Perfect You (21 page)

"Hey, at least your grandmother talks to you," he said, heading toward a car parked at the end of our driveway. I followed, and then I was getting into a guy's car. I was getting into Will's car!

Normal, I reminded myself. Speaking is normal. Passing out because you have gotten into someone's car isn't. "Your grandmother doesn't talk to you?" He shook his head. "Nope. My mom's mom died when I was little, and my dad's mom hasn't talked to us in years."

"My mom and grandmother didn't talk for a long time when my mom was younger," I said. "Sometimes I think they should have kept the silence thing going. Family stuff is weird, isn't it? Everyone knows about my dad and his vitamin thing, but no one knows how freakish my grandmother is, and I've never heard anyone at school talk about your .

. ."I trailed off.

He grinned at me before he pulled out onto the street. "So, you listen when people talk about me, huh?"

"No! I mean, I hear stuff sometimes, but it's hard not to since you've hooked up with half the girls in school."

"I haven't hooked up with half the girls in school."

"Okay, a third."

He looked at me for a second, then back at the road. "Did your father get fired for trying to sell Perfect You stuff during a meeting, or because he sold his boss a bottle of vitamins that made him sick?"

"What? That's not what happened. He quit his job and then he started selling all the Perfect You stuff."

"But I heard--"

"You heard wrong."

"Exactly," he said. "Do you see what I mean?"

Now I looked at him, thinking about what he'd said.

"Just so you know, the ten-second rule is in effect," Will said. "One more and you officially agree with me."

"You wish," I said. "And okay, you're saying people make up stuff about how many girls you've hooked up with? You forget, I've seen you in the halls at school."

"How many girls have you seen me with this year?" He looked over at me, grinning. "I know you know."

"I don't!" I did. Four. "But why would people make up stuff about you?"

"Why do people make up stuff about your dad? I figure they need something to talk about."

"How profound."

"Is that your way of saying I'm right?"

"It's my way of saying you're full of crap."

He laughed. And then didn't say anything.

"Ten-second rule," I told him.

He looked over at me. "Okay," he said, his voice quiet. "I did hook up with a bunch of girls freshman year. Some stuff happened right before school started and I . . I don't know. I was hanging out with Sam a lot back then, and we'd go to parties where all these girls would be throwing themselves at him, and even Sam can only handle so many at one time, so--"

"Let me guess. You helped him out."

"I hate it when you look at me like I'm something you've found on the bottom of your shoe, Kate. I wasn't lying to you before."

"You just said you hooked up with tons of girls after telling me you hadn't."

"It was last year, and it wasn't tons, or a third of the school, or half, or anything like that.

But people talked, and you know how that is." "I suppose next you'll be telling me you only did it until you realized that, deep down, you hated yourself and that being with all those girls made you feel less empty inside. "

"Wow, that's insightful," he said, his voice low and furious. "You know what I don't get about you? Why you always think the worst about me, and why, in spite of that, you still seem to like me. At least sometimes." He turned the radio on, turning it up so loud there was no way he could hear anything I had to say.

But I didn't have anything to say. I just sat there, wondering if he was right about me.

Did I always think the worst about him?

I used to. But Will was the only person to ever ask me about Anna. He also hadn't ever said anything bad about Dad, or even laughed at him, and that horrible day when everyone at school found out about Dad's new career, he'd been the one person who hadn't cared about what had happened. He'd just wanted to know if I'd run off crying. If I was okay.

And when things with Anna started to change, when we became friends again, he'd been the one person--the only person--I'd thought of telling. That I'd even wanted to tell. Recently whenever something happened, he was the first person I thought of. The first one I wanted to talk to.

"I don't always think the worst about you," I said. Actually, I had to shout it, only I shouted when the song that was playing got quiet and so I ended up sounding like . . .

well, me.

His mouth quirked up at the corners briefly, and then he leaned over and turned the radio off. "Okay I heard that."

