The Julian Game (10 page)

“Yeah. Very.” I’d give Natalya the rundown in a day or so. Right now, I didn’t want any more complications.

When Ella approached my locker that afternoon, though, I feared some kind of trouble brewing. Had she been unable to access Elizabeth, too? But she didn’t appear to be exactly angry. Just determined.

“I’ve got the best idea,” she announced.

“What?”

“I want to play another trick on Julian.”

His name thrilled a rush of blood from my head through to the tips of my toes. But what was she talking about, another trick? “We did enough, don’t you think?”

“Hear me out. It’s really funny. You know how his mom has that little catering shop on Lancaster? Well, I want to call in an order from a disposable cell and pretend to be having a party. We’ll have them make caviar on toast points and all this insane amount of food. Then never pick it up. How good a burn is that?”

She was serious. “But . . . she owns that shop. You’re financially attacking the whole family.”

Ella flicked her fingers. “That’s only your nerbity first reaction. C’mon, you know you want to.” Her smile was sunny but her eyes were like a sharpshooter. I’d never had a bona fide girl crush, but something about Ella’s physical beauty and the way she was standing so close to me made me understand, with sharp and aching clarity, how you could fall wildly in love with a girl like Ella. She looked perfect as a daffodil. What did it matter that she was rotten at the root, if you could somehow get her to love you back?

But I didn’t love her. In fact, even as I got partly sucked in by her smile, I was also experiencing a completely different emotion: Ella was freaking me out.

“Listen,” I started, “my dad owns a shop. It’s hard to make ends meet even in good times. To mess with a small business like that would be devastating.”

“You told me you were treacherous.” Ella crossed her hands at her chest, working her slight height advantage and staring down at me as though I were a disobedient child who needed a slap. “I thought we had something in common.”

And that’s when I said the thing that I immediately wanted to take back. “But your idea isn’t treacherous, Ella. It’s stupid.”

She instantly recoiled. Like I was the one giving out slaps. “Oh, excuse me. So what I’m hearing now is that Miss Sophie Fulton-Smartass thinks I’m
stupid
?”

“No, not you personally. Just . . . you can’t mess with somebody’s livelihood.” Somehow it seemed like I was still correcting her.

“You’re such a nun.” But quick as the anger had appeared in her face, Ella’d erased it. “Fine, forget that idea. But if you’re the brains of this team, then it’s up to you to figure out our next thing. Don’t you want to? It was so hilarious, last time. And Julian’s a jerk. We could get him back for every girl he ever crapped on. What’s the word for that—for what we could be?”

“Vigilantes?”

“That’s the one.”

She was wearing a pair of lemon yellow gloves today, and as she lightly squeezed my wrist, I realized how few times I’d been touched by a person wearing gloves. My doctor. My dentist. My grandpa Archer, who lived up near Hershey and was never without his pair of webbed Mechanix when he took me out on his tractor. Gloves meant protection and authority; they were the uniform of heavy lifting, or of scientists and trained assassins.

Ella was still talking. I tuned back in and caught the end. “ . . . of what happened to me Saturday night, that insane friction between all those stupid little boys, I was like—now
this
is real. This is power. And then when I saw his picture on Facebook? Didn’t you feel it, too? As in, ‘I did that. That happened because of me.’”

“No,” I said. “To be honest, I felt pretty awful about it. I’m sorry, Ella. I guess I’m not that good at revenge after all.”

“But you’re wrong,” she said. “You get off on the risk. I can tell. It’s in you. You just need me to bring it out is all.” Ella smiled thinly. “Don’t you see that, Nerb? You’re the brains, and I’m the balls. We’re a perfect team.”

“Then I guess I’m not a team player,” I said. “Not for these kinds of games, anyway.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize it was Self-Righteous Little Prig Day,” she said, and before I could answer anything else, she’d turned and left in a snit. She was probably surprised that I’d spoken back to her, and that I wasn’t playing along. It scared me, but I didn’t regret any of it. More than anything, I wanted to be finished with Ella.

And I was terrified that I wasn’t.

Entering the library’s main room, I spied Julian immedi
ately. All the way in the back at the very last table. I released a sigh of thanks that he had showed.

