When You Were Mine (9 page)

After dinner my dad says we should open one present tonight. It’s a tradition at our house. One present Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas.

My mom starts to say we shouldn’t, because we’re driving back tonight and we can do it at home, but my dad convinces her. “Come on,” he says. “Just one.”

Juliet gets to pick hers from under the tree. She chooses a gigantic one. A box so big it takes up the entire left side of the tree. Then my mom hands me my own, and from the way she’s smiling I know she knew we were going to open it here all along. It’s a small, long box, and the wrapping paper is sparkling in the white Christmas lights. I take it from my mom, gently, and turn it over.

Juliet is already tearing at her paper, ripping and yanking. Inside is a dollhouse. It’s beautiful, like a tiny copy of the house we are in. Even the white columns are the same. I’m so enthralled with it, I almost forget to open my own gift. Juliet, however, doesn’t seem remotely impressed. She takes one look at the dollhouse and
puts her hands on her hips. “Where’s my American Girl?” she wants to know.

“You already have all of them,” I say.

“Not the newest one,” she says. She looks at me like I smell weird.

“Your turn,” my father whispers to me. I brush some hair out of my face and focus on the present in my hands. I fold down the corners the way my mom does, careful not to tear anything. She always saves the wrapping paper for later.

“Hurry up,” Juliet whines. She still has her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows are knit together.

When I finally see what’s inside, my mouth hangs open. It’s exactly what I hoped it would be: Beach Barbie. The new version. The kind everyone at school has been talking about. The kind you can’t just walk into any old toy store and pick up. The kind you have to order special.

I start screaming and rip open the box. My dad puts his arm around my mom.

Juliet does
not
look pleased. She’s peering at the Barbie in my hands, leaning so far forward she’s balancing on one foot.

“Let me see,” she says firmly.

I’m cradling the doll in my arms, and I don’t want to give her up, but I also want Juliet to like me again. I want her to take me up to her new room and show me all her things. I want us to play
on her floor the way we used to. I want to be best friends, just like we were. And since the reindeer sweater didn’t do the trick, Barbie might be my only option.

“Okay,” I say. “Just be careful.” It’s what my mom always says when she hands me something she really cares about. Like the good dishes to set the table or the brush with the porcelain handle she keeps on her dresser.

Juliet takes the doll and looks her over. Then, with one swift motion, she snaps her head off. It happens so fast, I’m not even sure if I should be upset. She just takes the doll, looks at her, and cracks her in two.

Everyone starts to talk at once. My dad is yelling, and my mom is mumbling something, and Juliet’s mother is talking over everyone, saying that she thinks it can be fixed. I don’t say anything. I don’t cry or try to snatch the doll away. I don’t even look at Barbie, or what’s left of her. Instead I look at Juliet. She’s staring at me like she’s just won a game of tag. Like she’s beat me. Then she tosses the two halves down onto the ground and marches out of the room.

Juliet’s father follows her out, but not before he turns to my dad and says a bunch of things, all of which end with a word I’ve never heard before—traitor.

We drive back to San Bellaro that night. I pretend to sleep in the car but I can’t. All I can see is Juliet’s face before she walked
out of the room. Determined. Angry. Like I had taken something from her, not the other way around. I left the broken Barbie on the floor where Juliet threw her. My parents offer to get me another one, but I refuse. I don’t want her anymore.

Rob might be here any minute to pick me up for dinner
, and I’m feeling ill. I’m sure some of it has to do with the gobs of
queso
I inhaled after school, but mostly it’s about the fact that at any minute my best friend is going to take me on a date. That might end in us kissing. Rob. Kissing. I need to sit down on the bed just to keep my head from exploding.

I wanted to ask my parents about Juliet. I even brought the newspaper home to show them, but they aren’t here. My dad sometimes teaches night classes, and my mom’s yoga schedule is impossible to keep up with, but it’s fine. I have enough to think about with Rob.

Charlie and Olivia are over, and they’re both lying on my bed, looking through last year’s yearbook. It’s a tradition we have
to look at last year’s book around the first day of school. Usually we do it before and decide who we think is going to have come back better-looking, worse, smarter, sexier, most changed, etc.

“I think Jake got cuter,” Charlie says. Her feet are in the air and she’s on her back, the yearbook straight up in her hands. She looks like a dead bug, the kind you find belly up on our back porch over the summer.

“Eh,” Olivia says. “He has a nice body, I guess.”

“Surfing.” Charlie flips over and raises her eyebrows. I know that look. She’s trying to tell me that Rob has the same body too.

I launch myself into my closet, blushing. “Where did you put the white one?” I call.

“On the bed,” Charlie says. “Chill.”

“You sound like your boyfriend,” Olivia says, folding a magazine and hitting her over the head. “Chill, dude.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She tosses me the dress, and I slip it on. It’s a halter dress, something Charlie bought me for my birthday last year after I complained about never having any sundresses. It was an ironic gift, given that my birthday is on January first. A white dress in the middle of winter. So Charlie.

Just the fact that Charlie and Olivia are always up to celebrating my birthday is a big deal. I mean, I was born on January first, which is basically, like, National Hangover Day. It’s the official stop date of the holiday season, and everyone’s usually burnt out
and exhausted. Not that I mind. I’ve never been a huge fan of birthdays anyway, but still, something about it is always kind of disappointing.

“What do you think?” I sway my arms by my sides for effect, and the dress rocks slowly, like waves lapping at the shore.
Swoosh, swoosh
.

“Hot,” Olivia says. Charlie gives me a thumbs-up.

