Wrong About the Guy (12 page)

She curtsied and giggled.

I glanced over at George. “Now you're the one being quiet.”

“I'm tired. It's been a long afternoon. But a productive one,” he added with a quick smile in Heather's direction.

“Have a cupcake,” I said as I tossed one toward him.

He wasn't ready and the cupcake just splooshed frosting against his fingers and landed on the floor. “Jesus, Ellie! Next time, give me a warning.”

“Next time, catch it.” I went over to the paper towel dispenser on the counter.

“
You
try to catch something covered in frosting.”

“Like this?” Aaron said, picking up three cupcakes and neatly juggling them. Somehow he managed to keep grabbing them by the bottoms, not the frosted tops.

“Whoa!” Heather said. “That's so good. I tried to teach myself to juggle but I didn't get very far.”

“Your mistake was not ignoring everything else in
your life in order to master the skill,” Aaron said, focusing intently on the cupcakes circling in front of his face. “I didn't do anything for three months except this. I failed two courses and got kicked off the swim team. But I could juggle three sharp knives and only get cut a little bit. Look, I can even do this . . .” He took a step forward and then back without missing a beat. “And this . . .” He tossed one behind his back. It sailed over his head, but then he bobbled it on the descent, lost his rhythm, and all three cupcakes came tumbling down at his feet. He gazed forlornly at the mess. “And thus endeth the juggling. I hope no one was interested in the peanut butter one.” He poked gently at one of the cupcakes with the tip of his shoe. “Or the coconut one. Or whatever that orangey one is.”

I picked up the cupcakes, threw them away, and knelt down to wipe the floor with another paper towel. “You know, you could help,” I said, looking up at him.

“Some people make the mess; some clean it. And never the twain shall meet.”

“Hey,” I said to George as I stood back up. “How's this for a new essay? I could write about how Americans waste too much food and we should all grow consciences about that.” I tossed the paper towel in the trash.

“And once again your sincerity would shine through.” George closed his laptop. “I've got to go. Tell your mom I'm going to pick up those bins she needs, will you? I'll
be back tomorrow to see if they work.”

“See?” Aaron said to me in a stage whisper. “He's always here.”

George said, “I know. I need a real job. Trust me, I'm trying.” Then he said good-bye and headed out.

I felt a little bad, although I wasn't sure exactly why, so I ran after him. “Thanks for the essay help,” I said, holding the front door open for him. “Heather and I both needed it.”

“You're welcome,” he said and left.

R
iley and I were finishing up lunch at one of the courtyard tables at school the next week, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I swiveled. Arianna was standing over me, clutching a plastic container and a can of coconut water. She gave a little wave with her free hand. “Hey!” she said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not!” I tried to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. “There's always room at the inn.”

She sat next to me on the bench, and took the lid off her container, which turned out to be a salad. She then started to carefully remove bits of onion one by one with a single tine of her fork and deposit them on her napkin. “I was going to sit with my usuals, when I saw you guys and thought it would be a good chance to talk about the gift drive, and also just hang out! People totally get stuck in same-friend ruts, you know? I think we should all reach out more. I talked to Mr. Bergeron
about doing a ‘new friends' day where everyone would have to sit with someone new—like randomly assigned or something—and he loved the idea and is talking to Dr. Gardiner about it. So anyway, about the gift drive? I've been thinking about the posters. I was just going to do a stencil letter kind of thing—but, like, in bright colors and really artistic—only then I had this brilliant thought. At least, I think it's brilliant. You have to tell me if I'm right.”

Riley stood up. “Sorry, guys, but before we get too deep into this, I need to go read over my notes for my AP History test next period. Wish me luck.”

We did, and she left.

“Ugh, that's zucchini!” Arianna exclaimed, glaring down at her salad. “I thought it was cucumber. Who puts raw zucchini in a salad?” She got busy picking the zucchini out and piling it on top of the onion.

“So what's your idea?” I asked.

“Okay, you know those Uncle Sam posters? The ones where he points and says,
I want YOU
?” She switched her fork to her left hand so she could demonstrate the pose.

“Yeah.”

“We do that. Except we say,
I want YOU . . . to give to the gift drive.
”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “It's a little military-ish, though, isn't it? Wasn't that for the draft?”

“No, it's okay because we won't actually use Uncle Sam.” She switched her fork back to her right hand. “That's the whole point—we use your stepdad! Can you imagine how cool it would be for kids to walk down the hallway and see Luke Weston pointing at them from a bunch of posters? I bet they'd all notice it.”

“Yeah, no,” I said. “Let's not do that. The stencils sound fine.”

“Oh.” She raised her chin a little. “It was just an idea.”

