How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend (5 page)

I hadn't done much with my hair. Just put two clips in the sides to make it look like I had tried to go a little formal. All my friends say they wish they had my wavy brown hair, but that's only because they don't have to tame it into hairstyles.

Since I wore a dress, we drove to the fund-raiser in Jesse's dad's truck instead of on his motorcycle. To tell you the truth, that was a relief.

Oh, it's not that I don't love smashing my hair into a helmet as much as the next girl, but I can't shake the feeling that motorcycle riding is only a little more safe than, say, swimming in shark-infested waters while wearing a Spam bikini. I mean, when you ride a motorcycle, you can actually see the street moving beneath your feet—and it's going by really fast. It sort of reminds you how painful it would be to crash into the road at high speeds, and how quickly it could happen, since you're riding on a vehicle without a floor.

I so prefer riding in things that have floors.

We pulled into the Bickham Marriott, hands down the nicest hotel in town, and went into the conference center ballroom.

A bunch of people who I didn't recognize, because they were all about twice my age, stood around talking and laughing. Well, actually, I recognized Jesse's mother in one corner, but Jesse didn't seem to have any desire to go over and talk with her, which was fine with me. Even though Jesse denies it, his mom doesn't like me. I can tell by the way she grits her teeth together when she smiles at me.

I think she expected Jesse to go out with some Southern belle with a soft drawl and Texas pedigree as long as his. Instead she got the school criminal. I mean, all of the teachers look at me differently now—like I might be tempted to break into their classrooms in search of more dead animals to confiscate—so I can't really blame her for being less than thrilled that I'm dating her son.

Jesse and I picked up some hors d'oeuvres, then walked around the room. A few miscellaneous teenagers milled about, probably brothers and sisters of the choir kids, but no one I knew well enough to go up and talk to. Then we saw Wilson and Bridget across the room.

Wilson held up a hand to wave us over, and Jesse took hold of my elbow and steered me in their direction.

Bridget smiled at Jesse as we walked up. “Well, don't you clean up real nice.”

Bridget isn't officially going out with Wilson, so she can get away with flirting in front of him. They went out for a while last year but supposedly are just friends now. Jesse told me this was her choice, not his, but Wilson has dated enough other girls since then that he doesn't appear to be all that heartbroken over the matter.

Jesse smoothed out a wrinkle in his khaki pants. “Thanks, but my jeans are a lot more comfortable.”

She let her gaze run over him. “I bet.”

I stepped closer to Jesse and then took hold of his hand, just to remind her that he was my boyfriend.

Bridget's eyes flickered over to mine, and she gave me a hollow smile. “It's too bad Dante didn't come tonight. Maybe hearing the mayor speak could teach him something about politics. After all, he seemed so interested in the subject.”

I knew she was trying to provoke a response from me, so I just shrugged. “He's busy with other things.”

“Of course, Wilson can learn all he needs from his daddy. Campaigning runs in his family. Runs and wins.” She laughed, her shoulders gently shaking up and down, which was a dangerous thing since she wore a strapless dress. Personally, I'd be afraid to wear something that looks like it would slide off if you simply twisted the wrong way, but she is obviously braver than I am.

Wilson said, “If there's one thing I've learned from my dad, it's that you need the right people out there pulling for you.” He nodded toward Jesse and Bridget. “You, my friends, are the right people, and I thank you for it.” Wilson's gaze passed over me momentarily, and then he turned to Bridget. “I almost forgot to tell you. Jesse agreed to be my campaign manager.”

Chapter
4

I stared at Wilson. The words made no sense. I waited for him to say the rest of it—the part with the punch line that would let everyone know he was just joking. Because he couldn't be right. Jesse had already agreed to help Dante.

But as Wilson went on talking about the election, Jesse didn't contradict him. I looked at Jesse's face, expecting to see surprise or confusion—something that would signal that Wilson had made a mistake.

Jesse wouldn't look back at me.

