Chose the Wrong Guy, Gave Him the Wrong Finger (8 page)

“After what he did to you.”

“I
know
!”

“So … how
was
Frank? Any good?”

Oh, yeah. That was both my private shame
and
my private glee. “Frank Morrison is hotter than you think. He was hotter than
I
thought. Very …
skilled
.”

“So it wasn’t a mistake.”

I shrugged. “I was young and hormonal and angry.” I laughed. “And I think it kind of helped. It didn’t
cure
me, obviously, but…” I shook my head, remembering. Pretty vividly. “It sure didn’t suck.”

“Wow! Why didn’t you stick with it, then?”

“That wouldn’t have been fair to Frank. How could it be, really, coming right off an engagement to
his brother
? Almost a marriage. Certainly a life I had been planning on for years. It was crazy to think I could just switch gears that way and pretend Thing Number One had never existed and just go with Thing Number Two. Especially since they were so close, obviously, so that Burke would always exist. I’d always hear about him, which would forever keep him between Frank and me. This wasn’t exactly like taking off and starting a new life.”

Glenn nodded. “That is the worst thing about having mutual friends after a breakup. Hearing about the person. Wanting to, not wanting to, sometimes happening upon information you never wanted or needed to know.”

“Like that Burke was dating Sarah Lynn.”

“He did not!”

Sarah Lynn was my archnemesis in high school. She was a regional tennis star, I was hopelessly shy. She had glossy dark hair, versus my yellow-blond. There was an air of money about her, which was because she came from a moneyed, aristocratic family, while I was in the right zip code with the wrong tax bracket. Which, I think, was what she didn’t like about me. I wasn’t up to her standards, even just to be a classmate or neighbor. It was as simple as that.

I’d ferreted her out on Facebook not too long ago—we had thirteen mutual friends, so I was sure she got, and ignored, the suggestions that we might know each other just like I did—and she looked spectacular.

Of course.

“I think they went out for, like, three weeks or something, but yeah, he did that.”

“I can’t think of that girl without remembering that party at Chris Stein’s house.”

I was drawing a blank. “What party? What happened?” I was imagining her getting up in front of everyone, doing something spectacular that no one knew she could do. Sing like an
American Idol
favorite; flip like an Olympic gymnast; save the life of a choking guest better than Dr. Oz could have.

“Oh, you know this story,” Glenn said. “When she went behind some bushes to pee and didn’t realize she was right under a spotlight and being projected on one of the security cameras? Which, as it happened, were being projected onto a big screen as live party shots?”

My jaw dropped. I loved this story unreasonably, given how long it had been since this had happened, since we had any sort of “rivalry” at all, and how mature I really should be now. “You’re making this up.”

“Could I make this up?”

“No one could make this up.”

“Certainly not me.”

We were a sitcom. A well-timed duo of shorthand, back and forth. In a way, it was a shame he was gay, because we might have been the perfect couple.

I took another sip of wine. “I like that story.”

“I’m not surprised.” He tilted his head and assessed me, à la the RCA dog. “Why does he still get to you? How could Sarah Lynn possibly still matter to you?”

It was a good question. Was my life, my
world
, so small that what happened ten years ago might as well have happened last week?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Because, like I said, I’m not an
Eat Pray Love
girl. I’m not an adventuress. I am, I hate to say it, in too many ways timid. Ten years ago could feel like last week because last week wasn’t that different from ten years ago.

I was in a rut and I said that to Glenn.

“I am
so
glad you finally see that,” he said, sounding insultingly relieved. “I’ve been worried.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry?”

He obviously got it. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” I said dryly.

“Quinn, when was the last time you left this town?”

“I was in Dupont Circle last weekend!”

Exasperated sigh. “This
whole
town.” He gestured broadly. “When was the last time you left this country?”

“You know I can’t do that! I have the shop to take care of!”

“Well, you need to do
something
, because you’re becoming Grandma Walton here.”

“Thanks.”

“What about just a weekend trip? A weekend in Paris?”

