Sweet Nothing (6 page)

“Oh, and of course I had no idea that Dr. Goodwin’s office was so far away, so by the time I got there, I was basically drenched in sweat. And limping.” I don’t mention the black bra/white blouse fiasco.

“Poor thing.” Waverly plucks a date from the platter and pops it in her mouth. She’s obviously enjoying this.

“And so I get there, and Dr. Goodwin is sweet, and pretends not to notice that I’m a total wreck. And he says…” I gulp the last of my water. “…he got a parent phone call.”

“Oh, God.” Gwen smacks the table. “On day one? That’s a fucking record.”

“Hush. Let her finish.” Waverly is practically salivating.

I pause. “From Hayden Santiago’s father.”

“SENATOR SANTIAGO?” The girls screech, literally in unison. It would be a perfect comedic chick flick moment, if there were anything funny about this. Which there isn’t.

“I’m NEW!” I wail. “I didn’t know!” I give them background on my less than professional exchange with Hayden that morning.

Waverly giggles. “He
does
look like he spends too much time on his hair, though. I never thought about that.”

“Apparently, the second I left class he texted his dad and said I was bullying him.”

“I taught Hayden last year. And I have him for AP again this year. AND he’s one of my staff writers for the paper. That kid is such a prick.” Gwen twirls her nose ring.

Dr. Goodwin had been kind, but clear: The Santiago family was
of vital importance to the school
. And it was
in my best interest for Hayden to feel comfortable in class.

He might be a tool, but he’s an important tool. Message received.

“I got off with a warning, but I’m gonna have to be careful. The kid has it out for me now.”

“That whole family is a disaster,” Waverly says. “The son is rude, the father got caught in a sleazy motel in D.C. last year with his pants down—literally—and the wife just finished her third stint in rehab.”

My blood runs cold.

“Third time’s the charm,” Gwen muses.

“Please. Rehab doesn’t work on a woman like that. She basically uses it for an extended vacation.” Waverly rolls her eyes.

I stare past her, my eyes unfocused. I want to stop the memory, but it comes anyway.

—Mom?
I was ten, standing in the doorway to the library on the second floor of our Upper East Side apartment. It was the middle of the night, and my eyes were stitched with the laces of sleep. I could see my mother’s shadowy outline behind my father’s desk, in front of the fireplace. The chandelier was dim.

—Yes, baby, mama’s home.
She always referred to herself this way—
mama
—even though Aria and I never did. She tried to get up, but was unsteady on her feet. Even at such a young age, I knew enough to think:
already?

—Come give your mama a kiss, Elle belle!
Her voice was too thick, too deliberate. There was a nearly empty crystal decanter on the desk in front of her. No glass. I wanted to turn around, to call for my father, but I knew better.

—Did the doctors make you better, Mom?

—You mean the shrinks?
She waved the air as if she smelled something rotten. 
Heads up their asses. Now come here, baby. Mama’s missed you.

“Hello?” Gwen’s waving her palm in front of my face, bringing me back. “Earth to Ellie.”

“Sorry.” My face grows warm. “Spaced out for a second.”

Gwen’s eyes linger, concerned. But Waverly barely notices.

“In other news,” she announces slyly, “I heard you had a visit from the one and only Luke Poulos this morning.”

“Get out.” Gwen’s jaw drops.

“Where did you—how did you know that?” I’m trying for nonchalant. But I can tell by the grins on the girls’ faces that I’m flunking miserably. Even the sound of Luke’s name warms me.

“Vi Miller is in my second period.” Waverly looks proud. “That’s one thing I will say about these kids: if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t know half of what goes on around here.”

Gwen nods. “You can pretty much be sure that if a student hears about this kind of thing, it’ll go campus-wide by the end of the day.”

“There’s no
thing
,” I argue. I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face if I wanted to. “He’s just my faculty mentor, so he was coming by to check on me.”

“Faculty mentor? Or ‘
faculty mentor’
? Pleased with her air quotes, Waverly fist-bumps Gwen.

“Quit,” I laugh. “Seriously. He’s just a nice guy and he wanted to make sure I was doing okay.”

