Bras & Broomsticks (20 page)

When I reach the corner of Ninth and Fifth, I glance at my watch. Nine o’clock. I’m right on time. Ten minutes pass. She’s always late. Like twenty to thirty minutes late. I used to give her a fake time of twenty to thirty minutes earlier so I wouldn’t have to wait. Like telling her the movie started at ten after nine when it really started at nine thirty. But this time I forgot. And now I’ve been standing here like a moron for eleven minutes. The little hairs on my upper lip that I’ve contemplated waxing have frozen into needles. Maybe I can just snap them off now. Good thing I don’t have a boyfriend who wants a kiss hello.

If only it weren’t too cold for ice cream.

Twenty minutes later, I spot Jewel’s curls bouncing down the street. “Hi, Bee-Bee!” she says, taking my hand.

It’s just like the old days.

I love brownstones. My father’s mother, my bubbe, used to live in one before my dad moved her into a retirement home on Long Island. She shared the building with three other tenants and lived on the top floor.

Mick’s family has two, and I’m not talking about tenants. They own two full brownstones. They broke down the dividing wall and now occupy the largest mansion I’ve ever seen.

When Jewel pushes open the unlocked door, I try to keep my mouth from hitting the floor. “Crazy place, huh?” she says. We both start giggling. “Coats go in there.” She points her chin at the walk-in closet.

The house smells like beer and pizza. The lights are dim and a low bass is blasting through the floor and ceilings. I recognize some sophomores and juniors sprawled on a beige leather couch. And . . . is that a senior? There are seniors here! And not the loser kind who don’t have friends their own age. Some even look older than seniors. How cool is Mick?

“Do you know all these people?” I whisper to Jewel. I’m looking for Raf, but I don’t see him. I can’t believe I’m here.

“Some of them,” she whispers back. “They’re friends of Nat’s.”

Ah. The infamous Nat. Why does everyone assume I know who Nat is? Jewel must notice the confusion on my face, because she adds, “Mick’s sister. She’s at Penn but comes back some weekends.”

We hang up our coats, and then I follow Jewel to the second of four floors. Jewel looks as if she’s stepped right out of a music video. She’s wearing jeans so low that her thong peeks out. How is wearing dental floss up her behind comfortable? Jewel is also wearing a tube top that exposes her . . . “Jewel, when did you get a belly button ring?”

She peeks down at her navel. “Over Christmas. You like?”

Two months ago? I can’t believe I didn’t know that. When Sean pats her behind as we walk into the living room, I wonder what else I need to catch up on.

A crowd of people is sitting on an L-shaped red leather couch. Music blares from speakers perched on every wall, and it sounds as if the band is in the room with us instead of on the wall-sized flat-screen TV. Who knows, maybe they are. From what I can gather, Mick’s family has enough money to fly a group in.

Mick jumps from his seat. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says to Jewel, wrapping her in a bear hug and lifting her off the ground. He puts her down, then turns to me. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, and picks me up. Hey, gorgeous? I love him!

Maybe Miri secretly put a love spell on him as a surprise favor. Or maybe, I think as I inhale the scent of booze breath, he’s dipped into his daddy’s liquor cabinet.

He eventually puts me down and takes off for greener pastures. When I look around the room, I realize that Jewel has taken his seat, and I now have no idea what to do with myself.

Maybe Jewel will introduce me to the blond girl she’s talking to, and the three of us can engage in stimulating conversation. Nope, she doesn’t seem to be in any great hurry to include me. Jewel? Um, Jewel? Hello?

There are bags of spilled chips on the marble coffee table, and I pick up what I think is a plain one and pop it into my mouth. Ew. Vinegar. Should I sit on the floor? I’m the only one standing. The shaggy red and white carpet looks pretty comfy. I think I’ll take another chip.

Yup, I’m very busy here eating. Who needs people to talk to or a place to sit? I can eat. I eye a can of soda. Ooh, I can drink, too. I pop it open and take a long sip. And then another. And again.

“There you are!” squeals a high-pitched voice, and I look up to see Melissa waltzing into the room. “Scoot that sexy ass over,” she says to Jewel, and squeezes herself a spot. “Who did you come with?”

Why didn’t I think of that? I could have just squashed myself in.

“Rachel,” Jewel says, twirling a curl.

“Who?” Melissa asks, a blank look on her face.

Oh, come on. She knows who I am. Hello? I’m standing right here.

Jewel peers around the room as though trying to remember where she put me. “You know. Rachel. There you are,” she says, finding me.

Melissa fixes her beady eyes on me. “Oh, right. Her. How are you, superstar?”

“Fine.” I’d be better if I were in your seat. Melissa’s eyes burn into me and I take another long sip.

“How sad were those tryouts?” Melissa says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why all those pathetics bothered showing up. They couldn’t dance the first time. I don’t know why they thought they’d get in the second time.”

Jewel laughs. She stands up and waves her arms like a chicken. “Who am I?”

“Janice Cooper,” I say, and then instantly feel ashamed. I take another soda.

Melissa cracks up.

“Good call,” Jewel says, then scoots over. Apparently, there’s more space on the couch than she let on. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

I’m in. Physically and metaphorically.

Thirty minutes later my bladder feels as if it might explode. I’m terrified that my seat will be gone by the time I return, or that Melissa and Jewel will disappear and I’ll have to search the entire house, pretending to be busy until I find them. “Save my seat,” I say, trying not to appear anxious. Notice how I suavely don’t mention where I’m going. Above all, I resolve, I must maintain an aura of mystique and sophistication. I head off in search of the can.

I find it on the deserted third floor. Only one problem: the lock doesn’t work. Super. What do I do now? Go back and find Jewel and ask her to watch the door? There’s no time for that. My bladder won’t make it.

