Perfect Match (7 page)

“Good,” I said, offering her a bite of my linzertorte—and instead of disdaining the heart-shaped, red jelly–filled cookie, she took it.

“This is amazing,” she said, wide-eyed. “I can't believe I've never tried one of these before.”

“Wait—hold that pose,” I said, pulling out the battered old camera I'd gotten for my birthday in sixth grade. “I think this could be just the look I've been trying to get.” As Camille posed for delicate bites of the most Valentine's-y of cookies, I took almost a whole roll of film. With all the votives on the tables and the dusk outside, the lighting was perfect, and
even more noticeably, something in Morgan's face looked lighter than it had just minutes before. I wondered if now was the right time to bring up the dance.

“Morgan,” I said hesitantly, “I know we all agreed to go to your cabin next weekend, and it sounds really great, but—”

“But you want to go to the Valentine's Dance with Alex,” she filled in. I nodded. “I know,” she said. “I thought about that last night. Maybe I was a little too forceful with my whole solidarity thing. You shouldn't be punished for having a cool boyfriend.”

“But I do want to be there for Camille,” I said.

“Listen,” Morgan said, taking a final shuddering glance at Random Exeter. “Next Tuesday is our pre– Valentine's Day Girls' Night Out. Camille was telling me all about how the two of you used to celebrate in middle school, and she wants to reinstate it this year.”

I'd forgotten how much fun those nights used to be—no boy pressure, just exchanging valentines with your friends and doing the gushy stuff guys usually only pretend to like on Valentine's Day.

“We'll go all out for Camille that night and see how she's doing. We can adjust our plans for the weekend based on her needs.”

That sounded fair. The bottom line was that we both did really care about Camille—we were just
showing it in slightly different (and, well, personally gratifying) ways.

As we paid for our pastries and grabbed our coats, I said, “You know, it
might
cheer Camille up to go to the dance. What if I could find her a really amazing date? Doesn't any part of you want to go too? Especially now that you've got proof positive that you're over Turtle Man in there?” I stuck my thumb in the direction of the still-making-out prep school boy.

Morgan bit her lip. “Yeah, right, who would I even go with? I'm so sick of these private school boys who think they're so great. All they want to do is trade up. It's like, just pick a nice girl and stick with her—”

“Morgan,” I called, “look out!”

Her tirade was cut abruptly off when she ran smack into a tall, dark-haired guy in a red ski cap who was turning the corner from Broadway.

“Whoops!” Morgan said. “I'm sorry.”

“No,” the guy said, “I'm sorry.” He looked at me. “Flan?”

Huh? I looked more closely under the ski cap and noticed that the tall stranger was Rob Zumberg—Terrick Zumberg's cousin, whom I'd hung out with last fall in Nevis.

“Hey Rob!” I said. “Long time no see.” I looked at
Morgan, who was eyeing her collision victim pretty closely. “This is my good friend Morgan. We go to Thoney together. Morgan, this is Rob. He was our resident brilliant musician in Nevis over Thanksgiving break.”

“What do you play?” Morgan asked, looking super interested.

“Guitar mostly, but I can also play the saxophone and the accordion,” Rob said. He was shifting back and forth on his feet and stammering a little bit. I'd forgotten how shy he was.

“Oh my God, I've always wanted to learn to play the accordion,” Morgan said. At least she was giving him some positive reinforcement!

“It's really easy to learn,” Rob said. “I could show you sometime.”

Then both of them looked at me, either to seek my permission to hang out with each other … or maybe because I was getting in the way?

“You know what?” I said, catching the vibe. “I've got to head home and read up on how to develop these pictures tomorrow—”

“Oh no,” Morgan said, looking stricken. “I completely forgot to take any pictures at Balthazar.” She turned to Rob and laughed. “We were supposed to do a food photo shoot and Flan came all the way down
to my neighborhood to go to Balthazar and then we started talking and—wow, that was dumb.”

“You live around here?” Rob asked. “I'm two blocks up. Well, if you need another food subject for your shoot, I could show you my favorite French café. It's not as over-the-top as Balthazar, but—”

“Sounds perfect!” Morgan practically exclaimed.