And then I knew it was true. The pieces fell together in my mind. The call from Wilson, the fact that Dante had been mad at Jesse when he'd come home. He'd even said, “Jesse is helping Wilson, not me.” But I hadn't understood. I hadn't realized Jesse had jumped candidates.

I suddenly felt cold. My lips involuntarily clamped together like they'd been glued shut. Oh, I had a lot of things I wanted to say, but they seemed lodged in my throat. I couldn't say them with Wilson and Bridget standing inches away.

I clutched my glass and stared at the floor. How could Jesse do this to me after I'd asked him to campaign for Dante and he'd said he would?

Wilson finally turned to me. “So, Giovanna, are you going to help Jesse work on my campaign?”

I didn't say what I thought, which was, “Obviously your tie is too tight, because it has cut off circulation to your brain.”

See, sometimes it's a good thing to keep your feelings bottled up inside you, no matter what the school counselor says. I forced a smile. “No, I'm Dante's campaign manager.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So he's really running?”

“Yes. Why wouldn't he be?”

Wilson took a slow sip of his drink. “Well, it just seemed like one of those ‘Big hat, no cattle' kinds of announcements.”

“I guess you don't know Dante very well then.” Bridget's gaze skipped back and forth between Jesse and me. “A boyfriend and girlfriend working on opposite campaigns. That ought to make the elections more interesting this year.” She giggled and nudged against Wilson. “You'd better watch out that your manager doesn't leak all your secrets to the enemy camp.”

“We have secrets?” Jesse asked. “I must have missed that meeting.”

“We have no secrets, only strategies,” Wilson said. “And I'm sure none of them are worth stealing.” Then he gave me a dazzling smile, which I had seen before but never directed at me. “I think right now our number one strategy should be to convince all the pretty girls at school to vote for me.” He nodded in Jesse's direction. “I'll let you use your powers of persuasion on this one. I expect you to have her turned around by the end of the night.”

I smiled back at Wilson and once again refrained from making comments about his tie or oxygen supply. Jesse put one hand on my back, but I still couldn't look at him.

Mrs. Shappel, who worked at the downtown library, walked over to the microphone and invited everyone to take a seat by the stage.

Wilson and Bridget headed in that direction. I didn't move. Jesse gave my elbow a gentle tug. “Let's go find a seat.”

“I want to go home.”

“We can't go home now. It would be rude. It would look like we just came for the food.”

I still didn't move. My throat felt tight, and it hurt to swallow. “How could you agree to work on Wilson's campaign?”

Jesse gave a sigh and dropped my elbow. “Didn't Dante tell you about this? I thought he was going to.” Jesse's eyes grew soft, but I turned my head so I wouldn't have to look at him.

“I asked you this afternoon to work on Dante's campaign and you told me you would.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Jesse looked over my shoulder at the stage. “We need to sit down. Wilson's daddy is about to speak.”

Well, we couldn't offend Wilson's daddy. I followed Jesse to the seats. Most of them were taken. I saw a few empty chairs wedged here and there among the crowd but couldn't imagine crawling over everyone to get to them. After a moment's search, Jesse led me up front to two empty seats right beside the speakers.

I sat stiffly, staring up at Mayor Montgomery but thinking of Dante—which was hard to do since the mayor's voice boomed at me in this thunderous you're-sitting-too-close-to-the-speaker sort of way.

Jesse didn't try to talk to me again until the mayor sat down and the choir stood up. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Look, I'm sorry you're sore about this. I already explained it to Dante, and I thought he'd tell you. I owe Wilson a favor, and this is how I'm fixing to pay it.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. “Trust me on this one, Gi. I have to campaign for Wilson, but it doesn't mean you and I will be fighting against each other. We'll keep our campaigning friendly; we'll use good sportsmanship. Everything will be fine.”

“A favor? That's it? You owe Wilson a favor?”

“Right.” He turned to the speaker again as though this closed the matter.

“You mean, like, maybe you borrowed Wilson's tools to work on your bike, or maybe he helped you put on your new handlebars or something like that?”

