The Art of Lainey (23 page)

“Am I not allowed to be worried about you?” he asks. “Didn’t that kid get arrested last year?”

“Didn’t you get arrested two years ago?”

“Yeah, but the charges were dropped.” I can practically hear Jason rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so I shouldn’t hang out with him because he doesn’t have a rich mom who paid to get him off the hook?”

Silence. Touched a nerve.

“Sorry,” Jason says finally. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I pound a fist into my pillow. “Then you shouldn’t have hurt me.” Seriously. Where does Jay get off thinking he can kick me to the curb and then pass judgment about the next guy I date?

Fake-date. Whatever.

“I know. I was an asshole. I’m not going to make excuses. I’m sorry. I hope you forgive me eventually.”

“Why do you even care if I forgive you, being that I’m just your
sister’s friend
?”

“Bad choice of words, huh? I figured it would be more awkward for you if I told her you were my ex-girlfriend.” Jason exhales deeply. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I get it if you hate me.” He pauses. “But I miss you.”

I flop down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. “You
miss
me? What does that even mean, Jay?”

“It means I want to see you. My soccer team is down a
girl this weekend. Come fill in for us.”

Now
he wants me to be on his team? A few weeks ago, I was looking forward to a whole summer of soccer and fun and hanging out as a couple, but he didn’t want me around. And the moment I finally think I’m starting to get over him, he invites me to come play? Tears push against my eyelids. “I’ll think about it,” I say quickly.

“Saturday. Eleven a.m. Forest Park.”

“Maybe. I might have to work.” I don’t, but he doesn’t know that. Maybe I’ll pick up an extra shift. There’s a first time for everything.

“You’ll be there,” Jason says, his voice suddenly brightening. “I know you can’t resist a soccer game.”

“Maybe,” I repeat. “Bye.” I hang up the phone and toss it onto the other side of my bed. It takes me a few minutes to process what just happened. Jason called. He definitely seemed jealous, even if he pretended it was all about being protective. And then he totally hit me in my weak spot. Even though I’m mad at him, I’m dying to play soccer. Suddenly I feel like I’m at the bottom of the mountain again.

Of course, I
could
skip the game, but I’m not supposed to prolong this battle. I’m supposed to be seizing opportunities as they arise.
“‘If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in,’”
I mutter.

I flounce down at my desk, log on to the internet, and find the webpage for the Forest Park coed league. Jay’s team—the Red Flyers—has three wins and three losses. I scan the roster. I recognize a few names from the Hazelton
boys team and one girl who plays varsity. The other girls listed are strangers, but none of them are Alexandra.

Jason plays forward with Dan Spencer and Jaime Martinez, who is probably more effective in the backfield. The Red Flyers could definitely use another strong player on the front line. I’m going to go. I log off the web and close my laptop. Resting my head on my arms, I try to make sense of everything—of why Jay called, why I was more hurt and angry than ecstatic, why I really want to play soccer with him this weekend. Across my room, I catch sight of my jewelry box perched on the top shelf of my dresser.

I go to it and undo the tiny golden clasp. The soccer ball pendant sits on a bed of red velvet. I pick it up, my fingers tightening around the cold chain. Closing my eyes, I relive that entire night—the party, the way Jason sneaked me into his bedroom, the way he touched me so gently. The way how when I started to get anxious about losing my virginity, he made some stupid joke about how sex was like us running a tricky formation together. We both laughed at that and then everything seemed like less of a big deal.

“What happened?” I whisper, my fingers still wrapped about the chain.

And then my phone rings again. It’s Kendall.

I drop the necklace back onto the velvet. “Hey,” I say, swallowing back a rush of emotion. “Aren’t you up way past your official TV-star curfew?”

She ignores my question. “My brother said you replaced him with a whack job.” Each word is a cube of ice clinking
into a glass. “Were you going to mention that to me at any particular point in time?”

And here we go. “Micah’s not a whack job,” I say. “And he’s not a replacement.”

“I see.” Kendall is quiet for a moment. “Because, and I’m quoting, Jason said you were slow dancing with some loser with a mohawk. He said you two were all over each other.”