“Okay, I'll just—” I started to say.

“Okay, 'bye, Flan.” Morgan waved, grinning. “I had so much fun!”

I laughed and waved good-bye to both of them. I could tell Morgan was having even more fun since she literally ran into Rob.

Rob Zumberg! Why hadn't I thought of him before? I mean, he was a little on the quiet side, but he was sooo into music. He was such an obvious choice for Morgan. Everything about this afternoon seemed so serendipitous. Meeting Rob right on the heels of seeing Random Exeter boy? You couldn't write that kind of stuff! As I started walking up Broadway toward my house, I had to smile. My first real match had basically fallen into my lap.

I was halfway home when my phone started ringing and the very adorable picture I'd snapped of Alex at Wollman Rink popped up on my screen.

“I've got a bone to pick with you,” Alex said when I answered.

I froze in the middle of Washington Square Park South, nearly colliding with a pedicab full of tourists.

“What is it?” I asked, feeling my heart climb into my throat. “Is something wrong?” Had Alex found out about my friends wanting to ditch the dance?

“Yes,” he said, sounding serious. “Something is very wrong. We've been dating for almost a month and I just realized that I have no idea whether or not you can bowl.”

He was joking. My heart resumed its normal pattern as I mime-apologized to the red-faced pedicab driver.

“The thing is,” Alex continued, “I'm kind of unstoppable on the lanes. So you have to be able to hold your own. I think you should probably come meet me at Bowlmor ASAP so we can resolve this.”

“You only think you're unstoppable because you haven't seen my skills,” I quipped back, regaining composure. “So wait, you're at Bowlmor right now?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “I'm with Saxton and Phil. And it'd be a whole lot more fun if you were here.”

Hmmm, if Harper had been standing over my shoulder, she'd have told me that a boy is supposed to give you at least forty-eight hours advance notice if he'd like to take you out. But Alex had always chosen spontaneity over relationship rules. And I really did want to see him—not to mention destroy him at bowling in front of his friends.

“I'm on my way,” I said, hooking a right on Eighth Street.

When I hung up the phone, I was grinning as I replayed the conversation in my head. It was cool that he was out with the guys and still wanted me to crash. And Phil was the exact friend I'd decided on fixing up with Amory! And Saxton, with his model frame and deep green eyes, might be just the thing to take Camille's mind off her Xander woes for a
little while. But how to phrase this to make sure my friends wouldn't see this as a violation of their boy boycott?

NERVOUS TO MEET ALEX AND HIS FRIENDS AT BOWLMOR TONITE. COME BOWL BADLY WITH ME FOR MORAL SUPPORT?

Luckily, within minutes I had an affirmative from Amory, who wrote: I'M DOWN, BUT CAN'T PROMISE I'LL BOWL BADLY—BOWLING TEAM CAPTAIN SEVENTH GRADE!

Two minutes later, Camille said: BEATS STUDYING FOR MY ART HISTORY EXAM ANY DAY. C U SOON. …

Perfect! And I'd thought the Morgan/Rob connection had fallen into my lap. Something in the cosmos must have wanted me to be a matchmaker. I should probably start my own business, get a Web site—

“Flan.” Amory interrupted my thoughts at the swinging door to Bowlmor. “Think I can bowl in these?” She pointed at some truly amazing hot pink patent leather Betsey Johnson platforms. “I'm not so into the eyesore of the bowling shoe.”

“If you can bowl in those, you might become my fashion idol,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up. “Good timing,” I said. “There's Camille.”

Both of us leaned in to tag-team air-kiss Camille, whose hazel eyes looked bright under her lavender
velvet hat. “So I haven't cried yet today,” Camille said. “That's good, right?”

“Good! Great!” Amory and I cooed as we stepped inside the jerky red elevator that would spit us out at the lanes. Having a brokenhearted friend, I realized, was kind of like raising a small child. It took a village. And every minor moving-on achievement felt like a giant leap for womankind.

Once inside Bowlmor, we were bombarded by flashing disco lights, pumping eighties music, and the strangely pleasant scent of old leather shoes. As Camille and I ordered matching size-eight red-and-blue bowling kicks, Amory impressively avoided the shoe exchange altogether.