When he saw me and swooped an arm in the air to signal me over, I got self-conscious; it was like my junior high school graduation processional all over again. When, as valedictorian, I’d had to heft the three-times-my-size school flag. I almost wished I had that flag now, to hide behind. Though I recognized a couple of Fulton girls, the library crowd was mostly strange faces from other schools. I tried to stop imagining worst-case scenarios—tripping over my shoes, popping out a contact lens, seeing Ella.

Or seeing Jeffey.

No, not the worst, not the worst.
But it was nerve-racking. She was sitting one table in front of Julian but facing the other way. When she turned her head over her shoulder to see who Julian was looking at, her mannequin face couldn’t hide its shock. I couldn’t hide mine. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected to run into anyone from the Group on a Luddington off-night.

“Hey. Raye.” I could feel that extra beat as she remembered my name.

“Hi, Jeffey.”

She was with a guy who might have been her fashion model twin, who gave me the void look of I-don’t-know-you-and-I-don’t-really-care.

But I’d caught Jeffey’s interest completely. I tried to keep it loose. As I moved past, I sent Jeffey a fleeting smile that landed on Julian.

“You made it,” he said as I slid into the chair across from him. “Thought you might not show.” Julian Kilgarry, visibly relieved to see me. I wanted to pinch myself.

“Never. Here.” I’d wrapped up a box of Neosporin and tied it with a ribbon. I removed the package from my jacket and tossed it over. I’d second-guessed giving Julian a gift. Even a joke one. It seemed corny. In the end, though, I needed him to know the real me, not my fabricated, Elizabeth self. And this gesture felt natural.

“I still feel awful about what happened,” I told him honestly. “So I had to tie a ribbon around my apology.”

“Yeah, Saturday night wasn’t one for the Schrön loop.” Julian unwrapped the package and laughed. He had one of those hearty laughs that began in the base of his stomach and carried across the room. “I’m sure I’ll use it. Thanks.”

I got out my books, though studying didn’t feel much on the agenda. Julian looked heart-stoppingly perfect tonight, and I wished I could click-and-send proof:
im at luddington with this guy!!!!!
to every girl I’d ever met in my life.

Smoothing out my Joan of Arc assignment, I attempted to lock it in.

After a few minutes, Julian slid a piece of paper across the table. “Remember I was telling you about that application essay for Presidential Classroom that’s due next month? Here it is. You mind eyeballing?”

“No problem.”

I started to read. When I glanced up, Julian was slouched back and cracking his knuckles. Waiting for my opinion. Looking so effortlessly hot, it was hard to bring him down to earth, to remember that this was the same Julian I’d been messaging with every night for the past two weeks. Julian, the newspaper editor. Julian, the chess player. Julian, the film geek who’d gone into a major digression with me on Steve McQueen versus Yul Brenner’s mojo in
The Magnificent Seven
(to which I could contribute some credible theories, since this was one of my dad’s favorite movies of all time and we always watched it on Christmas Eve while everyone else sniffled through
It’s a Wonderful Life
).

In other words, my Julian. No matter how many meaningful looks or sultry, telepathic messages other girls were giving him, or how many whispers were being passed ear to mouth to ear about his square jaw and sexy laugh. I thought I probably knew this guy better than anyone in this whole overlit, worm-gray-carpeted library.

“It’s great,” I whispered when I’d finished, taking up a pencil. “But you could make it shorter and sweeter. You mind?”

“Go for it,” he hissed back, his smile crinkling up the corners of his eyes, melting me as I began to strike through lines.

My back was to Jeffey, but she was eavesdropping. I could tell. It was not exactly a comfortable sensation, but I wasn’t in the perfect frame of mind to care. It was hard to rev up much interest in anyone but the guy across the table. If I could hold on to this moment, double it, stretch it, make it count—then what did it matter what the Group thought? They were a nip at my ankle. And Julian Kilgarry was claiming a lot more of my body’s attention than that.

Ella called after midnight. I’d already imagined the steps of
this scenario, a sent-to-self memo titled “Dealing with Ella

(After Jeffey No Doubt Tells Her About Julian).”