And then he didn't say anything else. "All right, what is this?" I said when I couldn't stand the silence any longer. I think I lasted about thirty seconds.

"What's what?"

"The whole silence thing."

He shrugged.

"Okay, so I'm, what, supposed to forget everything you said about last year? I mean, you admitted that--"

"Everything I said? Why would you even listen to a guy who'd use girls to forget how empty he felt?"

"Look, I was mad."

"Never would have guessed."

"And now you're mad."

"Let's just say your little speech didn't make my day."

"I don't think you're that kind of guy, okay? I just--" I took a deep breath. It was weird, but I really wasn't used to talking to anybody. Really talking, that is. "What happened last year? Besides the stuff we both already know about, I mean. You said something happened before school started . ."

He was silent for a moment.

"My father," he finally said. "I found out that the guy who'd left me and mom when I was six and hadn't ever bothered to send money or even call, was living in Alaska with a girl who's maybe five years older than me, and that they had a kid. He was so proud of that, of his new son, that he'd made a fucking website devoted to him and then had the nerve to track down Mom's e-mail address and send her a link to let her know he'd put his life back together, and hey, wasn't she happy for him and his new family?" "Oh."

"Yeah. And I . . . look, it messed me up. I'm not saying that as an excuse for last year because--well, because it sounds like something he'd say Or that I imagine he'd say, anyway. But it really sucked to have my father finally show up in a fucking e-mail about his new family and to have him not say he was sorry or even ask about--" He broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind."

I could guess what he hadn't said. "He didn't even ask about you."

"Not a single question. Not even a 'Tell Will hello.' It's like he forgot I exist. And all last year I went to that website and saw pictures of him and his new family and I just--I didn't even hate him, you know? I mean, I did, but more than that, I wanted to know why he left in the first place."

I nodded, thinking of how I'd felt when I'd first seen Anna hanging out with Diane, of how much I'd longed to hate her and even did, a little, but mostly wanted to know what I'd done to make her forget me, and why it was so easy for her to do it. "I know what you mean."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And now I knew there was someone else who understood what it was like to wake up one morning and find out you didn't matter anymore. Strange that of all people, it would be Will.

We slowed down and turned into the parking lot of the pizza place everyone went to.

"Do you want to go in?" he said. "I don't know. I sort of feel like casual conversation about pizza crust preferences and toppings isn't going to work now."

"Yeah," he said. "We could get a burger or something and then go to the park."

"Sure, because I wasn't listening when you admitted that you spent plenty of time last year doing stuff just like this."

His mouth quirked up again. "I never did this."

"What, talked first?"

"Funny," he said. "I meant, I didn't do the whole dating thing."

"That makes sense."

He looked startled. "Why?"

"Because you knew things were going to end anyway, and so why pretend they might work out when they never do?"

"That's . . . not the reaction I was expecting."

"What, you wanted applause?"

He laughed. "No, I thought you'd, I don't know, yell some more or something."

"But you're right," I said. "Things do end. I mean, this year I lost my best friend, even though it turned out to be for just a little while, and then my father quit his job, and now--"

"Wait, you're talking to Anna again? Why?"

"What do you mean, why? She's my best friend. Wouldn't you hate it if Sam stopped talking to you?"

"Sam not talking to me? I think that'd be a dream come true for both of us," he muttered.

"But you two hang out all the time and--"

"I know, I used him as girl bait." "That's not what I was going to say."

"Really?"

"Yes, Mr. I-Think-I-Can-Read-Minds-But-Can't. I was going to say, aren't your mom and his mom friends too?"

"They were, back when my mom was catering on the weekends to earn extra money and did all of Sam's mom's dinner parties. Now they're business partners, which means Sam's mom spends all her time drawing up menus for people to look at and my mom spends all her time worrying about how she's going to make a puff pastry thing for sixty people all by herself. I even had to miss school a while ago to help out with some brunch thing because Sam's mom can't be bothered to do any actual work."

