Diplomatic Immunity (17 page)

“What are you . . . Who . . . Where . . . ?” I stammered.

He smiled. “Two more, and you'll have gone through all of the five
W
s.” He held his hand out.

“I'm . . . on a date.”

“Not anymore, yes?”

“Yeah, but how did you know?”

He smiled, practically bouncing in his chair. “I have ways, Pip. I've told you.” His eyes were dark brown and his lips were perfect and his body was yum. But I had to keep my perspective. I had to.

I stood up. “Well, I don't know what you expected, but I'm going to catch a cab and go home.”

He frowned. “C'mon, Pip. I know we've had rough times, but we can still be friends, right?”

I looked away. “I don't know.”

“What don't you know?”

“How a friendship with you would work. We live on different planets. Your idea of a great night is scaling a monument and getting your face punched in. Mine is watching CNN and correcting the passive voice.”

“But you're my link.”

“To what?”

“To the truth about myself.”

He stared at me with those eyes, the same ones that sparkled so on my front porch, and then I was thinking about moonlight and coffee and knees kissing heads, and I didn't know what to say.

“What did you do with Samuel?”

“Nothing,” Raf said.

“I don't believe you.” I folded my arms.

“I understand. At least let me give you a ride home,” he said, holding out his hand.

Taking his hand wouldn't mean anything. Taking his hand simply showed that maybe we could be friends for a while before my story broke.

“Okay,” I said. I took his hand, and we were out of there.

Out of the restaurant and right onto Eighteenth Street, where a motorcycle with two helmets was waiting. Raf grabbed one,
handed me the other, then swung a leg over the seat and gave me a leather jacket.

“Ummm,” I said, putting on the jacket and shuffling the helmet from one hand to the other. “So, I have this thing where two wheels aren't enough—”

“They're plenty.”

“And did you know that seventy-five percent of motor fatalities involve motorcycles with—”

“We'll be fine.” He took my hand and pulled me toward the bike.

“And, finally, and most important, I'm wearing a skirt.”

“Hike it up. I won't tell anyone.”

I buckled the helmet, hiked up my skirt, and we were off. He reached back and pulled my hands around his waist.

He's a story
, I told myself.
I'm just hugging a story.

He wove through the streets of DC and then to Georgetown and started toward the Key Bridge.

“Not the bridge,” I shouted in his ear. “It's really narrow.”

“My bike is narrow too,” he shouted back.

Before I could freak out, the bike was zooming across the bridge and all I could do was hang on.

“No more bridges,” I shouted. I hated thinking about a few feet in either direction meaning life or death.

“No more bridges,” he confirmed.

“And this isn't the way to my house.”

“We're going the long way.”

As he wove through the streets of the Virginia side of the Potomac, I abandoned any ideas of conversation. It was too loud and too windy and . . . sort of too beautiful. My fingers were all caught up in the business of Raf's abs. It was hard enough to fight the urge to stroke and caress the six-pack right there, let alone make conversation.

The roads we were on went from business to residential to forestlike.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“You'll see.”

He steered the bike toward a heavily wooded road, and I thought back to that day I'd let him drag me into an abandoned bathroom. Now I was letting him drive me into a secluded wooded area. Was I being stupid? Naive?

We reached a gate with a National Park Service insignia on it reading “Great Falls Park.” I assumed we'd have to turn around, since it seemed closed and locked, but a guard appeared out of nowhere, and Raf didn't even have to slow down before the guard lifted the gate.

Once we were through, I realized the headlights that had been behind us the entire time followed us through the gate. Must've been his security detail. They kept on us for a few more minutes, but then suddenly Raf darted the bike toward a path I would never have seen in the dark. A loud series of honks came from the car behind us, but that only seemed to make Raf go faster.

“I think they want us to turn around,” I said.

“They want me to do a lot of things,” he said. “It's only another minute or so.”

He guided the bike farther and farther up the trail, and then without warning, the trees disappeared and the dirt below us disappeared and we were on a giant piece of granite overlooking a series of beautiful waterfalls.

Beautiful and breathtaking.

“Please say we're not going to try to jump it,” I said. “Or do anything like scale the water.”

“Don't be silly, Pip. You can't scale water.”