 

1. I’d admit everything (asap).

2. She’d go ballistic and freeze me out. Seeing to it that everyone in the Group shunned me, too (1-2 weeks).

3. It would die down (3-5 weeks).

4. Life at Fulton would continue as usual (through senior year).

 

No matter how innocent Julian and I might have looked, Jeffey would have alerted the Group immediately to the fact that one of MacArthur’s Official Hottest was out studying with me, the new girl whose only claim to fame—as far as the Group saw it—was that Ella got me to help her with homework.

I’d been asleep for only half an hour when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” she asked. Like she cared.

“Not really. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I decided to forgive Lindy. I just got off with her and I thought I’d call you.”

“Oh.” I switched on my lamp and sat up rigid. Whatever Ella Parker wanted to say to me, I needed to be awake for it. “Forgive her for . . . you drawing circles on her cellulite?”

She chose to ignore this comment. “Listen, Raye. There’s something you should know,” she began. “A long time ago, I used to be kind of very into Julian Kilgarry. We were at Poconos Kids Camp Club together one summer between seventh and eighth grade. It seems like a million years ancient history, but we went out. If that’s even what you call it when you’re in middle school.”

“That’s nice.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Was Ella joking or serious? She had that singsong tone she sometimes adapted when she was tattling about Lindy’s body odor or Faulkner’s bedwetting.

I fell silent.

“Anyway, let’s get to the point,” she continued. “Jeffey said she saw you and Julian together at Luddington earlier tonight.”

“Yep, I saw her there, too.”

“So what’s the deal? You told me you’d never even met Julian.”

“That was true at the time. But after what happened, I had to tell him. Ella, I’m sorry, but I felt pretty guilty.”

“Listen to you. Taking the bullshit moral high ground. Apologizing to Julian. You might have given me a heads-up.”

My mind was firing all directions, and it was hard to think straight. “The thing is I figured you’d be annoyed. And I thought everything would end with my apology. But then I ran into Julian at Luddington . . . and he asked for help with a composition he’d been working on. It was something he’d talked about online with Elizabeth. That’s all. I promise.” In the dark, I crossed my fingers. A little white lie wouldn’t kill anyone.

“Here’s the thing.” With a laugh that didn’t soften what she was preparing to say, if that was her intention. “I’m suggesting nicely. Don’t get cozy with Julian Kilgarry.”

“How does one study session at Ludding—”

“Because. I. Can’t. Deal. With you. Plus him.”

“There’s not really anything to deal with, Ella.” I swallowed.

“What are you missing? Can’t you see how this whole thing, this ridiculous you-and-Julian thing, makes me feel? You want to talk on the phone with me and come over to my house and wear my clothes and go to my parties and be friends with me, then you don’t betray me. Right?”

“Friends.” I repeated her word. I wouldn’t have chosen it. Ella was hardly giving me the access to the Group that I’d hoped for. But none of that stuff mattered, not if I had Julian.

“Right, Raye? We’re friends. Not enemies. And friends are loyal. You don’t want to be my enemy.”

My fingers were still crossed. “Um, my dad just came in my room. He wants me to get off the phone.”

“Oh my God, you absolute liar. Do you think I’m an idiot? I am not joking around, you smug little bitch.”

“Okay. I understand. I gotta go.”

“You’d better think very long and hard about what you want to do here, Nerbit. Get your priorities in line.”

“Really, Ella, I need to go . . .”

“I mean it. Think. Even if you have to stay awake all night. Am I clear?”

“Okay . . . good night.” I clicked off. Seismic tremors were rippling through me. I couldn’t remember when anyone had ever talked to me like that. The sternest Dad ever got with me was about wasting time, as in, “Your future’s too bright to waste on [television, phone calls, the Internet], young lady.” And once some old crank at the Exchange called me a “dimwit,” and said I wasn’t qualified to offer my opinion on taste.

Those were incidental outrages. Ella Parker’s anger was something else entirely.

Ella was standing in front of me. Her gloved hands were holding a cling-wrapped platter of cookies, and her eyes were on guard. She possessed such an abundance of the “right” things—flawless figure, glass-cut features—that just looking back at her upset me. Now that I knew her, it seemed wrong that Ella could play off such refined, tasteful beauty when her core self was so warped.