“We were
not
all over each other,” I insist. “And who cares if I hang out with a guy who has a mohawk. It’s just a style.”

“More like a lack of style.”

I don’t answer for a second. It’s the exact same thing I said about Ebony’s baldness a few weeks ago. I’m wondering whether I got the phrase from Kendall or she got it from me. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m the copycat.

“Whatever, Kendall,” I say. “We’re just friends, okay?”

“What about the non-mohawked guy posting pictures of you two on the internet? Also just
friends
?”

She must be talking about the picture Leo took the night of the play. But how did she see it? I’m pretty sure she’s not allowed to get online until after the taping of
So You Think You Can Model
finishes up.

“Yeah. A guy I work with.”

“Lainey, you’re not going Slutsville on me, are you? I get it if Jason bailing on you made you crazy, but promise me you won’t get knocked up by some loser, okay?”

This is actually as close to worrying about someone as Kendall gets. She’s gone a whole three minutes without
mentioning herself. I can even sense an undercurrent of concern beneath her crass words.

“I promise,” I say.

“Good, because there is no way the student body is going to elect me president if my VP is preggo.”

So much for concerned. I should have known. Only Kendall could make my breakup more about her than me. She has all these senior-year plans for us. Cocaptains of the soccer team. President and VP of the student government. It all sounds like a lot of work, but she likes to be in charge of things, on and off the field. I know she’s learning it all from her mom, but Kendall’s utter self-centeredness is really starting to get on my nerves.

“Well, I’m not planning on getting knocked up,” I say tersely. “But you could always ask someone else to be your VP if you’re so worried.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Actually, I might. “Did you find out what the story is with Jason and his EMT friend? Alexandra?” It’s a bit of a struggle to say her name.

“He didn’t really say much about her, except that it’s nothing serious.” She pauses. “He totally wants you back, Lainey.”

“He said that?”

“More or less. He’s just afraid you’re going to blow him off for Mohawk Boy so he’s using soccer to get close to you.”

It is a total Jason move to try and fix everything with soccer. “We’ll see how Saturday goes,” I say warily.

“What should I tell him in the meantime?” Kendall asks.

According to Sun Tzu, the best spies are the ones located inside the enemy camp. “Tell Jason I’m really into this new guy. That he makes me realize Jay was all wrong for me. Tell him I refused to give you the dirt on how serious things are between us.”

“Ick.” She makes a gagging sound. “You’re asking me to lie to my brother?”

“Is lying a problem for you these days?” I ask. “If Jason thinks I’m really getting over him, it’ll push him to make a bold move, or at least decide for sure what he wants.”

“Good point,” Kendall says. “You’ll have him back in no time. There’s nothing more intoxicating to Jason than a girl who doesn’t want him.”

T
he next day at work, I end up right behind Micah at the time clock. I fill him in on the conversations with Jason and Kendall.

“Sounds like last night worked out better than you thought,” he says. “I’ve got to work at the Humane Society on Saturday morning, but afterward I can be a proper fake boyfriend and come watch you play.” The time clock beeps and he slides out of the way for me.

“Perfect. What about Amber?” I ask, punching in my ID number.

“Definitely not going to come watch you play.” Micah tucks his hands in the pockets of his baggy cook pants and waits for me.

“Ha-ha. How’d it go after I left?”

“Okay, I think.” We head toward the back together. “We texted for an hour. She wants to meet up someplace soon to talk.”

I leave Micah among the cutting boards and condiments
and toss my purse in my locker. As I’m heading back to the front, I pause and watch him wipe down the salad station.

“That’s a good sign, right?” I peek up toward the register. Bianca is manning the front alone, but there’s no line. She can hang for a few while Micah and I trade intel.

“I’m not getting my hopes up.” He yanks a paper towel from the dispenser above the sink and starts writing himself a to-do list on it. Caribou Cookies. Banana bread. Pizza dough.

