Going Vintage (33 page)

“What took you so long?” Ginnie asks.

“Talking to Mom and Dad in the limo.”

She breaks into a grin. “Oh yeah? How’d they like it?”

“They loved it.” I watch Ginnie’s finger as it swirls around in the water. In Grandma’s day it would have been punch, but the administration has finally learned it’s more difficult to spike water. “Ginnie, Mom isn’t having an affair.”

Ginnie’s finger goes motionless. “How do you know?”

“The reason she’s online and secretive and all the other things you were worried about is because she has a blog.”

“A
blog
?”

“I mean, it’s more than just a blog. It’s a business. Couponing, deals … I found it the other day, when I had my technology relapse.”

“So what does that mean?” Ginnie scrunches up her eyebrows. “Do Mom and Dad fight because of her blog?”

“Mom and Dad fight because Mom and Dad fight.”

Ginnie wipes her finger on a napkin and folds her hands in her lap. “So will they get a divorce?”

“Ginnie … no. I think their relationship seems worse than it is because they’re into public displays of emotion—the kissing
and
the fighting. But they do recognize how much you’re trying to create family harmony, and I think that’s going to make them try to communicate better.”

“Really? They’re good, then?”

“Fine. I’d label it a fine.”

“So I shouldn’t buy those turtle doves?” she asks.

“Maybe save your money.”

Ginnie takes this with a nod. “Well, in that case, I should have kept the limo too. Then I’d have a way to bail on Bennett.”

“Oh no, is the date awkward? Did you guys kiss again?”

“Oh, we kissed. But then he practically attacked my pieces on the way over here, so …” She smiles wickedly. “I punched him in the nose.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. And he totally flipped out.” Ginnie lets out a sigh. “It didn’t bleed
that
much.”

I slump back in my seat. “So I guess Bennett is not going to be your steady.”

“Um, no.” Ginnie’s laugh starts as a small giggle, but rolls into a loud snort. “But he’s still in the bathroom if you want him.”

I laugh with her, bent over, shaking. This is what my match-making has led us to, my sister hitting her homecoming date in the face. Which would be the opposite of a healthy, steady relationship. So much for The List.

“If you want a steady, I bet you could still find one.” Ginnie points to the dance floor. “Oliver is over there.”

I pull down her hand. “Don’t point!”

“Why? He’s looking over here.”

I jerk my head around. Oliver’s in a large group, jumping to the loud music. He’s the only one here wearing a bow tie, or a cummerbund, for that matter, red and shiny to match his date. Carmen looks darling in a short number, something rock star that only she could pull off.

Oliver sees me and waves me over, but I answer with a helpless shrug. We’re really mastering our nonverbal communication this weekend. Oliver is on a date with another girl, and whether or not they like each other romantically, I’m not going to interrupt. And I’m not going to suddenly try to find a steady just because Ginnie didn’t deliver.

I stand and scan the room.

“Are you going to go dance with Oliver?” Ginnie asks.

“No. Jeremy.”

“Now you’re taking this too far. Look, you won, you advanced. Mallory, you conquered. We’ll get all your technology out, fix your Friendspace page for good—”

“Oh, I expect everything you confiscated back in my room in the morning, including the bobbleheads. But I still need to do this.”

“If you care so much about this stupid list that you’ll go back to your old boyfriend just to check something off, I’ll grab Bennett out of the bathroom right now and make out with him.”

I pat Ginnie on the shoulder. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want you to get blood on your dress.”

Jeremy is the reason I’m here, really, although I didn’t know it until I was in the moment. I squeeze over to his table, watching him as he watches me approach. He has his arm around the seat of the girl next to him, so this must be his date. He brought a date. I can’t believe he really brought a date.

“Hey, Jeremy. Can we dance?”

Jeremy leans over to the girl next to him and whispers something. She smiles and gives me a nod. This is
her
. Jenny. The other woman. She’s really here. He brought her.

She’s not prettier than me. Her hair is stringy and black, her dress a yawn-inducing blue sheath, but she has good teeth and nice skin. I should hate her. I should want to tear her eyes out. It’s not like I offer her a winning smile, but I’m kind of ambivalent to the girl. She wasn’t the problem with me and Jeremy. She was just one manifestation of our problems.

It’s not my fault that Jeremy went cyberpimping. It’s not my fault that he didn’t see the other sides of me, the more important parts. But I settled for a long time, convinced myself that what we had was more than it was. And of course I did. He was my first love. I didn’t know any better. I don’t think he did, either.

It’s a slow song, something by a past
American Idol
winner, although I can never keep them all straight. Jeremy is respectful
of my space as he slips his hands onto my waist. Although the respect might be for his date, who’s watching us.

“She’s pretty,” I say.

“Sure.”

“I thought you weren’t flying her out.”

“Flying?” Jeremy’s hands relax a bit on my sides. “Oh, that’s not … that’s not her. That’s Heidi. She lives in Irvine. Her dad knows my dad, it was a last-minute setup thing.”

“Oh. So Jenny couldn’t get off work after all.”

“Do we really need to talk about this?”

“No.” I pull farther back. “We don’t need to talk about anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” Jeremy blows out a breath, and his hair flops to the side. How I used to love that hair. “I’ve tried. I’ve said everything. It is what it is.”

“I hate that expression. Basically means ‘things suck, so deal.’”

“No, I mean … nothing will change. Between us.” He shuffles his feet. “Right?”

“I just … I came here so I could tell you something.” I squeeze my eyes shut, my fake eyelashes tickling my cheek. I can’t say this and watch him at the same time. “I forgive you. For … for caring about another girl like that. And for all the online stuff.”

