Rhymes With Cupid (17 page)

“Thank you,” he said, closing his hand around it. “I didn’t imagine I’d ever see this again.”

“No,” I said, putting my cup in the sink and clearing away both our cookie plates. “Thank you.” Although, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was thanking him for . . . the tea maybe, or the cookies, or just for spending the time, sitting there talking with me. “I should get going,” I said, glancing at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. “I have my driving test tomorrow. When Patrick gets home, could you tell him I was here?” I asked.

“Absolutely, I’ll do that,” Frank said, pushing himself up from his chair. “I’m not good for much these days, but I can pass along a message.” And that was when I noticed the jar, sitting in the corner beside the refrigerator.

“Hey,” I said anxiously. “Would it be all right if I changed my mind . . . about those pickles?”

Mr. Connor’s face lit up. And I don’t think it was my imagination: He stood just a little taller. “I think that would be just fine,” he answered. I walked over and picked up the jar. It must have weighed twenty pounds. What the hell was I going to do with twenty pounds of dill pickles? “If you slice those, you can put them on a roast beef sandwich,” Patrick’s grandfather said, as if reading my mind. “Or you can chop them up. Put them in a tuna salad. Jeannie used to do that.”

“Mmmmm,” I said. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I hugged the enormous jar to my chest. Pickles and tuna? It sounded disgusting. But then again, it barely mattered. I stepped out into the snow with Mr. Connor’s words echoing in my head:
Sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is to accept whatever it is they’ve got to offer you.

I knew now exactly what I needed to do to make things right.

Chapter 17

I
spent that evening covered in a fine dust of flour and icing sugar. I started with the pinwheel cookies, rolling the dough into a log and putting it in the fridge to chill, then moved on to the black-and-white cheesecake. Once I had it in the oven, I was ready to tackle my new, top secret project. I just got the layers baked before I collapsed into bed, waking early the next morning to do the decorating. Thankfully, I’d taken the entire day off work and school for my driving test, which was that afternoon.

By the time I was done icing and packing everything into Tupperware containers, I was exhausted again but, in a way, it was a good thing. My baking frenzy successfully kept my mind off the test, not to mention the fact that it was Valentine’s Day—exactly one year to the day I’d had my heart broken into a million pieces. In fact, I barely had time to think about either one of those things until my mom called me from the poolside guest services phone to remind me my aunt Sarah would be there to pick me up for my road test at one thirty—like I could have forgotten.

“You ready, sweetie?” she asked. Somewhere in the background, a live band was playing a bad cover of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” The lead singer had a thick, Spanish accent.

“Sure,” I sighed. “Why not?” I was as ready as I’d ever be.

And it turned out I wasn’t even lying. In a way, I thought—while I sat outside Dina’s house that night in the car, working up the nerve to go in—things had come full circle. Here it was, Valentine’s Day again. And I was about to get my heart broken, again. Dina and Patrick liked each other. I was certain. Tonight would be the night he’d tell her, through song. And I had stupidly let myself fall for Patrick. So, yet again, I was about to lose the guy I loved to my best friend. But there was a difference this time, and it was a big one. This time, I was losing him to somebody who truly deserved him. I turned the keys, pulling them out of the ignition with a small sniff.

Plus, I hadn’t come out of the experience empty-handed. Thanks to Patrick, I was a licensed driver. With the exception of saying I’d parked an “eensy bit too close to the curb,” the examiner had given me a perfect score.

That hadn’t changed the fact that I was a nervous wreck driving by myself for the first time, of course, or the fact that it turned out I had zero sense of direction. By the time I actually managed to find Dina’s place—which I’d been to a bunch of times on the bus before—it was 8:30. The party had started over an hour ago. I headed up the walkway, carrying my cardboard box of stuffed pandas with Tupperware containers of black and white snacks balanced precariously on top. I could hear the bass from the music vibrating through the walls. Patrick and Jax had obviously done a good job with the subwoofer.

The door was slightly ajar and I pushed it open with my foot. For a party dedicated to a cuddly endangered species, I was surprised to be able to report: What I found inside was decidedly un-lame. Guys and girls (most of whom I recognized from school) were clustered in groups—the guys looking more put-together than usual, all dressed in black, while the girls were in different, cute, black and white outfits. I suddenly felt way too casual in my plain black pants (usually part of my Goodman’s Gifts & Stationery uniform) and tight white T-shirt. The living room—where most people seemed to be—was decorated with black and white helium balloons and white streamers that looked kind of cool and sophisticated with the lights turned down low.