Jesse sighed and looked straight ahead.

I tried to ask more details, but the choir started up, and their singing muffled my words. Every time I spoke, Jesse asked, “What?” so I kept raising my voice. “Why do you owe Wilson a favor?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay, so now he was keeping secrets from me. Great. The choir finished their song. We all clapped, and they started up the next song. Jesse sat up straighter and away from me, so it was harder for me to talk to him. I imagine he thought that would end the conversation, but I leaned over toward him. “You shouldn't pay back a favor if it means stabbing Dante in the back while you do it. I mean, is he your friend or just someone you hang out with until one of your popular friends comes along?”

Jesse's tone sharpened. “That's not fair. He's my friend, but he's got no chance of winning. And he's only running because Wilson said something that set him off. Besides, everyone still sees him as a newcomer.”

A woman who sat in the next row gave us a stern look and mouthed the word, “Hush.” I noticed a couple of other people scowling in our direction.

I lowered my voice. “Dante has lived in Bickham for three years.”

“Exactly,” Jesse said. “Wilson's family has been here for generations.”

I could have pointed out that my dad's mom, Grandma Petrizzo, has lived in Bickham for the past twenty years, but I really didn't see why that should matter. Instead I whispered, “What exactly does the student body president do that requires generations worth of knowledge?”

“Look, I didn't say I agreed with it. It's just the way it is.”

“All the more reason for you to help Dante instead of turning your back on him.”

Jesse looked firmly at the choir onstage. “It's only a student election, all right?”

My stomach twisted. He cared more about upsetting Wilson than he cared about Dante—or me. I felt tears pressing at the back of my eyes but refused to let them form. Instead I folded my arms and let out a slow breath. “By the way, Jesse, your friends are jerks.”

His head tilted in surprise. “What?”

“I didn't tell you before because I didn't want to make you take sides. But you did anyway. You chose them.”

Disbelief flashed across his expression. He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “I'm not choosing between you and—” He let out a frustrated breath. “What do you mean my friends are jerks?”

I answered him in quick staccato rhythm. “If Bridget and Stacey were any faker they could pass for mannequins. Luke has the sensitivity of a bucket of rocks, and Wilson is so arrogant he not only thinks he'll win the presidency, he expects to be anointed king.”

Jesse folded his arms. “You don't know the first thing about Wilson.”

“He has next year's student council agenda planned before the elections have even happened.”

The lady in the next row sent more shushing in our direction. Jesse leaned closer to me and mouthed, “You don't know Wilson.”

“Well, one of us doesn't,” I hissed back.

The muscles tensed in his jaw. “You're overreacting about this.”

“I'm not overreacting.”

“And you're being a tad too loud.”

“Fine. I won't talk to you. Ever again.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

I wasn't sure whether he couldn't hear me because the choir had crescendoed into a really resounding part of the song, or whether he was so cocky he couldn't believe that I would ever dump him. You know, me—the outsider, breaking up with multigenerational him. I raised my voice to make it clear for him. “Jesse, we are over!”

Unfortunately, as soon as I'd said the word “Jesse,” the choir stopped singing. Without the speakers blaring, my words filled the room. Half the audience turned around to see why I'd yelled. No, I'm wrong about that. It was the entire audience. Even Jesse's mother, who stood on the stage in front of the choir with her back to the audience, looked over her shoulder at me. You'd think as choir director she would have been professional about the whole thing and gone on with the next song, but you would be wrong. She kept staring at me, waiting, I suppose, to see if I had any other announcements to share with the crowd.

“Well,” Jesse said in a quiet voice, “I guess I'm ready to leave after all.”

“I'll find my own way home.” I stood up and stormed toward the door. The choir finally began their next number, but by that time it was too late. They'd lost the crowd's attention. Every single pair of eyes followed me across the room. Including Wilson's and Bridget's. She looked like she was waiting for me to get out of earshot so she could laugh, but Wilson, well, Wilson's wide eyes were harder to read. I had no idea what he thought.