It didn’t even appeal to me. Can you believe the words “a weekend in Paris” could not appeal to someone? That was me! I felt homesick just thinking about it.

He was right, I needed a change. Quick.

“Among other things,” I said, “I have Dottie’s dress to make, and the time is already going to be tight.”

He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” he said, in a voice that told me I wasn’t going to be able to argue. I’d heard that voice before. “I’m going to give you a task a day for the next month, just a little something you have to do during the day. Sometimes it will be an all-day thing, like wearing clown makeup…”

“I’m not doing that.”

“… and sometimes it will be something quick, like throwing a tomato at a passing car.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Those aren’t
real
examples. I’ve got to come up with thirty of these suckers, so it’s going to take some consideration.”

I laughed. “And what is the point of all this?”

“To broaden your horizons. To make you do things in a different way. Think differently. Just be something a little bit different than Quinn. Not that I don’t love Quinn,” he was quick to add. “I do. But she needs a little change.”

“It’s true, she does.” I had to agree.

He stood up. “This seems like the perfect note to end on, then.” He stretched and looked at his watch. “I’ll have your first assignment for you tomorrow.”

Chapter 5

September, Seventeen Years Ago

The entire school smelled like the church rectory: a mix of new carpeting, cheap cafeteria food in tin containers, some good intentions, and a whole lot of fear.

High school.

Quinn took a deep breath outside the blue front doors, ignoring the rush of bodies bumping past her, and tried to gather her courage.

Middle school had been hard at first too, she reminded herself. All the new people from three different elementary schools pooling into one. Lockers. Linoleum floors. No paste, scissors, construction paper, little kids. There were no hand turkeys taped to the wall at Thanksgiving there, though a little room had still been allowed for ugly parent-chosen clothes and cardigan sweaters, at least at first.

But in high school, she had to get it right and she was already afraid she had it wrong. Was her Blink-182 T-shirt all wrong for this crowd? Were her faded Levi’s from Gap uncool? She should have gotten new shoes, because she’d had these running shoes for so long they were more like slippers now.

“Quinn!”

Oh, thank god! Someone she knew! She turned to see her friend Jackie coming toward her, all tan and leggy and Jennifer-Aniston-y in cutoff shorts, slip-ons, and a plain white T-shirt. That had been a good choice. Who could criticize plain white?

“Hey,” Quinn said, putting on a smile even though she suddenly felt like crying. This was too much. She was overwhelmed. There were going to be more people she
didn’t
know here than she did, and she wasn’t very good at being outgoing.

“Are you just
so psyched
?”

Quinn grimaced. “I’m nervous.”

“Oh, please. Why? Do you know how many new hotties we’re going to meet? You know you haven’t had a boyfriend until you’ve had your first
high school
boyfriend.”

Easy for her to say. She’d had, like, four boyfriends in middle school.

“I haven’t had a boyfriend at all.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Jackie shrugged. “So you’re going to have your first boyfriend. Come on, don’t stand out here like a freak, let’s go in.” She tugged on Quinn’s arm.

“What’s your locker number?” Quinn asked.

“Um…” Jackie paused to open her purse and took out a piece of paper. “Eight-fifty. What about yours?”

“Eight twenty-nine. Hopefully they’re near each other.”

“God, I can’t believe how scared you are! This is
awesome
. We’re in
high school
! Stop being such a wimp!”

They followed the signs on the wall to the eight hundred corridor and, fortunately for Quinn, their lockers
were
near each other. Opposite sides of the hall, and maybe six yards apart, but that was better than being on totally different floors.

Quinn went to her assigned locker and used the combination she’d memorized, though she noticed everyone else had brought their orientation papers and were referring to them. Apparently she was the only one who had been so nervous about today that she had committed every single thing they’d sent to memory. She knew where each and every classroom was, on A days and B days (today was B, weirdly), and she knew every teacher’s name. She’d even looked up the lunch menu in advance so she knew what she’d pick and exactly how much it would cost.