Raf cut the engine, and that's when I could hear the soft roar of the falls below. The height and the scene took my breath away. The park service had put up barriers for a reason. One wrong step could get a person killed.

We got off the bike and I fought the urge to run back toward the forest, but then Raf took my hand and said, “We've got this.”

He kept my hand in his as he opened a compartment on the back of his bike and took out a blanket, a bottle, and two plastic cups. He led us to not-quite-the-edge of the overhang and laid the blanket down.

I sat down on the side of the blanket farthest from the edge, and he sat down between me and the water.

He poured us two glasses of pink liquid from the bottle—sangria, I guessed—and we took a couple of sips in silence as my heart calmed down.

“So tell me the truth,” I said. “Did you get rid of Samuel?”

“Truth?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“How did you know where we'd be?”

“Chauffeurs talk.”

“Why did you do it?”

He chuckled. “You didn't listen to my warning to stay away from him.”

“Well, I can see why you would be worried. He's polite, kind, and survives the evening in one piece. I should definitely stay away from the likes of him.” I looked down at the blanket and picked a couple of lint balls off it. “Truthfully. Why did you interrupt tonight?”

Raf didn't say anything for a moment.

“Is it because Samuel used to be with Tasha, and you think he had something to do with the paparazzo following you that one night?”

“Wow. You have a good memory.” He gave me a wry smile.

“And good deductive powers,” I added.

He looked out over the water and took a sip of his drink. “It's nothing I can prove. But I always suspected.”

“He doesn't seem like the type. What does he have against you?”

“It's what he
had
against me. And what he had was a girlfriend who was hung up on someone else.”

“‘Someone else,'” I repeated. “That's very diplomatic of you.”

He gave me a wry smile. “I put the ‘diplomatic' in ‘diplomatic immunity.'”

We were quiet again for a few minutes, which made the roar of the falls louder and my heartbeat speed up.

“Can I ask you something else?” I said.

“You always ask me something else,” Raf said.

“Why aren't you with Giselle tonight? Why are the two of us having a nighttime picnic at the waterfalls?”

He smiled, and my heart fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with the falls. “Because there's something I want to show you.” He grabbed my hand, pulled me to my feet, and said, “Follow me.”

We walked for several yards parallel to the river and then down a pathway that took us below the overhang and closer to the edge.

“Wait,” I said, breathless.

“I've got you,” he said.

The pathway got steeper and muddier and a few times I slipped, but Raf held me up. The falls kept coming in and out of view, and just when I thought we couldn't go any farther without actually going into the water, we came to a sign that said “No Cave Access.” And Raf did what he always did when he came to a restricted area. He blew right past it.

He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket as we hiked over wet
rocks and then we were in a cave, the entrance to which was covered by a sheet of falling water.

“Are you okay?” Raf said over the roar of the water.

I checked my heart rate and it was elevated, but I wasn't dead or anything, because somehow holding Raf's hand made me feel like everything would be okay.

“I'm good,” I said.

“Good,” he said, but he still held my hand tightly. “Then I would like to present to you a sight you have never seen . . . the
back side of water
.” He gestured to the waterfall. “They say you haven't really experienced the world until you've seen the back side of water.”

“They do?”

“They do.”

“Who does?”

“The all-knowing ‘they.'”

We stood there for a few long moments, listening to the roar of the water.

“Are we breaking rules?” I said.

“About twenty,” he replied, glancing at me sideways with a smile.

“Are we breaking laws?”

“About three,” he said. “But look. It's the . . . Back. Side. Of Water.”

The air was cold and wet, but I was warm from the inside
out, maybe from the sangria or maybe from Raf's smile.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Only if you promise to never ask for permission again, and just ask the question.”

I smiled. “Deal. Why are you here with me, and not Giselle? The real answer.”

He frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to change course and say something else. “Giselle hates nature. She hates dirt, rocks, water, trees, and generally being outdoors.”

I sighed, a little frustrated. So he was only here with me because his girlfriend didn't like the outdoors? Now who wasn't giving the straight answers?

I took a deep breath. It was okay. If Raf were interested in me, it would only make printing the story harder.

Somehow, he got me home before my midnight curfew. He left his motorcycle where it was and we got a ride home in his black sedan with the Spanish flags. I was cold and warm and excited and frustrated and a little crazy and tired, very tired, even though I was pretty sure I'd never need sleep again.