We grabbed a round of diet cherry Cokes from the bar and scoped out the scene for Alex and his friends.

“There they are,” I said, pointing to the far lane, where Alex was programming the computer with names.

“Whoa,” Amory said, fanning herself. “Who's the Adonis? He's almost as amazing looking as my shoes.” She nudged Camille. “Do you
see
that guy?”

Camille nodded, though she wasn't even looking at Saxton. “Mmm,” she mumbled without conviction. “He's cute.”

“Hey guys,” I called out to Alex and his friends. “I brought company.”

“Oh,” Alex said, taking in the even numbers. “Cool. Uh, Camille and Amory, these are my old lacrosse buddies, Phil and Saxton. Hey, Amory, aren't you into acting? You should talk to Phil. He's a pro.”

Phil laughed. “I spent eight hours today ‘working' as an extra on the Bohn Brothers' new apocalyptic movie in the Meatpacking District. I'm now the resident expert on how to collapse from radiation poisoning.”

“At least you got to go out dramatically,” Amory said, typing her name in under Phil's on the computer screen between the lanes. “My last part in the school play was as a corpse.”

As Phil motioned for Amory to grab a seat next to him and started in with, “Let me tell you about my first role as a corpse,” I looked at Alex. Had my boyfriend just jump-started the exact match I'd been about to initiate myself? Speaking of perfect matches! I pulled him in for a quick kiss.

“Hey you,” he said into my ear. “You look pretty sweet in those bowling shoes. Too bad they won't help you beat me.”

“I'll accept your apology for underestimating me after the game.” I grinned, but my smile quickly faded
when I looked at Camille, who was looking at her feet and twiddling her thumbs. I felt a physical pain at seeing my most fun friend having the least amount of fun imaginable.

“So, Saxton,” I said, scrambling for conversation, “what position did you play in lacrosse? Camille and I just finished a pretty intense field hockey season.”

“Cool,” Saxton said, fixing his gorgeous eyes on Camille. “I was left forward; what'd you play?”

“Not very well,” Camille responded.

Saxton nodded politely, but then said, “I think I'm gonna go grab a heavier ball.”

The game got under way without any more painful moments with Camille. I was definitely enjoying watching Alex, who was, true to his boasts, by far the best bowler in our game.

“Okay, okay,” I said, sidling up behind him after three straight rounds of knocking down only one or two pins. “I was all talk. I haven't bowled since back when it was still okay to use bumpers. Got any tips, Master of the Strikes?”

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd come crawling back to me,” Alex joked. “Okay, the thing about bowling that most people forget is that halfway through the set, the scoreboard screen tells you exactly how to position your next ball toward pins
you need to take out.” We walked out to the line for my second roll. Alex stood behind me. “See, if you're looking at a six-eight-nine lineup, you want to look at the ball like this.”

I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about—though I did like his hands over mine on the ball—but I sure wished there was a magic screen somewhere telling me how to position my friends toward the right guys. Despite my confusion, with Alex as my good-luck charm, I managed to take out six whole pins that time.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “Bowling is so much more fun when you score!”

I looked over at Camille, who was fixated on watching the balls whirr out of the machine. Sigh. At least Amory and Phil seemed like they were hitting it off. I couldn't hear their conversation, but they were both making really exaggerated facial expressions and gesturing wildly with their hands. In just a few hours, I'd found a music freak for a music freak and a thespian for a thespian. I guessed Camille's case might just take a little bit more special attention. I wondered if I knew any guys who were desperately heartbroken and looking to be fixed up. …

During my next round of bowling, I'm sorry to say,
I did not achieve the same success I had immediately following my lesson from Alex.

“I'm starting to think you might just have to stand up there with me every time I bowl, like a tandem coach on a skydive,” I said.

Alex nodded. “I have no problem with that.”

Since it was now sort of a pattern with me to have a sweet moment with Alex and follow it up with a guilty glance at Camille, I looked over at my friend again. Oh good, she was talking one-on-one with Saxton!

I stepped closer to stealthily eavesdrop, but as soon as I tuned in to their conversation, I actually wished I hadn't.