I had a feeling that day was back when I'd listened to the Jennifers speculate that he'd skipped because of trouble with a girl. "So, you're mad at Sam because of his mom?"

"No, I'm mad at Sam because he's a jerk. I just . . I guess I realized I was turning into my dad with the whole girl thing and--well, I didn't want to, you know? But he didn't get it.

Still doesn't. Plus he and his dad keep telling his mom to quit working with mine, and if that happens my mom will be stuck trying to keep their business going. And she doesn't have the kind of money that Sam's parents do."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. Now Sam mostly uses me as a cover story for when he wants to ditch Anna and--

" He broke off.

"It's okay. Anna knows he cheats on her."

"I guess it would be hard not to know," he said. "She doesn't care?" "She's afraid he'll dump her if she says anything. Hey, how come you asked me why I was talking to Anna again?"

"Because of what she did when school started, and because you don't usually put up with crap from anyone."

"Anna isn't--it's not like that."

He looked at me. I looked away, staring out the windshield and feeling what I'd just said ring weirdly hollow inside me, like it wasn't true. I shook my head and looked back at him. "Speaking of crap, I put up with you, don't I?"

"That's because you want to make out with me."

"I don't--"

"Liar," he said, and then he kissed me and I forgot about everything for a while.

We ended up leaving the pizza place parking lot to get tacos and eat them at the park. I learned Will didn't like guacamole ("It's green and slimy--how is that food?") and that his mother had been Sam's father's secretary before she started catering full-time.

("Probably another reason why Sam's dad is such an ass about everything. My mother isn't around to do all his work for him anymore.")

I also learned why he was working at Sports Shack.

"You know what really sucks," he told me after he'd dumped all the guacamole out of his third chicken taco, "is that I was supposed to get a raise after I finished my training period at the Shack, only to find out the policy's changed and now I have to wait another three months. It sucks because it's not like rent's going to get any cheaper."

"Rent? On what?" "Our house. You know, a place where people live. You must have heard of them."

I swatted his arm. "You're working to help pay the rent?"

"Thanks for sounding so shocked. You work to help your dad, right? Is it so hard to believe I'd work to help my mom?"

"No. I just--I don't know. I always thought you were--"

"Yeah, I know what you thought about me."

"Am I allowed to finish a sentence?"

He grinned, leaning into me. "I don't know. Are you?"

"I always thought you were a jerk, but you aren't. Not all the time, anyway," I said, elbowing him. "You . . . you surprise me."

"I surprise you?" He caught my arm in his, sliding his hand down so it tangled with mine.

"Yeah. You're not so bad, you know?"

"You like me," he said, grinning again.

"I didn't say that."

"Close enough," he said, and kissed me again.

By the time we left the park, it was after eleven. We got back to my house by 11:20, and were kissing by . . . well, about two seconds after 11:20.

"I have to go," he said after a few minutes, and then kissed me again.

"Okay," he said, a couple of minutes after that, "I really have to go. I'm supposed to be home by 11:30. Plus I have to get up and go to work tomorrow. Are you working?"

I nodded, dazed from all the kissing.

"Can I come see you when I get my break?"

"I don't know, can you?" I said, teasing him, and okay, trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal that he'd asked that, but inside I was cheering.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek, moving slowly toward my mouth.

"You're so cute when you're trying to be mean. I used to say stuff just to get you to look at me like you are now."

I pulled away frowning at him. "'Cute' is one of those words people use when they know you're smart enough to realize 'you've got so much personality' means 'you're ugly'"

"Your ability to take compliments is definitely one of the things I like best about you," he said, grinning.

I forced myself to ignore his smile, but it was hard. "And what do you mean, you used to say stuff to get me to look at you? You were a pain in the ass on purpose?"

"Oh, please. For you and me, it was flirting. Besides, it was the only way I could get you to talk to me."

"You're making me sound like a freak."

He leaned over and put one hand on either side of my face and then moved his mouth so it hovered over mine, so close we were almost kissing.