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking that when people break up there’s usually a reason, and whatever it is, it’s still going to be there even if we do get back together.” He grabs a pair of warped, silver sheet pans and lays them out on the counter.

“You’re having second thoughts?” I can hardly believe it. “Dude, you sound like Leo.”

Micah grabs a deep silver bowl from beneath the electric mixer. “Yeah? Well, Leo is one of the smartest people I know.”

“But you’ve been pining away for her. And now she wants to meet up and you’re having doubts?” For a split second it occurs to me I had these same thoughts about Jason. But I didn’t, not really. I was just mad at him. Amber didn’t dump Micah in public. She didn’t blow him off for some other guy. He’s not angry with her. His situation is totally different.

Micah disappears into the walk-in cooler without answering. He comes back with a carton of eggs and a stick
of butter.

“Are you just afraid you’ll mess it up again?” I persist.

He stops unwrapping the butter long enough to give me a hard look. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I only miss the
idea
of her—”

Footsteps approach from the front. Micah and I both turn toward the sound. Bianca slides around the corner into the prep area with a magazine in her hand. She skids to a stop when she sees us. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“No,” Micah and I say simultaneously.

Bee’s eyes widen. “Wow, you two are becoming the same person.”

I frown. “Highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, I find that insulting,” Micah adds.

Bee holds the magazine out in my direction. “I was just wondering if you saw this interview with Caleb Waters. My mom subscribes to
Hollywood Insider
.”

“Lame,” Micah mutters under his breath. He tosses a stick of butter into the mixing bowl and flips it on low speed.

“Whatever.” Grabbing the magazine, I scan the article and accompanying pictures. There’s nothing here that I haven’t already seen online.

Micah adds two cups of sugar to the mixer and then disappears into the walk-in cooler again.

“I’m going to grab some gum out of my purse and then I’ll be back up front, okay?” Bianca heads toward the lockers.

“I’m going up there right now.” Tucking the magazine
under my arm, I head out to the front.

Bee joins me a few minutes later. “So what’s Micah’s problem?”

I shrug. “Too much angry music, probably.” I grab Bee’s hands and spin her around in a circle. “Guess what. Things might be finally coming together in the old war on Jason.” I give her a condensed version of the disaster at Beat, and then my phone calls from Jay and Kendall last night.

“He talked to you and immediately called his sister for more information? That sounds highly promising.”

“Micah is going to come to the game on Saturday,” I say. “You should come too. You can probably sub in with me.” I have no idea how many players Jason has on his team, but I’m going to be nervous and it would help to have Bianca there with me, even if she only ends up warming the bench.

“I can’t. I’m going hiking with my family that day.”

“Can you cancel?” I ask. “Come on. Wouldn’t you rather play soccer?”

“Not this time. We’re going out to Elephant Rocks State Park and my mom has been looking forward to this trip forever.” She toys with the end of her braid. “You don’t need me anyway. It sounds like you and Micah have things all figured out.”

I reach out and give her braid a friendly tug. “I always need you, Bee.”

W
hen Saturday morning rolls around, I spend a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for the game at Forest Park. Jason texted me and said to wear black shorts and that he’d give me a shirt when I get there. You’d think it’d be easy then—cleats, shin guards, socks, sports bra, ponytail, done.

I don all of these items and check myself out in the mirror. I sigh. I might as well be a boy. It’s hard for me to look hot playing soccer. I trade the ponytail for a pair of fish-bone braids, pinning my bangs back with bobby pins so they won’t flap in my eyes and distract me. My Jersey-shaped blotch of freckles stands out like some old lady’s liver spots. I dot a bit of concealer over the mark and then line my eyes with brown pencil. It’s going to have to be good enough. There’s only so much makeup I can get away with wearing before it’ll be obvious to everyone that I’m trying
to look good for Jason.
Be deceptive,
I tell myself. Today has to be all about soccer.

Forest Park is home to the zoo, several museums, a lake, tennis courts, and lots of sports fields and picnic pavilions. I turn into the main entrance and wind my way past Art Hill, where kids from nearby Washington University go to play guitars, sunbathe, and snuggle together on blankets.