“Whatever you say.” Waverly bites her lip thoughtfully. “But if you’re not interested, I might be.”

I bristle. I can’t have Luke, I know that. But Waverly would be my last pick for a stand-in.

“Plus, he’s just really nice,” Gwen adds. “Lucky. You must have done something pretty amazing in a previous life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Waverly scoffs. “Just because Luke Poulos is into her?”

“Hello? I’m right here.” Actually, I agree that karma is a real force, something that keeps us accountable for our actions. But karma can’t be in play here. Not when a guy like Luke just waltzes into my life. Nobody deserves that kind of good fortune. Especially not me.

Now that I know the girls know Luke, I have a million questions. None of which I can ask without giving myself away. Does he have a girlfriend? Is he really as nice as he seems, or is it just an act? And what was in the gold envelope he’d slipped to me during first period?

The envelope. I’d been so exhausted, so distracted by my meeting with Dr. Goodwin, that I’d completely forgotten to open the envelope.

“I’ve got to run inside for a second.”

“But we haven’t decided what we want to do for dinner. And I don’t feel like cooking,” Waverly pouts.

“When have you EVER felt like cooking?” Gwen asks.

“I
mean
, I don’t feel like calling for takeout. It’s your turn.”

Gwen sighs. “Chinese?”

“Sounds great,” I say hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.” I slip inside and dig through my bag until I find the envelope. Run my fingers over the edge of the flap. Wait for a few seconds. I’ve always been this way, even as a kid. I was never one to tear into presents on my birthday. I liked the moments before opening the gift the best. When anything was possible.

Finally, I slip my finger beneath the flap and carefully remove the card inside.

you’re invited

to an art opening honoring

the students of honors painting 3

and honors photography 2

My heart sinks. It’s nothing, just an invitation to a school event. There’s a date—tomorrow night—and an off-campus address, and Luke has scrawled
hope you can make it
at the bottom.

I shove the invitation back into the envelope. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the knot of disappointment in my stomach tells me I wanted something more than this. An invite to a school event sends the message loud and clear: Luke sees me as nothing more than a work obligation. And this is just a nice gesture, to make me feel included. Or maybe this is the Universe, reminding me that Luke is out of my reach. That we’re colleagues. That we can never be anything more.

A guy like him could never want a girl like me, anyway. Again, message received.

Elle,

Call me. Now.

A

I’m preoccupied for the rest of the night and the next morning, debating whether to go to the art opening. By the end of first period, it’s decided: I definitely won’t make an appearance. Every time I see Luke, I feel a gravitational pull toward a guy who can never know the real me. Why should I torture myself, when seeing Luke tonight will only make me want what I can’t have?

By third period, I’ve made up my mind: I have to go. If Dr. Goodwin finds out that I was invited and bailed, I’ll look like a slacker. It’s a school-sponsored event, and I could use some brownie points after Senator Santiago’s phone call. Who says Luke and I can’t be friends? It’s not like I’m a horny teenager who can’t control herself around a man. I’m an adult. I can act like one.

Right? Right.

By the end of the day, I’m teetering on the verge of a migraine. So I’m relieved when Gwen pops into my room after the last bell.

“Wanna get coffee? I have a meeting for the
Gazette
later, but I could use some time off campus.” Leaning in my doorway, she’s mastered the art of cool. She’s wearing black cigarette pants, metallic oxfords, a vintage tee, and a fitted plum blazer. And she’s accessorized with a glinting costume brooch and retro red frames that she doesn’t need, but totally pulls off.

“Sounds great.” I like this about her: every day her style seems different, but underneath it all, she’s the same relaxed, confident Gwen. I wonder what it would be like to feel that comfortable in my skin. To remain constant, steady on the inside, despite the changes on the outside.

“Cool. There’s a sweet little place a couple blocks over if you want to walk.”

I start to corral my belongings—cell, planner, iPad, and money clip. Before I can stash them in my bag, the phone rings. Aria. She’s already called three times today, while I was in class.

“Need to get that?”

“No. It’s fine,” I say quickly, silencing the phone. I toss it in my bag. Guilt creeps in at the base of my skull. Aria obviously needs me. And I’ve abandoned her, along with the rest of my family. “And walking sounds good. I’ve been cooped up all…” I trail off as my fingertips graze Luke’s gold envelope.

