All the Way (14 page)

When it was over, he took his arm away. “Did you like it?” he asked.

Who knows?
I thought.
It's kind of hard to keep your mind on a movie when you're waiting to be kissed.

“It was okay.” It had been one of those long epics set in Japan—not really my thing.

“Yeah, too long,” he said. “They should have cut about twenty minutes. You want to go out for coffee?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Murphy's was just around the corner from the movie theater, so we walked instead of driving. He ordered his usual, a straight black house blend, and I ordered a mocha.

“Ah, so now you want the whipped cream,” he teased, his eyes dancing. “I wonder what that means.”

“It means I'm indulging,” I said. “It's been a long week, and I figure I deserve a treat.”

“Yeah.” He nodded sympathetically, as if he knew what I meant.

Do you?
I wondered.

It was sort of strange how Tyler had never said one word to me about Joey's blog or the Hot Box Club or the rumors about me. It was like that saying: there was an elephant in the living room, and no one was talking about it. I couldn't quite figure out why.

“Extra whipped cream on the mocha,” he told the guy behind the counter at Murphy's. “And don't put the lid on. It smashes it down.”

I shot him a smile of surprise. How did he know that's how I felt?

“My mom always tells them that,” Tyler explained.

“She says it ruins half the fun if the whipped cream swirls are demolished.”

“Do you even
have
a mom?” I joked.

“Okay, I admit it,” he said, laughing. “I was born half human, half whale and raised by wolves . . .”

“Don't start!” I screamed, giggling. “Honestly, I don't think I'll ever believe anything you say again.”

His face got all serious and tender and sexy, and he looked me in the eyes. “That would be a real shame,” he said.

Ummm. Those eyes made me feel fantastic. Like he really cared about who I was.

We took our coffees and sat down in our corner near the games and talked and talked about everything: what we were going to sing for the
American Superstar
auditions (me: “My Heart Will Go On”; him: “Like I Love You” by Justin Timber-lake), where we were going to college (me: Parsons School of Design in New York; him: Ohio University), what our favorite musicals were, and best childhood vacations, and even favorite board games. (How could you
not
talk about board games at Murphy's?)

He was a Candyland freak like I was, but we didn't feel like playing right then. We were too heavy into conversation.

Still, the whole time we talked, I couldn't stop thinking about getting cheated out of that kiss and wondering whether he was even going to kiss me good night!

The longer we stayed, the more I wished we were in the car, on the way home, so I could get past the suspense and find out if he was into me.

That
way, I mean.

I mean, what if he just wanted to be friends?

Finally Murphy's closed, so we had to leave. Tyler didn't even put his arm around me as we walked to the car.

Wow,
I thought, feeling really confused and agitated.

But as soon as we'd turned off Main Street and passed the school, I knew he wasn't going to drive me straight home. He turned down Briar Alley, which was totally
not
on the way to my house. At the end of Briar Alley was a park with a large, unlit parking lot.

Finally!

Honestly, I thought I was going to burst, waiting to kiss him and thinking about making out with him.

It was worth the wait, though. He was a really great kisser, not too pushy but plenty sexy. He started slow, but pretty soon his mouth was open and so was mine. I started breathing faster, he did, too, and the next thing I knew, he was going for second base.

Well, it
was
our second date, after all.

I let him touch me up without going under my sweater, but when he reached a little lower, I stopped his hand.

“What's wrong?” he said, sounding totally surprised.

“Nothing. I just don't want to go there right now,” I whispered.

He seemed sort of shocked, or maybe it was hurt, but he didn't get mad or complain.

“Okay,” he said, letting his disappointment show. “How about this?”

He leaned in and kissed me again, a long, slow, sweet, wonderful kiss.

It was after midnight, and I was supposed to be home by 12:30, so we stopped a few minutes later.

Not that I was ready to quit.

On the way home, Tyler put on a jazz CD mix he'd made. We rode in silence for a little bit, then he said, “Next weekend should be awesome.”

He meant the
American Superstar
trip.

“I'm psyched,” I said.

“Even if we don't get picked, it'll be cool,” he said.

My thoughts exactly.

At my front door, he sidestepped a pile of two-by-fours so he could lean close and kiss me good night. I let him feel me up again, and it was hard to stop. I think we both wanted to stand there a lot longer, making out, but I'm pretty good about making my curfew.

Anyway, Rachel was right about the fuzzy sweater. Total guy catnip.

“See you Monday,” he called as he walked down the porch steps.

I went inside feeling almost dizzy with happiness.

Now that's what I call a perfect date,
I thought.

Except for one thing.

The word
prom
hadn't crossed his lips all night—not once.

 

 

 

Wow. It's not even Friday,
I thought.

I stared out the window of the studio over the garage a few afternoons later and watched Molly and Joey fooling around. They seemed to be going at it hot and heavy, rolling around in the sheets like they were feeding a hunger that had been building up for weeks.

Well, I guess they got what they wanted,
I thought.
He got Molly back. She got Joey back.

Too bad I was the roadkill along the way.

I wasn't up there spying on her, by the way. I was in the studio all the time now, working on my prom dress. But I wasn't too surprised to see them doing it, because Ariel had told me earlier that day that they'd gotten back together.

Up until now, there hadn't been much action at Molly's house. Once in a while Isabel and Ursula would come over, but Molly had stopped having her Friday afternoon parties while she and Joey were on the outs.

I guess a girl just doesn't want to party down when her man is gone.

(Are those song lyrics? Can I sing it at the
American Superstar
auditions?)