“I know.”

“I just thought he might want to help. Since it's for a good cause.”

“Yeah. It's just that I try not to drag him into school stuff.”

“But couldn't you ask him? Maybe he'd
want
to do it.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Do you want
me
to ask him? Since it makes you uncomfortable to do it? I could come over sometime and just put it out there.” Big smile. Lots of teeth. “I'm willing to be pushy for a good cause.”

I believed her. “Let me think about it,” I said again.

She shook her finger at me playfully. “Don't forget the goal is to get a lot of people involved in this! And there's nothing wrong with using connections—if
I
had a celebrity in my family, I'd make him the mascot of
the whole program.” She picked up her fork again and stabbed some lettuce, then stopped as she was raising it to her mouth to pluck off another microscopic piece of something before finally eating it. She crunched on the lettuce and said, “I mean, most people
like
to do charitable work.”

“Luke does tons for charity,” I said, stung by the implication that he didn't. “I just don't want to drag him into a school thing. For both our sakes.”

“I bet he'd be happy to do it. I don't see how it would hurt to ask.”

“Right,” I said, just wanting to end the conversation. I stood up. “I've got to grab some books before my next class. I'll see you later.”

“Okay,” she said. “You sure you don't want me to come by and ask him myself?”

“I'm sure,” I said, and walked away.

Mom asked me what I thought we should all be for the Marquands' Halloween party. She wanted it to be something Jacob would like since he'd be going, too.

I told her I'd already made a costume plan with Aaron, but that I'd double-check. I sent him a text.

Still on for Halloween? Me Suzy, you Shakusky?

Shit—totally forgot. Sorry. Crystal got us all themed costumes, even Mia. Must do what the generalissima says. You shd still be Suzy tho—you'd be so cute.

But I couldn't be Suzy without Shakusky. She was part of a set.

I found Mom and told her I was in on whatever she decided. We talked about it for a while and decided we should do
Peter Pan
, since that was Jacob's current favorite Disney movie.

Halloween was the next Friday night. Riley and Skyler asked me if I wanted to do something with them. “We could hand out candy at your house,” Riley suggested hopefully.

“No one comes to our house,” I said, which was true, because we had a gate and a long driveway, and all the houses in our neighborhood were too far apart to make trick-or-treating worthwhile. “I'm going to a party, anyway.”

“Whose?” Riley asked, with the stricken expression of someone who thinks she's been socially marginalized. I quickly explained that it was a family thing.

We gathered in the kitchen before we left for the party so we could take a few family photos. I felt a little stupid in my green tights and tunic but I really loved the over-the-knee slouchy brown boots Mom had let me buy. I'd been coveting them for months, but she kept saying they were too expensive until the day before, when I'd argued that they'd work for Halloween and she gave in. She was funny about money, spending lavishly one second and
suddenly frugal the next—her current lifestyle clashing with old habits.

We'd assumed Jacob would want to be Peter Pan, but when we showed him a picture of the costume and said, “For Jakie,” he'd shaken his head and pointed to a picture of Michael, the little boy with the teddy bear, and then pointed to himself and said, “Jake.” Which for him was practically a sentence. So I became Peter by default. As Mom put it, “It's either you or Luke, and Luke already said it won't be him. He's very excited about Captain Hook's mustache.”

“Why not you?” I asked. “Isn't Peter Pan usually played by a middle-aged woman?”

“That sentence alone is enough to send me into therapy for five years,” she said. “Green tights would push me over the edge.”

She had been torn for a while between Tinker Bell and Wendy, but decided that since she'd probably be holding Jacob/Michael for most of the party, Wendy made more sense. “Plus I'll be wearing a nightgown, so I can go right to sleep afterward,” she said. “It's my ideal party outfit.”

Lorena took the photos for us. Mom held Jacob, Jacob held his teddy bear, and I stood next to them with my hands on my hips while Luke glowered appropriately from behind us.

Jacob loved taking photos: the second he spotted a
camera or phone pointed at him, he froze, smiled, and said “Eee!” which was his version of saying cheese. He did that now, and Lorena took a bunch of photos on my phone and then she gave him a big kiss on the cheek and said good-bye.

Normally we wouldn't bring Jacob to a big party, since they overwhelmed him, but Michael always hired a cast of young actors to dress in costumes and man booths in the backyard stocked with candy and toys, so kids could trick-or-treat without leaving the house, and Jacob was old enough this year to join in.

Aaron came over to say hi as soon as we walked into their house.

“Aladdin!” Jacob said, pointing at him with delight.