“In that case…” Gwen sheds her blazer and tosses it on my desk, along with a stack of rubber-banded summer reading tests and a
People
mag. “mind if I leave this stuff here? I can come back for it before my meeting.”

“No problem.”
Aria will be fine
.
She can wait.
I’ll call her when I have time to talk. I wouldn’t be any good to her with Gwen standing here, anyway.

It only takes a few minutes to walk to Gwen’s usual coffee haunt, which as promised is not far from campus. Still, my bangs are papered to my forehead by the time we step into the icy, air-conditioned space. Miami Fun Fact: Bangs are hazardous to one’s self-esteem in temperatures over 80 degrees.

We order iced coffees (mine with soy milk and raw sugar, Gwen’s black) at a long, mosaic-tiled bar.

“I’ve got it.” I feel around my bag for my money clip, finding the cool plastic of my debit card instead. “You guys have been so sweet since I got here.”

I half expect Gwen to protest—it’s what I would do, even if I had no intention of paying—but instead she just says: “Awesome. Thanks.”

The barista swipes my card, then rolls her eyes at the machine. “Sorry. It’s taking a second.”

“So, how was young Master Santiago in class today?” Gwen asks.

“Entitled.” He’d sauntered into my classroom just milliseconds before the bell, giving me what could only be described as a dickish smile. Had taken his seat in the back row and refused to speak for the entire 45 minutes.

“Sounds about right.”

“Oh. Um…” The barista wrinkles her nose at me. “Your card’s been declined.”

“What? That’s not possible. Try it again.”

She does. “Sorry.”

Gwen’s hand dips into her canvas cross-body bag. “Here. I got it.”

“NO,” I say, too loudly. A teenaged couple at the closest table turns to stare. “You don’t understand. Please. Just—try it again.” I can feel my body growing hot with shame. This has never happened before. And shouldn’t be happening now.

“Seriously. I’ve got it.” Gwen slides a wilted twenty across the counter. In exchange, the barista nudges my debit card back with the edge of her pen. Like it’s infected.

“Gwen—”

“You can get me next time.” Gwen shoots me a quizzical look. “You okay? I mean, it’s no big deal. This kind of thing happens to me all the time.”

“It doesn’t happen to me,” I snap, instantly regretting my tone. “Sorry. It’s just that...” I try to swallow. What am I going to tell her? That I’ve never, not once, overdrawn any of the bank accounts I’ve had since birth? That it’s taken me less than 48 hours in Miami to prove that I’m incapable of living on my own? Gwen’s lips are moving, but I don’t hear sound. I have to get out of here. Now.

“Excuse me,” I whisper. I leave my coffee on the counter; stumble outside into the accusing sunlight. I escape into the alley and reach for my cell phone. My sweaty fingertips slip against the screen as I dial. Aria answers on the first ring.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you all day.” She sounds angry and relieved at the same time.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been teaching,” I explain. “Aria, you’ll never believe what just happened. I overdrew my account.”

Silence. Then, “Is that code for something, or—”

“No. No. I opened a checking account with some of my own money and I don’t know what happened! It’s just… gone, and I have a little cash, but we don’t get paid for two weeks!”

“Elle, why don’t you just ask Mom?” she says softly.

“No.”

“Even just this once?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want their money. I can do this on my own.” My family’s money has come at too high a price. And there’s no way I’m begging my mother for help. Not after the things she’s said. She’d only hold it over me; use it to try to control me. I’d rather spend the rest of my cash on ramen noodles.

Gwen peeks into the alley and mouths
Are you okay?
I nod and lift my cell. She gives me a thumbs-up and heads back into the coffee shop.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Aria is saying. “I overheard Mom on the phone with the lawyers today. Something about bankruptcy court.” Her voice is a whimper. “She says she’ll handle it but I know she’s scared. Elle, what are we gonna do?”

Overhead, the sun beats down. The crumbling brick walls seem to close in. I can’t fix this. I have a way to earn a living, but what about Aria? And as much as I hate her right now, what about my mother? Neither one of them has ever had to do anything for herself.