He pulls in a breath. “And I forgive you for the online stuff.”

My eyes fly open. “You started it!”

“You called me a tool on my own page!”

“Because you
were
a tool.”

“Yeah. Okay. I was.”

The song is ending, and so are we. This us. It’s done. Really done this time. The breakup doesn’t feel like a wound anymore, more it has scabbed over and is starting to scar. That scar is going to heal, eventually, but I’ll still carry it. Like Oliver said, I’ll remember what happened, but I’ll forget the pain.

“One more thing. Did you cancel on Jenny, or did she cancel on you?”

“I mean, she was going to come out, but after we talked a couple times, it didn’t seem worth the effort. She said we should just go our own ways or something like that.” He lowers his shoulders. “I felt the same way. She wasn’t you. I think I was sharing myself with an icon, not a person.”

It’s probably the most profound thing I’ve ever heard Jeremy say. “So you got dumped by your girlfriend and your cyberwife in the same month.”

Jeremy cracks a smile. “That sounds so pathetic.” The song ends. He keeps his hands on my waist, but I pull away. “Mallory, I get that we’re done. But just so you know, you look hot tonight. Kind of old-school, but hot.”

“Thanks.”

He lowers his voice. He can go pretty husky when he wants to. “And if you ever want to get back together, even just for a hookup, I’m down.”

He’s down. So … not the most poetic guy on earth. I reach over and give him a hug. A friendly, platonic, you-are-now-my-ex-and-dream-on hug. “Probably not going to happen.”

“So what about Oliver?”

I pull away, leaving a large space between us. A space that will stay. “Oliver’s been a good friend when I needed a good friend.”

“And that’s it between you two?”

“Whatever there is between me and Oliver is between me and Oliver. You don’t get to ask me that anymore. Good night, Jeremy.”

My heels click across the gym floor. No one else hears because everyone else is dancing and flirting and homecoming … ing. The only one who notices my noises—my shoes, my dress, my breath—is me.

I make it to the hallway and lean my forehead against a locker. It’s weird how Jeremy’s deception led me to The List, which brought out everyone else’s secrets. But I guess The List was my own secret, a valuable one that I wouldn’t give up now. My hand goes to my chest, to Grandma’s necklace. I yank off the chain, the symbol that she belonged to someone else, to her steady, to Candace’s father.

The list item was to find a steady. Despite our different paths, I think we both did this. Because it turns out Grandma made a little typo. I didn’t need to find
a
steady, and neither did she. I needed to fine
my
steady.

I am steady. I’m okay being alone, I’m fine edging out of my comfort zone, and I have a list of things that make me the girl I am.

It’s too bad I don’t have the actual list here, in my clutch, so I can click a pen and ceremoniously add a check to each
item. Pep club? Pepped. Soiree? Hosted. Dress? Fabulous. Steady? Solid. Dangerous? Stag.

Without The List to get all symbolic on, I take out my cell phone. I don’t look at the messages or texts, the past two weeks of communication. I’m sure I’ve missed out on plenty without technology, but I don’t think I’ve lost anything. Well, I might have lost that online Scrabble game Ginnie and I had going, which is too bad because I was about to put a
z
down on a triple-letter tile.

I click on Dad’s number, sliding my foot in a circle against the tile as I listen to the rings.

“Mallory?”

“Can you guys come get me?”

“Already?” Dad asks. “It’s only been twenty minutes.”

“I know. But my date just keeps stepping on my toes.”

“Your date?” Mom shouts into the phone.

“Oh yeah, Prince Charming showed up with some other girl’s shoe that happened to fit my foot. So I’m eloping. Hope you’re okay!”

“Mallory, you don’t need to feel bad!” Mom shouts again. “We’re proud of your independence—”

“Just come to the school.”

I hang up. Yeah. Don’t want to rush completely into the twenty-first century quite yet.

I plop down, careful that Grandma’s dress doesn’t snag on the locker. The poof sprays around me. I’m done with the dance. It’s too cold to go outside, so this empty hallway is as good as any place to sit and wait for my parent-drawn carriage to appear.

My phone rings again. I don’t even glance at the caller ID, just pick it up. “Mom. I was joking, okay? I’m waiting in the hallway. Are you guys close?”

“I’m really close, actually,” Oliver says. “Just tell me which hallway.”

“Oh. I can’t,” I deadpan. “I don’t talk to strangers.”

“How rude! Hello, this is Oliver Kimball. May I please speak to Mallory?” Dance music blasts through his phone.

“Didn’t your scoutmaster ever tell you not to call people when there is loud music in the background?”

“Hold on.” There’s shuffling on the other end, like he’s walking. “I kind of lied about that. Phone etiquette was not included in the etiquette merit badge.” His voice echoes down the hall. In seconds, he’s above me, holding out his hand to help me up and doesn’t let go once I’m standing. His bow tie is undone, his adorably hideous cummerbund off. Oliver grins, both sides up. My heart nearly explodes.

“What happened to your cummerbund?” I say into the phone.

“Lost it in a hand of poker. It’s been a wild night.”

“Then why are you calling me? Don’t you have a dance to get back to?”

His grin fades into a soft smile. “I called to tell you how beautiful you look tonight. No, wait. Ethereal. I’m going with ethereal.”

There are no witty replies. He’s too sincere. It’s miles away from Jeremy’s hookup offer earlier. I lower my phone and lower my gaze. “Thank you.”

Oliver shoves his phone into the inside pocket of his tuxedo. “So I’ve called this number every day for the last week.”

“Really?” I hold the phone away from me, stare at it, decide that later I’ll rifle through all the missed calls. “Why?”