Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) (5 page)

“I’ve never been to Europe,” Hudson said.

I drank. Noah drank. Corinne drank. Awesome. Maybe the three of us should take a trip together. Or not.

“I’ve never been to Disney World,” Joanna said.

I drank again. I hated Disney. More specifically, I hated Epcot. The burn down my throat helped wipe out the memory.

Marissa bumped my knee again. She knew all about my Epcot story.

“I’ve never been to Danbury,” Corinne said.

I laughed into my glass. Seriously?

Joanna looked incredulous. “How is that possible? It’s forty minutes away.”

Corinne shrugged. “No reason to go.”

“What about the Danbury Fair Mall? That should be reason enough,” Marissa said.

Corinne shook her head and licked her lips.

Hudson’s cell rang. He picked up the phone, looked at the call display, and muttered, “Excuse me.” He took the call in the bathroom.

“Who’s he talking to?” Joanna asked Dean. “Why so secretive?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Dean said with a smile.

I wondered if he was still seeing Sloane or if it was something sketchy.

“Is he making a delivery?” RJ asked in a fake whisper.

“Yeah. To your mom,” Dean responded. He refilled all the empty glasses and then squeezed himself between Marissa and the end of the couch.

“Um, hi there,” she said, scooting away from him and laughing.

Vi rolled her eyes. “Try not to molest the newcomers,” she scolded him. “And Marissa has a boyfriend.”

“Then where is he?” Dean asked.

“Boston. We go to camp together.”

“Clearly you need a Westport boyfriend too,” Dean said.

Hudson returned to his spot.

“My turn,” Vi interrupted. “I’ve never gotten dumped.”

“You’ve never been in a relationship,” Dean said, drinking.

“So? I’ve still never been dumped.”

Corinne, Joanna, RJ, and Hudson drank too.

I wondered whether it would be Noah or me who would have to drink to that eventually.

“Who dumped you?” Joanna asked Hudson. “It wasn’t Sloane, was it?”

“That’s a personal question,” Hudson said, leaning back.

“It’s a personal game,” Joanna answered.

“We should make it
more
personal,” Dean said. “Let’s play strip I Never.”

“I’m in.” RJ looked at Corinne.

“Not happening,” Vi said. “Keep your pants on. Why do guys have such one-track minds?”

“We don’t,” RJ said. “We care about beer too. And Fantasy Football.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dean said to Marissa. “I’m a Renaissance man. I care about lots of things. Like flowers. And orphans.”

We all laughed, but Vi wasn’t done with him. “Please,” she said. “Even if you were in a relationship, you wouldn’t kick a hot, naked lady-stranger out of your bed.”

“I would too,” Dean cried, holding his hands to his chest in mock hurt.

“I love you, babe, but you wouldn’t.”

Noah rolled his eyes.

“Let’s move on,” I said, my neck tensing. “Who’s next?”

“Something’s ringing,” Corinne said.

In the distance I heard a cell ringing. My cell. Crap, it was downstairs. All of my friends were here. Which meant—my mom, dad, or Matthew. But my mom and Matthew were probably sleeping . . .

I excused myself and ran down the stairs.

The phone was no longer ringing by the time I reached it. I checked the call display. My dad. Three times. Uh-oh. I was about to hit
REDIAL
when it rang.

Him again.

“Hi,” I said.

“I was about to get back on a plane. Is everything okay?”

My heart jumped into my throat. “No! Yes! I mean, everything’s fine! I was just upstairs. I didn’t hear the phone.”

“I think you should always have the phone on you. So you can reach us. Or so we can reach you.”

“You want me to get one of those cell-phone belts? People will think I’m a drug dealer.” And, hey! Speaking of drug dealers, there’s one sitting upstairs! Maybe.

“April, that’s not funny. If I call and get no answer, I get worried. I’m a dad. I’m allowed.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep my phone with me.”

“Next time you don’t answer I’m calling the police.”

“Dad! That’s insane. What if I’m in the shower? I don’t want the police barging into the house.”

“Then answer the phone.”

WHY I MADE MY DAD’S RINGTONE A POLICE SIREN

See above.

BACK TO I NEVER

Two minutes later I was once again in my seat on the couch between Noah and Marissa. Joanna, who was still sitting beside Noah, had her glass lifted. “I’ve never had a pet,” she said.

“Does a mouse count?” Dean asked.

