Sticky Fingers (10 page)

“So, sports fans. Time for the post-holiday recap.” Fm not very good at mimicking an announcer’s voice, but I can hear him laughing, anyway. “Tell me all about Sudbury. Was it all excitement and fun? Let’s hear the play-by-play.”

“Just the usual,” Scott says. I can tell from the muffled noises in the background that he’s still lying in bed, just like I am. “Lots of gifts. Lots of time listening to my uncle and aunt giving all our distant relatives tours of their McMansion and debating the merits of granite countertops versus marble in their bathroom. Excuse me, their
powder
room. And way, way too many dinner rolls and Christmas cookies and pumpkin pies. I swear, none of my mom’s relatives have heard of protein. I shoulda gone to Dad and Amber’s. I bet they ate take-out Chinese.”

I laugh and snuggle deeper into my comforter. I love talking to Scott when we’re both in bed on the weekends, early in the morning. Or on days like today, when it’s the day after Christmas and everyone’s sleeping off their family-togetherness hangovers. It makes me feel like we’re waking up with each other, which is totally romantic in a nonthreatening, non-dear-God-what-did-I-do-last-night? sort of way.

“Everyone’s entitled to eat junk once a year,” I tell him. “Even you, Mr. Super Jock.”

“Halloween. That’s my holiday. I’d much rather splurge on a box of Milk Duds than a lousy slice of Christmas fruitcake.” I hear him shift in his bed—it sounds like he’s got stuff piled all over it, which he probably does, ‘cause his room is always a mess—and then he says, “So, did Courtney ever call? You know, with Christmas?”

“Nope. Complete silence since we skipped out on the parties last weekend.”

“Wow.” He’s quiet for a second, then asks me if I bought her a gift.

“Three weeks ago. I even went into Boston and
got it at one of those boutiques on Newbury Street.” I roll over and reach down to the shelf at the bottom of my nightstand to yank out the bag, then describe the embroidered fabric belt to him. It’s gorgeous—black with red and blue flowers on it, and definitely more cool than dainty. It’s the type of belt that’ll go with just about anything. “It’s so
her.
But now I don’t know. I still have the receipt, so maybe I should return it?”

“Nah, don’t do that. Not yet, anyway. I still think she’ll call and apologize.”

“It’s been six days since we talked to each other. We’ve never gone this long without talking. Even when we’re on family vacations and don’t have much going on, we call at least once to give each other updates.” Let alone the fact that I went to a hotel with Scott, even if we didn’t do it in the end. Big stuff like that usually gets an instant call from the cell phone with a “Guess what happened to me tonight?”

And in the last six days, I’ve gone from being mad at her to being sad about the whole thing. But I don’t know how to fix it. I certainly don’t think
I should be the one to call and apologize, but not talking to her is leaving me with this totally empty feeling inside.

I hear him roll out of bed, and I can just picture him stumbling to his dresser to find sweats to pull on so he can go down to his basement and lift weights. He’s a big morning workout person, even when there’s no school.

“Well,” he says, “you’ll probably talk to her tonight if you’re still coming to meet me at work.”

He called the Fairway bowling alley in Natick a couple days ago and reserved a lane for us tonight—probably just as much a Christmas gift for him as for me, but since I like bowling, I’m sure not going to gripe. For us to get there on time, though, I agreed to meet him at Stop & Shop.

But since Courtney doesn’t usually work on Thursdays, I assumed she wouldn’t be there. “Is Courtney working deli?”

“Holiday schedule. She’s listed for today, and assuming what’s posted is correct, she gets off at the same time I do. Maybe it’d be a good idea to just wave and say hello and see how she reacts. Not to
start anything, just to feel her out and show her you’re as friendly as always. I mean, this is her problem, not yours.”

“No kidding. But if we get into it, it’ll make us late for our lane.” As much as I miss her, I’m not sure I’m ready to get into it—not in a public place like the Stop & Shop, at least. Plus, after all the family stuff I’ve done for the last few days, I really want to have some time alone with Scott. Just to hang out and do nothing serious, and to enjoy throwing the bowling ball at the pins and pretend they’re bottles of nasty orange polish … or the admissions idiots at Harvard who were too stupid to admit Scott early.

“You won’t get into it. Not unless she starts it, and I bet she won’t. Why make herself look bad? She has to know at this point that you haven’t said anything to Mat about her little case of sticky fingers.”

“True.” I let out a deep breath, then force myself into a sitting position. Another thought occurs to me—he’s been to work twice since I last saw Courtney—so I ask, “You haven’t talked to her, have you?”

“Not really.” He yawns, one of those long, obnoxious yawns where I can just imagine he’s got his eyes
closed and isn’t covering his mouth. “She said hello once, when we were both punching our time cards, but they were paging me to the front, so I just smiled and kept walking. Probably just as well.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” I’m not sure if I want Scott to talk to Courtney or not. I know he wouldn’t bring up the shoplifting unless I asked him to, but still … I can’t predict anything with Courtney lately.

“Anyway,” he continues, “if we do end up having to talk to her tonight, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. We might miss out on bowling, but if you manage to work things out with Courtney, I think that’d be worth it. Oh, crap. Just kicked the Brown application all over the floor. Can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure.”

I hear him scuffling around with some papers, then I get the sound of his bathroom light turning on—it has a fan that automatically comes on when you turn on the light, so it’s really loud. Then the phone hits the bathroom counter (I assume it’s the bathroom counter) with a clunk, and I make a face at myself in the mirror above my dresser as the very distinctive sound of liquid hitting liquid comes over the
line—with a bathroom-like echo, no less—followed by the flush of a toilet.

Great.

While the water runs (I assume he’s actually washing his hands), I go to my desk and start perusing my e-mail. Lots of good stuff, even though there’s nothing from Courtney.