The music was loud and a few kids were busy playing pin the tail on the panda in the dining room. They were spinning a blindfolded girl around so fast I was afraid for the safety of Dina’s parents’ good china, but everyone was laughing, including the girl.

I couldn’t see Patrick anywhere, but I recognized a girl from my chemistry class, Erin. “Hey,” I said, trying to peer around my stack of boxes and Tupperware. “Do you know where Dina is?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I just got here. Haven’t seen her.”

“She’s in the kitchen,” said a guy’s voice from the other side of me. I adjusted my snack foods, trying to see who it was—and when I did manage to get a view around the Tupperware, I nearly dropped ten hours worth of baking. His shoulders were broader than when I’d met him at Christmas break. His face had more stubble, but he had that same dopey, clueless grin.

“Damien? What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you again, too.” He laughed. Okay, obviously, he’d caught me by surprise. I hadn’t managed to hide the disdain in my voice. But what did he want me to do after he’d broken my best friend’s heart before running off to the College of Babes and Beer? Hug him?

“Here, give me that.” He took the cheesecake and two other Tupperware containers, leaving me with the box of stuffed animals. “Come on,” he said, clearing a path through the people gathered in the hallway and leading the way to the kitchen.

“Hey, babe,” he said, interrupting Dina, who was filling a basket with panda-ear headbands. She looked extra cute in a shiny black dress, cinched at the waist with a white belt. “Elyse is here with food.” She turned and looked at me. The panda ears she was wearing on her head only added to her look of surprised innocence.

“Elyse,” she said. “Hi. Um. Damien’s here!” Like I hadn’t noticed.

“I brought pandas,” I said flatly, setting the cardboard box down on the kitchen floor. “I don’t know where you want them.”

“Oh. Awesome,” Dina said. “Damien, Elyse brought stuffed pandas.” I was sure he was aware. After all, he was standing right behind me. “Would you mind putting them out?”

“Putting them out where?”

“Just out. Places. Put them places. All around.” She picked up the box, shoving it into his arms. “Thanks. You’re the best.” As soon as he was gone she turned to me. “Okay. I didn’t know he was coming,” she said. “He just . . . showed up.”

“And you let him in?” I said incredulously. “You know, some people would call just showing up and inviting yourself in trespassing. If you want me to tell him to leave, I will. Or I can ask Ron Stevenson and the other guys from the football team to show him the door. If he still won’t go, we’ll call the police.”

“No. Elyse.” She bit at her lip. “I was actually kind of . . . happy to see him.”

“You were
what
? Are you nuts? Do I need to remind you how he treated you?”

“I know.” Dina opened a Tupperware and started to arrange the pinwheel cookies on a white plate. “But the thing is, I think he’s changed.”

I sighed. Didn’t Dina ever learn? Guys like that
never
changed. “And what would make you think that?”

“You remember that day when he didn’t text me back for sixteen hours?” How could I forget? “Well, when he finally did write back, and I didn’t answer for two days, he realized something.”

“That he’s a jerk?” I supplied.

“That he missed me,” she said, still focusing on the cookies instead of looking me in the eye. “He apologized, and we’ve been texting ever since.”

“You’ve been
what
?” I said again. All those text messages that were supposedly from Dina’s newly tech-savvy mother were suddenly making sense. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you hate him,” she answered, fussing with the cookies. “And because you really wanted to set me up with Patrick. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You mean you don’t like Patrick?” My worries about Damien suddenly took a backseat.

“He’s great, Elyse. Honestly. Such a nice guy. But I just don’t feel that spark with him, you know?”

“I thought you said you could see yourself with him five years from now. You said you had real feelings for him.”

“I was
trying
to have real feelings for him. I think I just said that stuff to convince myself, because I wanted to feel that way. To make you happy.” I almost laughed out loud. If she only knew how miserable the thought of her and Patrick together had been making me. “Damien really
is
sorry for how he treated me,” she said, turning away from the cookies to look at me. “You know, I think he just got to college and got overwhelmed by it. All the freedom.”

“And all the girls,” I added sharply.

