Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga) (11 page)

“This one never gets much use,” he said, catching his breath.

“The late bell’s going to ring in three minutes.” There was panic in my voice. I had never been late for class if I could help it.

“Chill. Now that you’re grounded, I don’t know when I’m going to see you again. I’m just trying to grab a few moments, if that’s okay?” He put his arm around me, drew his body close to mine. He sniffed. “Do you have a dog?”

“Oh. Sorry about that. I sat next to Maudrina Salley in—”

He kissed me, his lips smothering my words. My breath caught as an excitement I’d never felt before coursed through my body.

Brrrring!
The second bell.

We were officially late. A part of me wanted to end the kiss right then and race off to class before I was marked tardy and had to serve detention. But that was a very small part, and eventually even that part of me wanted to stay.

#

Every school has a stairwell that gets traveled least. These gems are easy to locate late in the day when the student population has dwindled for various reasons. But the discovery of a stairwell that has light traffic between second and third periods, when the school is bursting with activity, is like finding a specific grain of sand in the ocean.

This was one of the first tasks Guy took upon himself whenever he arrived at a new school. He scouted out secure locations for ditching class. Empty stairwells were among his favorite.

The stairwell in the far north corner of G.U. was, for Guy’s purposes, a twelve-carat diamond of obscurity.  For me, it was a little taste of heaven. Guy and I rendezvoused there every day between second and third periods for the rest of the week.  I couldn’t wait for him to get his hands on me, for his lips to touch mine. I loved the way he nibbled at my lower lip, conjuring spires of pain and delight.

My tardy slips were piling up, as was my time in detention. But I didn’t care. I looked forward to my stolen moments with Guy the way a child looks forward to Christmas. 

On the following Wednesday when I arrived, I pulled out a pink tardy slip. He looked from the tardy slip to me, a veil of caution sliding over his eyes.

“You know what this is?” I waved the slip.

“’Course I know. I’ve got a locker full of em.”

“Just checking,” I said in a playful sing-song.

He began shifting uncomfortably. “Look, maybe we should get to class.”

I moved in closer. “I didn’t bring it because I wanted to go to class. I brought it because when I look at my collection of tardies, instead of feeling like I need to straighten up, I think of you.”

I smiled, and this time all the seduction I could hope for came shining through. He smiled back, taking me in his arms.

“I just wanted you to know that I’ve never done anything like this before. But if I had a chance to do it again, I would.” I looked deeply into his eyes and he kissed me gently.

When the kiss ended, I took his left hand in mine. I pulled something from my pocket and waved it.

“What’s that?”

“A bracelet,” I said. “I made it out of tardy slips last night.” It was a silly thing I used to do in middle school, braiding gum wrappers together into a bracelet or necklace. Last night, without thinking, I realized I’d made one with tardy slips.

“With this bracelet, I thee tardy,” I said, and without a hint of embarrassment, I slid the pink-paper bracelet onto his wrist.

He laughed. “That is the lamest.”

For a split second a pang of hurt stabbed into me. Like maybe he thought I was some stupid, immature girl. But when I looked into his eyes I realized he was happy. Happy to get the bracelet; happy with me.

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.” He held up his wrist, admiring my handiwork.

It was the happiest moment of my life.

#

Saturday morning I awoke to find my mother seated at the foot of my bed, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time.

“Mornin’, sleepy head.” Her voice was a melodious sing-song.

“Hey.” I didn’t trust it. I was having a hard time reading her expression. Did she know about the tardy slips and detention? Did she know I was still seeing Guy? “What’s up?” I asked cautiously.

“I think we need a girl’s day out. It’s Chocolate Affaire weekend.”

I’d been so involved with Guy I had nearly forgotten about the Chocolate Affaire.

“Breakfast, a little candy shopping, and then mud baths at that new day spa in Scottsdale we’ve been dying to try. How does that sound?”

It sounded wonderful. But it wasn’t the kind of treatment normally afforded prisoners on death row. She was up to something.

“Um, good,” I said softly, as I waited for her to take it back and begin hurling accusations at me.