Guess I shouldn’t hold my breath for a subject line that reads, “Sorry, I’ve been a total dweeb.”

“Anyway,” he says as he comes back on the line, as if he hadn’t just interrupted me to go pee, “you might not even see Courtney. So don’t stress about it.”

“Um, Scott? You just took a leak, didn’t you?”

“Sorry. It’s morning. That’s what happens when I wake up. I didn’t want to hang up in the middle or you’d think I didn’t care about the Courtney thing.”

“Next time you might want to leave the phone out in your bedroom. Or just hang up and call back when you’re done.” Ick. There’s such a thing as too much morning togetherness. “Anyway, I’ll meet you at six. I’m babysitting for the Messermans this morning, then I’m going to run some errands for my mom. So if you need me, call the cell.”

He is appropriately lovey as we say good-bye, but the whole conversation’s leaving me with a sick feeling in my gut, and not because of the sound effects.

Even if Courtney’s not talking to me, she’s going to talk to Scott at work eventually. They yak there all the time in the employee area when they’re getting their aprons, and he’s constantly harassing her from the cash registers by paging deli for a price check on something.

I can’t help but wonder how Courtney’s going to act around Scott if they have a real conversation. Or if he’ll believe whatever story she might concoct to cover the bull she spread last weekend.

Or if we’ll ever be friends again, the way we used to be.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Today’s Horoscope

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)

Don’t try to predict the day’s events, Libra. Roll with schedule changes, even if it’s against your nature.

Your Leo Partner (July 23-Aug. 22)

Leo is in a romantic mood, Libra. Be sure to make an extra effort.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Harvard vs. Georgetown

Shouldn’t we change this subject line, since we haven’t talked about Harvard (or the far superior Georgetown) in days?

Frankly, I think the header should be SEX?!?, but if your parents opened your e-mail for some reason and saw something titled SEX?!? in your in-box, they’d never let you speak to me again.

Why sex, you ask? Because even though you didn’t say it straight out, I can tell from what you’re NOT saying about Scott in your e-mails lately that we need to have a little discussion on the topic. So you’re going to get my advice, like it or not.

If I thought you’d listen, I’d tell you to get a nun’s habit and spend the rest of your life with your legs crossed. Tight. But since we both know that’s not realistic, well, my only advice—again, not that you asked for it—is to go with
your gut. You’ll have a good instinct about whether it’s right. (Both the right person and the right timing.)

But—while you’re thinking about it—here are some things you need to understand, and that your parents and girlfriends simply aren’t going to tell you:

1. Just because a guy (not specifically Scott, but ANY guy) tells you he loves you doesn’t make it true. Believe me, when he’s in high school (or even college—well, make that especially college), a guy just wants to get in your pants. Harsh, but true. Yes, he might love you. But he’s going to say it even if he simply likes you a lot. Or even if he simply thinks you’re okay. You hear it so often because it’s true: Guys think with whichever head is harder at the time.

2. Assume that you will not be with this guy the rest of your life. I hate to say this, because you’ll think I’m ripping on Scott, which I am NOT. But relationships end. Even serious ones. Every girl I know who slept with
a guy assuming that he was The One and who wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise ended up getting hurt. So go in with your eyes wide open, okay?

3. If you do decide to do it, USE PROTECTION!!!! Don’t blow this off, Jenna. If you’re even CONSIDERING sex you need to get on the Pill. If you’re afraid your parents will find out, go to a clinic. You can get a prescription without your mom and dad knowing (and if you even hint to them I told you this, I will deny it; remember that I am the good cousin, the one they trust to steer you along the path of righteousness). Then—and this is important—do NOT tell Scott you’re on the Pill.

This might seem deceptive, but it’s not (take it from a guy, okay?). If he thinks you’re on the Pill, he’s not going to be as diligent about wearing a condom every time. And you need BOTH. And I do mean every time. Got it? (If you don’t promise me you’ll use both, I’m going to fly up there and personally strangle you.)

4. If you decide not to do it, that’s perfectly fine. (Preferable, really, but I’m trying to be a realist….) You have to do what’s right for you and to hell with what anyone else thinks or what’s popular or what Scott wants. Don’t take that step just because you think it’s what’s expected.

I feel really strange about putting all this in an e-mail, so delete it right after you read it, all right? And CALL ME sometime soon. I’m going to be driving back and forth to my parents’ place in Maryland this week and next since it’s still Christmas break, but for the most part, I’ll be here at the Georgetown apartment. We should talk about this. I’m worried about you. I know with Courtney being wacko lately you’re not talking to her, but you’d better talk to someone (and no, Scott doesn’t count in this case).

All the more reason you should come here for spring break, BTW. You clearly need me to put your head straight, even if you don’t think you do.

Ask your parents NOW, before they discover I’m a deviant.

Your older and wiser cousin, Mark

“Hey, Jen!” I turn around to see Courtney’s sister standing behind me in line at Bruegger’s Bagels, a shy smile on her pale face.

“Hey, Anne, what are you doing here?” I know it’s a dorky question to ask, but it just pops out because it feels like the thing to say. Also, I have no clue if she knows Courtney and I haven’t talked for the last week.

“Just grabbing lunch.” She frowns, then reaches up to touch my hair. “Um, I think you have peanut butter in your hair. You and Scott getting kinky?”

“Oh.” I reach up to feel, and it’s definitely peanut butter. Anne has already grabbed a napkin, though, and she’s nice enough to wipe the strands clean. “I was babysitting for the Messerman kids,” I explain. “I made them lunch right before I left. Joey tried to help.”

“He’s helped me before too. They’re pretty cool kids, though, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, they actually listen most of the time.” I forget that Anne babysits for them sometimes too. “And the Messermans pay really well.”