“Please don’t be mad at him, Elyse,” Dina pleaded. She looked like she was about to cry, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to make her see: She was just setting herself up to get hurt. If this was the choice she was making, she wasn’t going to get a happy ending. Also, I was mad that she’d lied to me. I thought we were good friends—
best
friends. I thought she trusted me enough to always tell me the truth. “I really appreciate everything you did to try to set me up with Patrick,” Dina said. “I hope he finds the right girl for him, but Damien’s the guy for me. I can’t change that, Elyse, and I don’t want to fight against it anymore. So please. Please don’t be mad.”

I gulped. Then again, I hadn’t exactly been honest with Dina, had I? Plus, what did I know about guys? Here I’d thought Patrick was just like the rest of them, and he’d gone and proven me wrong. What’s to say I wasn’t wrong about Damien, too? For Dina’s sake, I hoped I was.

I stepped toward her and sighed. “How could I be mad at you?” I put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re dressed like a panda bear.” I tweaked her ears. “You’d have to be some kind of monster to be mad at a panda bear. Also, you’re my best friend. Whatever you want—even if it’s Damien—that’s what I want for you.” Her eyes teared up and she launched herself at me, squeezing me tightly.

I hugged her back.

“But, Dina,” I said, pulling away suddenly, realizing things weren’t all good yet, “is Patrick here?”

“He’s upstairs with Jax, rehearsing.”

“Oh no.” I bit at my thumbnail. “He likes you, Dina. I mean
really
likes you. A lot. You know that song he’s going to sing tonight? In front of everyone? It’s all about you.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she said. “He can’t do that. He’ll be so embarrassed.”

“You’re right,” I said. “He can’t do that. We’ve got to stop him.”

A moment later, the music faded out. A familiar voice started to echo over a microphone. “Check. Check one, two. Can everyone hear me?”

“Oh no,” Dina and I said, both at the same time. We raced toward the living room. The hallway was crowded, though, and by the time we got there, we were too late. Patrick obviously wasn’t one of those musicians who took two hours to do a sound check. He’d already started.

“Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate Valentine’s Day and save the pandas,” he said. “We’re the Duotangs.” There was a smattering of applause. “I’m going to start by singing you a song I really love.” He strummed a chord on his guitar. Even through my panic, I noticed how handsome he looked in an untucked white button-down shirt and black pants. “This is my man Jax on bass,” he said. Everyone clapped again. “And this is Van Morrison’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’”

Dina and I both breathed a sigh of relief as Patrick started to strum the familiar tune. Obviously, he’d chickened out. Maybe he’d seen Dina and Damien together and decided against singing the song he wrote. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. Everybody who’d ever heard it loved “Brown Eyed Girl.” And even if he was singing about Dina, with her big brown eyes, nobody would ever guess.

Plus, another reason to feel relieved: Patrick was good. Really good. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. His voice was deep and steady. And when they came to the “sha-la-la-la-la” parts, he and Jax both closed their eyes and gave it everything they had. His curly hair bounced as he dipped his head to pick out the chords on his guitar. The panda ears he was wearing (Dina had obviously gotten to him earlier) looked ridiculous, but somehow that made me adore him even more. I knew he was singing to Dina, but I wished they were my brown eyes he was serenading.

One by one, couples got up to dance, and everyone joined in singing the chorus. Even Dina and I sang as we linked arms and swayed. Then when the song ended everyone went berserk, screaming and clapping.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Patrick and Jax said, waving the applause away. I suddenly wasn’t so worried about Patrick anymore. Even if he was about to get his heart broken by Dina, he’d been right. After hearing him sing, every girl at the party was going to be throwing herself at his feet. He’d need all fifteen of those valentines he’d bought. And—even if I hadn’t already lost it by acting like such a jerk the other night—there’d be no way I’d be holding on to my spot at number twelve.

“I’m glad you liked the warm-up,” Patrick said when the applause had quieted down a bit. “Now I want to take things down a notch and do a little acoustic number.” He strummed his guitar again. “I wrote this one myself.”

“No. No, no!” I yelled, jumping to my feet.

“Elyse. Hey!” he said, smiling and squinting into the stage lights he and Jax had set up.

Everyone was looking at me now. “Hey,” I said lamely, waving to the room in general. “Um, hi.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to go ahead with our “extreme songwriting” deal; that he was only going to humiliate himself in front of this entire room full of people, but now, with everyone staring at us, I realized it would be even more humiliating to stop him. It was going to be like watching a train wreck happen, but there was nothing else I could do.

“Did you say something?” he asked.