“Great. Get dressed.”  She was smiling when she left the room.

The Chocolate Affaire was Glendale’s tribute to all things chocolate. A carnival set up in Murphy Park with rides, music, and loads of vendors selling everything sweet, gooey, and chocolate.

In the car, on the way to breakfast, Suze chatted as if all the drama of the past week had never occurred; I’d never kissed Guy in the back of the bus; I’d never been kicked off the mathletes; I’d never snatched the letter sent by the school and hidden it—wait a minute. She didn’t know about that one. I still had a few secrets, thank goodness.

It was as if we’d hopped into the old Wayback Machine and cruised to a time before the mathlete challenge, back to the good old days when we were friends.

I didn’t buy her softened attitude for one minute. I sat there on pins and needles, contributing very little to the conversation—single syllables and soft grunts, as I waited for her to pounce.

I’d seen it all in an old sitcom, the one where Vanessa comes home thinking she’s put one over on old Mom and Dad, and they greet her at the door smiling, gently feeding her the rope she’d use to hang herself: “You enjoy the concert, dear?”her mother asked. “It was amazing. My favorite group on stage right before my eyes. A dream come true.” “You neglected to tell us your favorite group was performing in… Baltimore!” “But, but…”

No way was I going to let the fate that befell poor Vanessa happen to me. The key was to say as little as possible. Grudging single syllables was all my mom was going to get:
Yes. No. Really?
She wouldn’t get enough rope out of me to hang a flea.

We went to Sylvia’s, our favorite breakfast spot. Like a lot of the restaurants in town, Sylvia’s got into the Chocolate Affaire spirit by adding once yearly chocolate treats to their menu. My favorite was the chocolate chocolate chip pancakes. This super sweet delight was enough to put a big grin on my face.

Guys think diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Ha! Trust me, it’s chocolate.

“There you are,” Suze said when she saw me smiling into my plate. She was grinning at me as if she’d just discovered a national treasure. “I was beginning to think Little Miss Sour Puss was going to be with me all day. So glad you could make it. Your friend was a lousy companion.”

My smile widened as finally I relaxed. She wasn’t setting me up. She was truly trying to reconnect. I let out a soft sigh, as the cloud that had hung over the morning lifted and we started down the road back to friendship.

Don’t get me wrong, I realize she’s a parent, fully capable of lulling me into a false sense of confidence before swooping in and cutting my legs out from under me. But I didn’t think that was happening here. And if it was, she was even better than Vanessa’s parents.

It was mostly frivolous girl talk—fashion, hair styles, the pop star who’d gone off the deep end.  Then suddenly her expression turned serious.

“Megan, I owe you an apology.”

Uh-oh. Is that the sound of the other shoe dropping?

She obviously didn’t owe
me
an apology. My antennae immediately went up.

“For what?” I said, as I searched her face for tell-tale signs of what was to come.

“For not seeing your side of things.”

“Uhh… Okay. Apology accepted.” I planted a fake smile on my lips, my eyes diving to my plate as I pretended to concentrate on the remains of a chocolate chip pancake. And remains is all there was, two measly crumbs drowning in an ocean of syrup. I swirled one of the crumbs as if it were a forkful, and waited for the bomb to drop.

“I think all this acting out is a result of me dating Armando. You’re not a rebellious child.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I know you said it doesn’t bother you, but I think on the inside maybe it does. Just a little.”

Wait a minute! Wait one darn minute! Is she apologizing to me because she thinks kissing a boy and wanting to have a boyfriend is acting out?

Sure, I don’t want her dating Armando. But that’s for her own good. What girl wants her mother dating a con artist, or a gun runner, or whatever he was?

I wanted to feel outraged. I wanted to scream
“kissing a cute boy is not acting out!”
But another, more rational, part of my brain was looking at the bright side. It was sounding an awful lot like my grounding was coming to an end. And while I love my room, being confined there with no phone, no computer, and no TV was like being confined to Toyland without any toys. A girl needs her toys.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said with a soft sigh. “Sorry if I overreacted. Kissing a boy on the back of the bus, what
was
I thinking?” I shook my head. Of course I know exactly what I was thinking—
Yipeee!
But I wasn’t going to tell
her
that.