She put all her books but math in the locker, then took the Disney World magnet from her purse that she’d brought to stick to the door. It was Woody and Buzz from
Toy Story.
When she’d chosen it, it had felt familiar and comforting, it had made her smile, but now it just looked babyish. She considered it for a moment, then decided she just wasn’t cool enough to pull off the retro act, so she pulled it off and was about to put it in her purse when the girl at the locker next to her said, “Oh, I love Buzz!”

“I’m sorry?” Quinn asked, not quite connecting the obvious dots. Her first thought was that maybe drugs were as rampant here as her mother had warned.

The girl gestured at the magnet. “Buzz Lightyear. That was my favorite movie when I was a kid.”

“Oh.” Quinn smiled. “Mine too.” Then she had the vague thought that maybe the girl was baiting her, setting her up for some sort of Mean Girl prank.

But that would be just so lame as far as pranks went.

“I’m Rami, by the way.” The girl smiled and pushed her hand through her thick red hair, though it fell right back in front of her face. “What’s your name?”

“Quinn Barton.” Whole name. She might as well have extended a stiff arm and asked,
How do you do? Would you like some crumpets and tea?

Rami nodded like that was something to understand and she understood it. “Looks like we’re locker roomies this year. Are you in ninth grade?”

Quinn’s face colored. Of course it was obvious she was in ninth grade, but it still embarrassed her that it was
that
obvious. Like she was wearing a beanie with a spinner on top. “Yes.”

“I’m in tenth. I hated ninth. Well, the first couple of weeks of ninth. I came from Montessori school, so I was freaked out about all the people here.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Don’t worry,” Rami said, shrugging. “You’ll get used to it.” Her eyes darted behind Quinn. “There’s a lot of good stuff here.” She nodded toward something in the hall.

Quinn turned and saw nothing but people. Just teenagers. All from central casting. “What am I looking at?” she asked.

“Ummm … hottie alert.
Burke Morrison
.” Rami sighed dramatically. “Yummy.”

Quinn looked again, at faces this time, rather than the intimidating throng, and it was clear there was only one person Rami could have meant. A guy with dark hair, tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a confident swagger that could have made up for the lack of any and all of the rest.

As soon as she looked at him, his eyes met hers, and she looked down quickly, knowing that, as usual, her face had gone bright red in that instant. She was embarrassed way too easily and the fact that it showed up so quickly and unmistakably embarrassed her further.

“Who is he?”

“Seriously?”

What could she say to that? “Yes.”

“He and his brother live on Grace Farms with their grandparents. Fastest horses and coolest guys in Middleburg. I can’t even believe you’ve never heard of them.”

“I’m not really part of that … set.” Was
set
even the right word? The Horsey Set. Maybe that was something only old people said. She’d certainly heard it quite a few times. From old people.

If that was a faux pas, Rami didn’t seem to notice. “They’re kind of hard to miss here. Oh, there’s Frank.” She pointed. “Blue shirt, black backpack.”

Quinn looked. She never would have picked Frank out as Burke’s brother, that was for sure. Where Burke’s face was square-jawed and chiseled, Frank’s was thinner and almost pretty. Undeniably masculine, but there was something slightly more delicate about his features, though his eyes were harder by far. Kind of that Clint Eastwood thing, when he was threatening people in a Western. It was attractive, but also a little intimidating. Which was interesting, because his eyes were the thing that took his look from soft to hard, where the warm light in Burke’s eyes was the thing that took his look from hard to soft. Or soft
er
.

Both of them were attractive. It just depended on whether you liked your hotness in guys obvious or more subtle.

The bell rang.

“That means I’m already late.” Rami laughed. “You too. Nice to meet you! I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around quite a bit!”

Quinn fumbled with her math book while at the same time closing the locker door without everything spilling out. “Nice to meet you too. Thanks for the rundown!”

*   *   *

The doors to the cafeteria were closed until the second bell rang. Quinn stood in the crowd in the hallway, looking anxiously for Jackie or for
anyone
she knew from middle school who might sit with her. She’d always hated musical chairs, and that was exactly what this felt like. A game of musical chairs that would determine her standing for the next four years of high school.