Before I went to bed, I emailed Gramma Weeza and told her about my night. I couldn't email Charlotte, because she would've been scared I was letting my emotions get in my way. But I had to let Gramma Weeza know I'd done something more exciting than organizing my closet.

The next morning, I woke up to two texts. One was from Samuel.

Samuel:
I'm so sorry again. Turned out to be a false alarm. Let me make it up to you.

The other text was from Raf.

Raf:
You haven't really seen the world until you've seen the best view of the Mall you'll ever find. Monday at 7 p.m., yes?

I switched my phone off and put my arm over my eyes.

My choice should've been easy. One was steady. The other looked for new ways to fall. One was disciplined. The other let fists fly. One was safe. The other had a track record of danger. One wouldn't disrupt my plan for the Bennington. The other was my key to the Bennington. One was available. The other had a girlfriend. I guess that should've been the first and biggest difference.

One touched my hand and I felt a tingle. The other smiled and I felt shock waves to my knees.

Before I could talk myself out of it, before I remembered Benningtons and scholarships and debt and college, I grabbed my phone and texted yes to Raf. Maybe it was for the story. Maybe it wasn't.

Then I put my arm back over my eyes and watched as my chance at the Bennington Scholarship teetered on the edge of a cliff.

Sunday was a blur. Michael was particularly needy and followed me around peppering me with questions. They were his go-to questions I'd answered a million times before. They were his touchstone when he was anxious.

“Are you going to like it when I go to college and make my own company?”

“Are you excited to play the video games I'm going to make?”

“Will you love me more when I design a weapon with no recoil?”

The answers to these questions were simple. Yes, yes, and I could never love you more.

If only other answers came as easily. Like, why was Raf
suddenly okay with seeing me? Was I still a secret he kept from his dad? Could I trust his change of heart?

That last question wasn't fair. Why did it matter if I could trust him when I knew he shouldn't trust me?

On Monday morning, I ran into Raf. He caught my eye and his face broke out in a smile that spanned the width of the hallway.

Giselle was next to him. She didn't smile.

But as Raf came toward me, she followed.

“Hey,” Raf said.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Giselle said.

And there we were, in what was sure to make the
Guinness Book of World Records
for the World's Most Awkward Silence.

Giselle broke the silence. “Have lunch with me today, Pip.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”

And that was it. The bell was ringing. Raf and I walked quickly to class.

All through chemistry, I couldn't stop thinking about why Giselle would want to have lunch with me. I glanced sideways at Raf, who was frowning and staring at the wrist that used to have the brace.

Maybe Giselle had noticed that Raf and I had been spending time together, and she wanted to warn me off, in which case she didn't need to bother because I was going to back off anyway, because Bennington and girlfriend and—

“I like being alone,” I blurted out to Raf.

“What?” he whispered back.

“So I'm fine on my own. So there's that.”

He turned to look at me and gave me a confused smile. “Okay. Thanks for clearing that up, Phyllis.”

Professor Ferron was lecturing on balancing equations. At one point, I was squinting at the board, at a particularly confusing part, and I was trying to read Professor Ferron's handwriting, and Raf leaned over to me and said, “
N H
three.”

“Huh?” I said.

“The part you're trying so hard to read. It's
N H
three.”

“How did you know I wasn't getting that part?” I whispered.

“I was watching your eyes,” he said.

“That's creepy,” I said with a smirk.

My phone vibrated right then. I guess I'd forgotten to turn it off. I darted my hand inside my bag and clicked the “off” button, and then, as long as the phone was in my hand, I thought I might as well see who it was.

It was Samuel.

Samuel:
Just saying sorry again. And asking you out. Again.

As I put the phone away, I could see Raf had been looking at it over my shoulder.

“Who was that?” he said.

“No one,” I said. But judging from the look on his face, he'd seen exactly who it was. He had no right to give me that look. “What did you tell your girlfriend about Friday night?”

“She's . . .” He cut himself off and pressed his lips together.

“She's what? Super hot?”

Neither of us said anything else.

When lunchtime rolled around, I thought maybe Giselle had forgotten her invitation, but nope. There she was, waiting just outside the cafeteria doors.