“I should have been more sensitive,” she went on, “but I promise you, no one will ever come between us. In a few weeks I’ll be turning forty… Ugh! It hurts just to say it.”

“You’re young, Mom. You don’t look a day over… thirty-nine.”

Sunshine spread across her face. “Always the funny one. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She squeezed my hand again, her tone turning serious. “But sometimes a woman needs to know she’s still desirable.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I comforted. Of course the desirable woman I was referring to was me. “I’m lucky to have a mother like you,” I said, piling it on. More sunshine.  

“The Two Musketeers?”

“You bet.”

We never made it to Murphy Park. Twenty minutes later we were kicking it in a vat of therapeutic mud. It was there she broached the subject of going out to dinner with Armando.

“You go,” I said trying to deflect the invitation. I was buried in mud up to my neck. It felt strange, but good.

“You have to come along. He may be in our lives for a while, and I want you to feel comfortable around him. I know it’s too much to ask for you to be friends...”

You got that right!

“…But maybe in time.”

Or maybe in time I’ll expose him for the phony I know he is.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said. “It’s a date.”

A look of delight came over her, as she settled back into the mud.

“Can I bring someone along?” The delight vanished.

“Who?”

“Matt. Who else?” Sure, I could think of someone else I’d rather go to dinner with, a certain someone who just might be the world’s greatest kisser. But I knew it was wrong for me to be thinking of myself just then.

Suze had too many stars in her eyes to see the truth. I needed Matt by my side, someone she knows and trusts to help convince her that her
boyfriend
was not who she thought he was.

His name was Danny Tambor, and he was my first childhood crush.

I was a ten-year-old fifth grader, and Danny was fourteen. He was in high school—an older man.

 He lived on our block and occasionally came by to throw the football with Matt. Even then Matt was a standout athlete. Older boys were always dropping by to check out his arm.

It was a crisp Saturday afternoon with the faint smell of wood-burning fireplaces in the air—the fragrance of fall. Danny and Matt were throwing the ball back and forth in front of Matt’s house. I was patiently waiting on the sidelines for them to get bored, so Matt and I could do something exciting—such as have tea with my Barbies.

Matt threw an amazing pass that was about to sail over Danny’s head, but he leaped, had the ball in his hands for a few seconds, before it slipped out. The dropped pass bounced crookedly in my direction, landing a few feet in front of me.

“Hey, Meg. Let’s see your arm,” He called playfully.

Meg? No one had ever called me that before. Danny had given me a nickname.

“Cool! Okay,” I said.

I eagerly picked the ball up and tried to find a comfortable grip for throwing. But there wasn’t one.

How do guys throw this thing?

“That’s it. Come on,” Danny urged. And then he smiled at me. Oh my goodness, what a smile. In it I saw our entire future: hand holding, walking me home from school, kissing, all the way up to our wedding day, and the birth of our three children. I couldn’t let him down.

“Here goes,” I called. I threw the ball… Well, I didn’t exactly throw it. I made the throwing motion, but midway through, the ball dribbled awkwardly from my hand, landing a few feet in front of me, which is pretty much where it was when I picked it up.

“That’s okay. You’ve got a little work to do,” Danny said. His voice was filled with encouragement. “Hey, Matt, you better look out. Meg here is gonna be a killer quarterback.” He moved in, picked up the ball and smiled at me again. “You’re my quarterback, right?”

I smiled back. “Uh-huh.”

I sure hope
quarterback
means
girlfriend
.

After that, I begged Matt to teach me how to throw.

“You hate football.”

“No, I don’t. I love football. I watch it at home all the time. You just never want to play it with me,” I countered. “And what’s a quarterback?”

At my insistence, Matt gave me lessons every day after school all week. And I have to admit, after several days of practice… I stunk.

“Why are we wasting our time with this?” Matt complained.

“Why? Because I’m a killer quarterback, that’s why.” My words were hurled at him.