I’ll just be quick. The door is on my right, so I can hold it closed with my hand.

Obviously, as soon as I pull down my jeans, someone turns the door handle. I slam my arm against the door to stop it from flying open and scream, “I’m in here!”

The door closes. Oh, man. I really hope that was a girl.

“Sorry,” says a low, boy’s voice.

A familiar-sounding voice. Raf’s voice.

I am never coming out.

Raf is waiting outside the bathroom door. How am I supposed to pee with Raf less than a foot away? I can’t. Not with a guy I like within earshot. I can barely pee when my dad is on the same floor.

Maybe if I take a while, he’ll go away. Or he’ll think I’m . . . you know. Having female issues. Or worse, stomach problems. Oh, gross. I’d better hurry up. Don’t want him thinking
that
. Must pee. Now. Come on. Nothing comes. Where is the tinkling sound? How is this possible? I was bursting a second ago. The only sound I hear is the ticking of my watch. No, it’s my heart pounding. I’m panicking. I shouldn’t panic. I have to stop panicking.

Breathe in, out. In, out.

I know. I should turn on the water. The sound will mask the tinkling sound. The only problem is that the sink isn’t within grasping distance, so I’ll have to get up to turn the water on. Which will be fine, as long as Raf doesn’t try to open the door when I’m in mid-grab. Not that he would. A horrifying thought occurs to me. What if in this excruciating silence he worries that I’ve drowned and bangs down the door to save me?

I’m going for it. Three, two, one. I hurl myself toward the sink, throw the water on, and fly back to the toilet.

Ah. I hope this is quick. Of course it isn’t. It’s the longest pee ever. He’s probably long gone. I’ve been in here at least an hour.

Finally, I’m done. I flush and wash my hands, then open the door.

Oh, no. Oh, whoa.

Raf is leaning casually against the wall, looking hot in his low baggy jeans and a worn, soft-looking green T-shirt. Out-of-control hot. Hotter than the sun. Hotter than the sun on fire. Hotter than the sun drenched in gasoline, then set on fire. Hotter than—

“What’s happening?” he asks, patting me on the shoulder. “I was wondering where you’ve been hiding.”

He was? And now he’s found me. In the bathroom. Super. “I’ve been here. I mean, downstairs. You know.” I could use that invisibility cloak right about
now
.

“I just want to use the bathroom,” he says. Of course he does. I’ve been hogging it for hours. “And then, maybe you and I can catch up or something?”

“Sure,” I say, admiring the ease he displays regarding his bodily functions. I mean, you have to be pretty confident to come right out and say, “I need to use the bathroom.”

He smiles and disappears inside. He wants to catch up! Yes! Not sure what we’re catching up on, since we’ve only known each other for a week. Any chance that
catch up
is a euphemism for
hook up
? Is he going to kiss me? Am I finally going to have my first kiss? Am I supposed to wait? I don’t want him to think I’m stalking the bathroom. What should I be doing right now? For the first time I understand Miri’s strange relationship with her nails. This would be a good time for me to start biting. If anything, it would give me something to do.

Luckily, being a guy, Raf is done two seconds later.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit,” he says as we head downstairs. He smiles at me, and my heart does flip-flops. He has such a nice smile. Why didn’t I notice his nice smile before? His teeth are so white and straight. I know I’ve noticed his wide shoulders and yummy smell and beautiful eyes.

I follow him into the living room and look around. Melissa and Jewel are gone. Thanks for waiting for me, girls. In fact, except for a passed-out sophomore, the room is empty. I hear group laughter from downstairs, which is fine by me. Alone time with Raf.

He hands me a soda and lounges on the couch. “So what do you think of the show so far?”

My knee is only two inches away from his. “It’s fun.”

“Yeah? How come you didn’t try out in October?”

“How do you know I didn’t?”

“You would have gotten in if you had.”

Was that a come-on? I’ve never heard one before, but from what I’ve garnered from the movies, it might classify. “I wasn’t sure I’d have time for everything.”

A huge smile overwhelms his face, crinkling his eyes into half-moons. “Too busy winning competitions?”

Does he know about the math competition? Is there a hole for nerds where I can bury myself? “What are you talking about?”

“I spotted the trophy by the office with your name on it.” He nods. “Pretty impressive.”

I’m not sure if I should be dying of embarrassment or puffing out my chest. On the one hand, winning shows I’m smart.

On the other hand, it’s math.

Maybe he didn’t read the trophy carefully. Maybe he thinks I won a cheerleading competition. Rah-rah.

“Quick, what’s the square root of two hundred and eighty-nine?”

So much for that theory. “Seventeen,” I answer automatically.

He takes another sip of his drink. “Five hundred and fifty?”

“It’s not even, but it’s around twenty-three point four . . .” I laugh.

He looks at the ceiling and pretends to calculate. “I’ll take your word for it. Smart and talented. Impressive.”

Yes! He’s impressed! I’ve impressed the hottest male specimen on the planet! “Not really. Just in math. I can’t conjugate a French verb to save my life. Madame Diamon wants to kill me. Who do you have?”

“Monsieur Parouche.”

“Who else do you have?”

“Henderson, Wolf.”

Wow. All accelerated classes. Why does there have to be more than one accelerated class for each subject? Why couldn’t he be in mine? “What’s your elective?”

His cheeks turn pink. “Creative writing.”

He’d be turning bright red if he knew that I’m currently picturing him serenading me. I’ll be at my window, and he’ll be on the street, standing beside the monthly parking garage, reading his poems. Bet he’s a better rhymer than A
²
. “Don’t be embarrassed. That sounds fun.”