying this,” she says rapidly, “but it’s pretty clear you like Cricket Bell, too.”
It’s like something is caught in my throat. I swallow. “And why do you think that?”
She takes the steamer from me. “Because anyone with the power of observation can see you’re still crazy about him.”
I’m setting the dinner table when I discover a newspaper clipping tucked under the corner of my place mat. Andy strikes again. It’s an article about an increase in STDs among teenagers. I shove it into the recycle bin. Do my parents know I’m having sex?
I know Max slept with many girls—many
women
—before me. But he’s been tested. He’s clean. Still, these mystery women haunt me. I picture Max in dark corners of bars, in his apartment, in beds across the city with glamorous succubi, intoxicated and infatuated. Max assures me the truth is far less exciting. I almost believe him.
women
—before me. But he’s been tested. He’s clean. Still, these mystery women haunt me. I picture Max in dark corners of bars, in his apartment, in beds across the city with glamorous succubi, intoxicated and infatuated. Max assures me the truth is far less exciting. I almost believe him.
It doesn’t help that tonight, a night I have off from work, Amphetamine has a gig at the Honey Pot, a burlesque club that I’m not old enough to get into. I’m trying not to let it bother me. I know burlesque is an art, but it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel young. I hate feeling young.
But there are many things troubling me tonight.
It’s Friday. Will Cricket come home this weekend?
Lindsey’s words have been looping inside my head all week. How is it possible for me to feel this way? To be interested in Cricket and still be concerned about my relationship with Max? I want things to be okay with my boyfriend, I do. It’s supposed to be simple. I don’t want another complication. I don’t
want
to be interested in Cricket.
want
to be interested in Cricket.
During dinner, Andy and Nathan exchange worried looks over the veggie potpie. “Anything wrong, Lo?” Andy finally asks. “You seem distracted.”
I tear my eyes from the window in our kitchen, from which I can barely see the Bell family’s front porch. “Huh? Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
My parents look at me doubtfully as Norah comes in and sits at the table. “That was Chrysanthemum Bean, the one with the duck voice. She’s coming over early tomorrow for a reading before buying her weekly scratch-offs.”
Nathan winces and grinds more pepper on top of his potpie. And grinds. And grinds.
Andy shifts in his seat. He’s always complaining that Nathan ruins his meals by adding too much pepper.
“Christ. Stop it, would you?” Norah says to her brother. “You’re raising his blood pressure. You’re raising MY blood pressure.”
“It’s fine,” Andy says sharply. Even though I can see it’s killing him.
We haven’t had a relaxed meal since she—and her clients, none of whom should be spending their limited finances on tea-leaf readings or lottery scratch-offs—arrived. I turn away in time to catch a lanky figure running up the steps next door. And I sit up so fast that everyone stops bickering to see what’s caused the disturbance. Cricket pats his pockets for his house key. His pants are tighter than usual. And the moment I notice this is the same moment that I’m knocked over by the truth of my feelings.
Lust.
He locates his key just as the front door opens. Calliope lets him inside. I sink back down in my chair. I didn’t even realize that I’d partially risen out of it. Andy clears his throat. “Cricket looks good.”
My face flames.
“I wonder if he has a girlfriend?” he asks. “Do you know?”
“No,” I mumble.
Nathan laughs. “I remember when you two used to
accidentally
run into each other on walks—”
accidentally
run into each other on walks—”
Andy cuts Nathan a quick look, and Nathan shuts his mouth. Norah smirks. So it’s true, our embarrassing crush was obvious to everyone. Fantastic.
I stand. “I’m going upstairs. I have homework.”
“On a Friday night?” Andy asks as Nathan says, “Dishes first.”
I take my plates to the sink. Will Cricket eat dinner with his family or go straight to his bedroom? I’m scrubbing the dishes so hard that I slice myself with a paring knife. I hiss under my breath.
“Are you okay?” All three ask at the same time.
“I cut myself. Not bad, though.”
“Be careful,” Nathan says.
Parents are excellent at stating the obvious. But I slow down and finish without further incident. The dishwasher is chugging as I race upstairs and burst into my room. My shoulders sag. His light is off.
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