We filled our trays (mine with lasagna and fries, hers with raw vegetables) and found a table in the corner. Mack and Faroush started walking my way, but when they saw I was with Giselle, they turned and went somewhere else.

I put my tray down and said, “So, why do you want to have lunch with me?”

Giselle popped a baby carrot into her mouth and said, “You and Raf seem to be getting friendly. So I thought I should get to know you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you. But we're really not that close.”

“He likes you,” she said.

I wanted to ask her to clarify. He likes me? Or he
likes me
likes me? But it should've been obvious since Giselle was his girlfriend and she didn't seem threatened.

We sat there in silence for a few long minutes.

I took a french fry and drew some circles in the ketchup. “Is this you being friendly?”

She shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. I've sat next to Joe Branson over there for four years now.” She jerked her head toward a homely boy two tables over. “Every class with an alphabetical
seating chart puts us next to each other. That's a lot of classes over four years.”

“And?”

“And I've managed to never say a word to him. So yes, this is me being nice. Because Raf is my best friend.”

Best friend. Why didn't she call it like it was and say he was her boyfriend?

I glanced over at Joe again, and he picked his nose. Literally picked his nose. I hadn't seen someone do that in school since second grade. Gwen Stanford. I had made a conscious effort not to touch her fingers ever since.

I looked down at my plate of french fries and focused on trying to find the perfect fry so I didn't have to keep looking at Giselle's perfect face.

“So, how long have you guys known each other?”

“Since freshman year,” she said crunching on a carrot. “It's a good story. I had this boyfriend who was a junior.”

“That's not such a big age difference.”

“In college,” she finished.

“Ah. Go on.”

“So, one night, we were all hanging out at the Spanish embassy, and my boyfriend got a little drunk and thought he could smack me. He accused me of flirting with someone else, so he hit me. So Raf, who was not as big then as he is now, but was still cut, he grabs this ancient Chinese urn and smashes it over the guy's head.”

My jaw dropped. Not quite to the floor, but almost.

“And then the ambassador comes in, and he's all, ‘That urn was priceless!' And the security guy whispers something in his ear. And then the ambassador stops yelling and says, ‘Perhaps we should all adjourn to the drawing room.' Then he tells his assistant to get me a cool cloth, and before we leave the room, Raf tells his guard to ‘get rid of that' and points to my dumb-ass boyfriend.” She laughed at the memory, as if Raf had simply helped her carry her books one day. “Then he says, ‘I can hurt him more if you want.'”

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Well, what if you had the chance to teach an older guy that smacking younger girls is not okay?”

“Hmmm,” I said, twirling a fry in the air. “I wouldn't ask for permanent damage, but I'd definitely maim a little.”

She clicked her tongue. “I guess that's where you and I are
pas compatible
. You're nicer.”

And that kind of left me speechless for a minute. So I changed the subject. “Why do you think Raf does the things he does?”

Giselle took a sip of her sparkling water. “You mean the fighting?”

“And scaling national monuments and breaking wrists and such.”

“I don't know. I think that's why he likes being around me. I don't ask why.”

We ate the rest of our food in silence, and I thanked the
universe when the bell rang.

Raf found me afterward. “How did it go with Giselle?”

“Fine. We're . . .” I paused, trying to figure out how to finish that sentence. We weren't exactly friends. So I said, “We're friendly. Now. A little. She told me about how you guys became friends.”

“Oh, yeah. The plane. That story is epic.”

“Wait, what plane?”

“Wait, what story did she tell you?” Raf looked confused.

“About a college boyfriend?”

“Ah. Yeah. That one is epic too.”

“What's the story about the plane?”

The late bell rang.

“I'll have to tell you later. But it involves Giselle taking her dad's plane, because she was halfway through her piloting course, but she froze when it came time to land. So I stepped in.”

“You knew how to land it?”

“No. But I saw it in a movie once.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Don't hurt yourself, Pip.”

I nodded.

“So what's the verdict on tonight?”

“I'm working at the Yogurt Shop until nine.”

“Okay, we'll pick you up there.”

“Where are we going?”

“The embassy.”

“Won't your dad be there?”

“Nope. He's out of town. Nine o'clock?”

I must have looked wary, because he pressed on.

“C'mon, Pip. I promise I'll tell you all my secrets.”

I couldn't resist that.