“Smart kid,” he said. “The trick-or-treating has started, if you guys want to bring him out back.” Mom and Luke thanked him and carried Jacob toward the yard, but Aaron grabbed my arm and said, “Stay with me. I need to know what you think of my vest.” He was wearing a small purple one over his naked chest. His body was as taut and muscled as I'd remembered from when we swam, but either he'd been tanning a lot lately or he'd sprayed some bronzer all over himself before the party, because he was a different shade than I remembered.

I said, “It's in a tie with the fez for my favorite part of your costume.” I flicked the tassel on his little cap.

“Ah, we're playing that game, are we?” he said, and flicked the feather on mine.

We walked into the living room. There was soft sitar music playing from hidden speakers, the lights were slightly dimmed, and the walls and ceiling were draped with silk—it all felt very exotic and fantastical.

“The palace at Agrabah?” I asked, gazing around in delight, and he nodded.

“Crystal's Jasmine and Mia's wearing a little tiger costume.”

“This totally leaves last year's pirate theme in the dust. Why isn't your dad Aladdin?”

“He said he was too old. He wanted to be Jafar.”

“But Jafar's evil.”

“He preferred age-appropriate to heroic.”

I halted suddenly and glanced back. “Was that Lady Gaga we just passed a man?”

“Yep. He's a studio musician, and he already told me he remembers when I was three and visited the recording studio and ate four cookies and threw up. It's going to be one of those nights—one of those ‘Oh, you're Michael Marquand's little boy!' nights. And don't get me started on the yold women here.”

“Yold?”

“Young/old. You know. They all have those smooth, unmoving foreheads and long hair and big breasts and
tiny waists and dead eyes and bony necks.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“There are a lot of them here tonight and a couple of them are wearing very low-cut costumes and I can't stop shuddering. And speaking of shuddering . . . look at Crystal.” He pulled on my sleeve to turn me in the right direction. “You understand why my father and I—and the house—all had to dress the way we did, right? It was all so she could look like
that
.”

She was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Her perfectly chiseled abdomen and narrow waist were shown off by a tight aqua-colored bandeau and matching hip-hugging harem pants. Her shining black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that was decorated with aqua ribbons, which matched her aqua headband. Her eyes were outlined in black and her lips were bright red. “She does look pretty amazing,” I said, staring in open admiration. “You have to admit.”

“Do I?” He considered her for a moment. She looked up while he was studying her and I saw their eyes meet. She pressed her lips together and quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said, turning back to me and shaking his head. “I can't. I just can't. I mean, yes, I'm sure objectively she's attractive. I just can't get past the absolute Crystal-ness of her to appreciate it.”

“Well, I think she's beautiful.”

“
You
are beautiful. She's scary. Let's see what's on that tray. I'm hungry.”

The server holding the hors d'oeuvres was talking to someone in a plaid shirt whose back was to us but seemed weirdly familiar for a back.

We circled around.

“George?” I said, totally surprised. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Pretty much the same as you,” he said. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Welcome,” said Aaron before turning to the caterer. “What've you got there?”

“Stuffed mushrooms.” She held out the tray so he could take one. “Finish what you were saying,” she said to George as Aaron considered his options.

“Nah, it's okay,” George said.

“I wanted to hear the rest.”

“The rest of what?” I said. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“I'm staff,” she said.

“Not you. Him.”

“Me?” George said. “I'm a farmer.” He was wearing jeans and that plaid shirt.

“That's the laziest costume—you didn't even get a hat!”

“I'm not into dressing up.”

“I didn't know you'd be here,” I said. He was so out of context, it was weird. The girl was still gazing at him expectantly like she was waiting to hear what he had been saying when we interrupted.

“Jonathan brought me. He said it would be an amazing party. It
is
an amazing party,” he told Aaron, who shrugged.

“I can't take any credit for it.” He pointed at the mushrooms. “What are they stuffed with?”

The server said, “Crab.”

“Weird,” Aaron said.

“They're good. Try one.” She offered him the tray again, and Aaron selected a mushroom.

“I'm dubious,” he said, eyeing it.

“They're delicious,” George said. “I ate like three, and I don't like either mushrooms or crab.”

The server beamed at him. She was pretty. If you liked blonds with lots of makeup.

Aaron bit into the mushroom. “Ugh,” he said, and she held out the pile of napkins in her hand. He took one, wrapped the uneaten part in it, and carefully put the whole package on a side table. He turned to me. “Where to next, Ellie, my love?”

Before I could answer . . .

“Aaron!”

We all turned toward the new voice. Crystal approached us, her hands on her hips. “I was looking
for you both. Ellie, your mother could use some help with Jacob.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, but don't you think you should give her a break so she can enjoy the party?” She seemed a little disgusted with me for not having thought of that on my own. “I saw them out back.”