“My face looks bloated.” I puff out my cheeks in the mirror and run some blush over them, adding mascara to my lashes. I look at Olivia and Charlie perched on the bed, effortlessly attractive, and then back at the mirror.
He called you beautiful,
I remind myself.
You. No one else.

“Take two Tylenol and some orange juice,” Olivia says.

Charlie gives her a look like she’s just suggested I wear argyle. There are few things in this world Charlie hates worse than plaid. One of them is definitely argyle.

“What?” Olivia says. “It works.”

I find two Tylenol and swallow them with some water from the bathroom sink. That will have to do.

“You really look great,” Charlie says. “Scout’s honor.”

“Agreed,” Olivia says. She turns on her side and surveys me. “I’m just so proud.”

A car honks. Charlie and I exchange a glance, and then we’re all at the window, looking down at Rob’s silver Volvo. I see the door
open, and I spin myself around from the window before I can watch him get out. My insides feel like a racetrack: cars zipping hundreds of miles per hour all around my stomach and chest.

“He’s here!” Olivia shrills.

Charlie motions me closer and puts on the serious face she uses in history class. “I’m really happy for you,” she says. “This is totally a big deal, and Rob’s the best, and I want you to have a really good time.”

“Kodak moment.” Olivia smiles and makes like she’s snapping a camera.

“We’re adorable,” I deadpan, giving Charlie a hug. I hold on for a minute longer than I intend to. I guess I am sort of nervous.

“Okay, clingy.” Charlie pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. “Knock ’em dead.”

“You’ll be great,” Olivia says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Except do,” Charlie says. “It’s way more fun.”

I take the pillow from my desk chair and hurl it at her. “Good-bye, hooligans.”

“Ciao,” they say together. I can hear Charlie call jinx, and then Olivia starts whining.

I run down the stairs and then pause at the doorway, trying to catch my breath.
It’s just Rob
, I remind myself.
Just a date. Just Rob.

I open the door still attempting to settle my heartbeat. He’s almost at my doorstep and stops when he sees me. Then he
smiles, and it’s like his face lights up my entire driveway. I just stand there, looking at him like an idiot.

“You look beautiful,” he says, which makes my heart leap up and out of my chest. I can’t believe it’s the second time he’s told me that. It’s almost like he thinks it’s true or something.

“So do you.” He laughs, and I cringe. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he says. “Oh, these are for you.” He pulls a bouquet of roses out from behind his back. “Your favorite,” he says. “Roses for Rose.”

I take a deep breath and then will my feet to move toward him. He hands me the flowers and then pulls me into a hug. It’s brief, but the smell of him is overwhelming. Apples and soap, just like always.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says.

“We didn’t set a time,” I say. “You can’t be late.”

“I guess I wanted to see you sooner.”

I set the flowers inside and close the door, then walk with him over to the car. He opens the passenger door. It takes him a few tries to get the handle, and when he does, he laughs nervously. “Been meaning to fix that.” Inside his car still smells like pine. It has smelled this way since we picked up a Christmas tree last winter. For some reason we decided it would be a good idea to shove it into the backseat instead of strap it to the top. There’s
this place by the water that sells them. The trees, I mean. I’m surprised the smell has clung on through the summer, even if we were still finding pine needles in May.

“So how was day one?”

“Pretty good,” I say. “The usual. Except AP Bio, which is ridiculous.” I make a move to hike my knees up onto the dashboard but stop myself. It feels wrong to be that casual tonight.

“Mrs. Barch?”

“Mhm.”

“At least it will look good on that Stanford app.” He takes his hand off the steering wheel and runs it over his forehead. Stanford is Rob’s dream too. We’ve planned on it since we were kids.

“Even if I flunk?”

Rob takes his free hand and reaches over to tap my knee. “You never flunk. You’re Rosie.”

“Guess who’s back?” I say, remembering I haven’t told Rob about the newspaper article yet.

“Eminem?”

“Funny. No. Juliet.”

Rob frowns. “Your cousin?”

“Exactly.”

“Wow. How come they’re back here?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I haven’t asked my parents yet.”

“Didn’t your parents have a falling-out with them?”

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen Juliet in a decade.”

“Me either.”

“Well, obviously.” I poke him with my elbow, and we both laugh. It makes me relax.

We drive in silence for a few minutes. I think about reaching over for his iPod, but I don’t. I don’t want this to be like any old Wednesday night. I don’t want this to just be Rob and Rose, hanging out. This is a date. It has to be different. And just like I can’t recline my legs up on the dashboard, I also can’t be in charge of the music.

“You want to go to Bernatelli’s?” he asks, breaking the silence. Bernatelli’s is this Italian place by the water that our parents are really into. I’m surprised Rob wants to go. The only thing I’ve ever heard him say about it is that Domino’s pizza is better. I don’t bring this up, because it seems like a good date spot and tonight is about things being different.

“Sure,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything, and I’m suddenly acutely aware that we are alone together. We’ve been alone hundreds of times before. Thousands, even. But this is the first time I’ve ever noticed. I cave and fiddle with his iPod and put on some music. I don’t even know what’s playing. Not like it matters. My ears are still humming their own speedy rhythm in time with my racing pulse.

I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say. There doesn’t seem to be anything remotely unimportant
to
say. It’s like the second he put his knee on mine this morning, or even maybe before that, maybe when he put his hands on my face in May, he annihilated everything trivial. All the stupid stuff that used to make up our friendship, like whether Jason was a good kisser or whether Rob really looked as ridiculous as he felt in collared shirts, seems impossible to talk about now. We’re not just two friends informing each other about our day anymore. Which is fine, and I’m happy. I want this. I just feel like I’m sitting next to a stranger.