Anyway, I was working on my prom dress, and it was going to be a masterpiece: a slinky red silk thing that curved in where I did, trimmed in black beads, with tiny silver beads thrown in every once in a while for accents. Sewing them on was a boring pain, but worth it. The dress was going to be a killer. I put two small dangling rows of beads along the low, V-cut neckline, just for Tyler.

Guys are like cats: they jump whenever they see something shiny.

Anyway, it was kind of a relief to see Molly and Joey back together, even though I was pissed to hear everyone talking about how they were likely to be voted prom king and queen.

If Tyler asked me to the prom . . . if we had a great time on our road trip to Cleveland . . . if the costumes for
Guys and Dolls
were a big hit . . . then who cared if I'd had three miserable weeks in April?

So by the time Saturday rolled around, I was in a fabulous mood, and I looked it. My hair glistened—I'd done a Kiehl's volumizing treatment, which is crazy, because I naturally have enough hair to create a mane for a horse—and I was wearing my favorite Bobbi Brown lip color, Sandwash Beige. I put on my favorite Lucky jeans with a short green tank top layered under a short corduroy jacket and threw in an opalescent knit scarf.

The look was very creative/casual/hip, just what I wanted the judges to think of me.

Then I packed a small duffel for the road trip, tossing in an extra top, an extra pair of jeans, and underwear, just in case we actually had a place to change. But what were the chances? Ariel and I had talked about it—we were experts, from watching
American Idol
. We figured we'd probably end up sleeping on the floor in the Q Arena and going into our auditions with scuzzy teeth.

It was more about the experience, I told myself. I wasn't expecting to be picked.

Everyone was carpooling, so we all met in the school parking lot to figure out who went in what car. I was going with Ariel, of course—my mom had talked to Aunt Sharon, Ariel's mom, and they were both glad we'd be together—and Emily was supposed to ride with us. I thought/hoped/prayed Tyler would squeeze in, too.

Two hours in the backseat with his arm around me? In Ariel's little Toyota?

“Hey,” he called in the parking lot, waving from his VW Cabriolet. “Ride with me?”

Oh. I hadn't realized he'd be driving. Duh.

“Do you mind?” I asked Ariel.

“Go for it,” she said with only a moderately jealous sigh.

“Thanks!”

I slung my duffel over my shoulder and strode over to his car, trying with all my might to give off the carefree isn't-this-fun-who-knows-what-will-happen-next vibe that road trips were supposed to be about.

“You look great,” Tyler said, checking out my outfit.

“Thanks.”

Becca and Jacob were already loading their stuff into Tyler's trunk. When they were done, Jacob pulled Becca toward him, and they stood there, face-to-face, their hipbones touching, with their arms around each other's waists.

Huh. I hadn't realized they were a couple. Must have just happened during the musical rehearsals.

“Hi,” Becca said, shooting me a totally friendly smile. “This is going to be awesome, isn't it? It's cool that the four of us can go together, too. Kind of like double dating.”

“If you win
American Superstar
and get famous and go on TV talk shows,” Jacob said to her, “promise to mention us in every interview. Say you were on a double date when you were discovered. And mention us by name.”

Tyler laughed and rubbed his hands together. “Let's get this show on the road,” he said eagerly.

He looked around the parking lot, scoping out the crowd. Natalie was standing with a bunch of other girls from the cast. I saw their eyes meet, but Tyler looked away before I could read any meaning into it. Probably she's just trying to guilt him into feeling bad because there wasn't room for her to ride in his car.

Tough. Did I care?

No.

We climbed into the car—Becca and Jacob in back, Tyler and me in front—and took off. I was so excited, I could barely sit still.

Road trip! The whole thing just seemed so cool. My knees bounced up and down, and I drummed on them to release some of the energy.

For the next thirty miles we talked about what we thought the auditions would be like. Tyler said he planned to play it straight, just really sell his song and hope for the best, but Jacob had a different strategy. He said he personally didn't stand a chance unless he came off as a character or something, so he was going to do the whole thing with a limp, and then spring into a tap dance as a surprise ending.

We took turns belting out our audition songs, really practicing them for each other and trying to see where the weak spots were. Becca gave me a good suggestion about how to modulate my voice on the ending of my song. I felt like bursting with happiness, everyone was so supportive.

There wasn't one second when anyone made me feel like a slut. Or an outsider.

When Jacob was done singing his audition song, he launched into “Luck Be a Lady” from
Guys and Dolls,
and we all joined in, throwing in harmonies and really hamming it up. Of course that led to singing “Guys and Dolls,” which led to “Take Back Your Mink.” We all sang everything, because when you're rehearsing a musical, you hear the songs so many times you wind up knowing them all by heart. I'd noticed that half the cast members were driving each other crazy at rehearsals, singing each other's songs. I guess it was an occupational hazard.

“How about ‘Bushel and a Peck'?” Becca said, and started in.

I joined her, but Tyler and Jacob didn't know the words, or claimed not to. Yeah—I couldn't blame them. It was a pretty corny song.

“Maybe we shouldn't sing anymore,” Becca said, suddenly sounding nervous. “I mean, what if we get there and we have to go first? I don't want to be hoarse.”

“Okay—movie trivia!” Tyler announced, and proceeded to teach us a game called Botticelli that involved trying to guess famous movie stars from their initials. Only it was more complicated than that. The rules were tricky.

“Is this really a game, or are you just making it up as you go along?” Jacob said.

“No, man, I learned it at theater camp in seventh grade.”

“Oh, I'll bet,” I teased. “You probably didn't even
go
to summer camp. Don't believe a word he says, by the way,” I told Jacob and Becca, turning around. “He's a pathological liar. You know that, right?”

Tyler laughed and reached over to squeeze my knee. “So if I say you look hot, and I'm glad I've got you all to myself in the front seat, you won't believe me?” he said.