Maybe I should've felt a little guilty about meeting Raf to get his secrets, but the fact that I was still being hidden from his dad helped make up for it. At ten minutes to nine, I sang my last song for tips—“Story of My Life,” where we added “yogurt” after the line “and time is frozen”—and during the middle of it, Raf walked through the door, looking like he'd gotten lost on the way to a
GQ
photo shoot.

He smiled as I hit my big finish. Charlotte wasn't working tonight, thank goodness.

Then he reached into his pocket and produced a twenty-dollar bill. “Where's the tip jar?”

My other coworker, Seth, looked hungrily at the bill, but I said, “Uh, we're closed. Seth, this is Raf. Raf, Seth.”

The two of them did that
'sup
nod with their heads as I untied the back of my apron. Then I followed Raf outside and straight into a limo.

“You didn't tell me you sang,” he said.

“I don't.”

“What do you mean? You have a beautiful voice.” His lips trembled.

“The people with the good voices don't get nearly the tips I do,” I said.

“So they are pity tips?”

“Hey, it works.”

The limo pulled into the drive of the Spanish embassy, and when we got out, Raf tried to take my hand, but I shoved it into my jacket pocket. I could justify holding his hand when there was streaming water nearby, but now it felt wrong, because of his girlfriend.

Raf frowned.

I looked up at the ornate building. “This is a nice view, but I've seen it before.”

“This is not the view I was talking about.”

We went inside and Raf whisked me up a set of stairs, then another set of stairs and then a smaller set of stairs. I only had time to think about how I was slightly out of shape for a moment before we went through a metal door that opened to the roof of the embassy.

And the best view of Washington, DC, I'd ever seen. From the rooftop, there was a clear view of the cross-shaped Mall, with the Capitol building on one end, all the way to the Washington Monument in the middle, and the Lincoln Memorial on the other end. Finishing the cross were the White House on the north and the Jefferson Memorial on the south.

Raf led me to a couple of lounge chairs, not the cheap plastic kind you find at a hotel swimming pool but the more expensive
ones that felt like they were made of velvet but could weather any . . . weather.

He pushed two of them together, and it didn't seem like any words were needed with a view like this. We flopped down into the chairs and gazed at the lit-up Mall. Soft French jazz floated through the air from hidden speakers somewhere.
“La Vie en Rose,”
I thought. Somebody in a black uniform came through the door and walked over to us with a bottle and two glasses. He poured the pink sparkly stuff and set it down on a table next to us and left without saying anything else.

“What do you think, Pip?” Raf said.

“I think I've never seen anything like this.”

He pointed toward the west. “If you squint hard, you can see Iwo Jima.”

I squinted into the distance and could barely make out the statue of the six marines who raised the American flag during the Second World War.

“Somebody once told me that if you look closely, there's an extra leg in that statue,” I said, taking a sip of sangria.

Raf chuckled. “Maybe when we get a better look, we'll count.”

He placed his hand, palm up, in the space between us. And I just stared at it.

“How is Michael?” Raf said.

“He's good.”

“I really like him.” He smiled. “My favorite part was when we
were in your kitchen and he was telling me how he can't wait to ‘make someone.'”

I nodded, feeling a little warm from the inside out. One of the uniforms had brought us a blanket, protecting us from the chill in the air.

“Yeah, I love the way his brain works,” I said. We were quiet for a moment and I looked at his hand again and didn't take it. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything. Free pass.”

“Hmm. What to do with a free pass. Gotten any black eyes lately?” I said.

“Nope,” Raf said.

“Scaled any monuments?”

“Nope.”

“Broken any laws?”

“Not today.”

“Why did you punch that guy at the party?”

This made him pause. “He was a jerk to Alejandro. Years ago, when Al was at Chiswick. He was partly right when he said it was ancient history, but that didn't mean I wanted him in my house.”

I nodded. “So you punched him.”

“He had it coming. For years.” He shifted so he was facing me. “Does this stuff scare you?”

I thought for a moment of the blood on his face that night and the image of him falling from the pillar at the monument. “A little.”

“When I was a boy, I went to this boarding school, and I would hang out with this one kid Mark, who was bigger and tougher than me. And we got into a fair amount of trouble. This one time, we broke a window at school, and I got caught, and the headmistress took a stick and rapped my knuckles.”