Hudson groaned. “Michelangelo the mouse. He lived in your closet for six months.”

“You couldn’t trap it?” Vi asked.

Hudson laughed. “And kill his pet?”

Vi slapped her hand against the couch. “Shut up. Why have I never heard this story?”

Dean sighed. “It was before your time, my sweet.”

“Noah has the cutest dog,” Corinne said, and I hated her a little.

“Thanks,” he said. He put his hand on my knee. “April had a very cute cat too.”

“Had?” Hudson said. “That sounds . . . sad.”

“Oh, Libby didn’t die,” I said quickly, placing my hand over Noah’s. “When my mom moved to Paris she couldn’t bring her along ’cause of customs issues. And my stepmom isn’t a cat person, so . . . we gave her away.”

“Still sounds sad,” Hudson said. I looked up and realized he was staring at me. Those eyes. Wow.

“It was,” I said, wondering if he meant my mom taking my cat, or my mom moving to Paris.

Noah turned his palm up so our fingers were pressed together. My hand was sticky from the wine.

Dean lifted his glass again. “I’ll follow the house rules now, okay? I’ve never hooked up with anyone in this room.” He scooted closer to Marissa. “Perhaps I can drink to that later in the evening?”

Everyone laughed, including Marissa. Marissa is too head over heels for Aaron to take Dean seriously anyway.

Noah drank. I drank.

Corinne drank. And smiled.

Noah turned pink.

THE CORINNE SITUATION

It happened the summer after freshman year when I went with my mom to France. They were moving. I was visiting.

Noah and I had “the talk” before I left. We weren’t breaking up, but we agreed that if something happened over the summer, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It had made sense at the time. At least to me. Noah and I had been together for less than eight months, I was going to Europe for two months, and I assumed there would be cute European boys to flirt with. I wanted to have an adventure. Since we were only fifteen, it seemed silly to stay exclusive for the summer. We would only resent each other, et cetera, et cetera.

Obviously when I had made the suggestion to potentially see other people, I had imagined it would be me who would see the other people. Not him. And especially not someone we went to school with.

I hadn’t planned on missing him as much as I had.

I had thought, France! Romance! Chocolate! French boys who’d kiss me on the Eiffel Tower! I hadn’t expected to feel so out of place. I hadn’t expected the language barrier to be so tough. I hadn’t expected my mother—and my brother—to be so consumed with setting up their new lives that they had no time for me. I hadn’t expected my emails and phone calls to Noah to feel like a lifeline. Since we spoke every night, I assumed he was twiddling his thumbs waiting around for me, that he was just as lonely as I was. In retrospect, I always spoke to him before I went to bed, which was only around five his time. But not once during any of our phone calls had he said, “Oh, by the way, you’ll never guess where my tongue just was! In Corinne’s mouth!”

We had plans for the night I flew home.

Penny had unpacked all my stuff from my mom’s while I’d been away. My clothes. My books. My ceramic pen holder. All nicely put away in my dad and Penny’s furniture. I sat on the canopy bed Penny had picked for me when they’d first moved in and looked around the room, feeling out of place and comforted all at once. Then I jumped into the shower to get ready.

When Noah pulled his bike into my driveway, I ran outside and kissed him before he could even get off.

We met our friends on Compo Beach. Corinne was there. I was oblivious. I was nice and sweet and triumphant in an “I just got back from my über-glamorous trip to France, and what did you do this summer? Hang out at the mall? How original” way. I had tossed my styled-in-Paris hair and let my glowing skin speak for itself. Maybe I hadn’t had a French fling, but I had managed to come back from France looking hot. While my mother and brother were setting up their lives I was sitting in the backyard taking in the sun, or walking through the neighborhood. My skin was tanned, I’d had a great haircut, and I was skinny, despite the pounds of bread and Brie I consumed. French women don’t get fat, you know.

I flounced around Compo Beach like an idiot.

That must have been what Corinne thought—that I was a clueless idiot. She kept licking her lips and playing with her hair and I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with her.

Later, back on my porch, I said to Noah, “I didn’t see anyone in France. I just want you to know.”

I waited for him to say, “Of course I didn’t either—I am crazy in love with you!” Or a simple “me neither” would have sufficed.

Instead, he looked down at his sneakers and flushed, and then fidgeted with his fingers. And I knew. I knew who it was too. I was almost more pissed that he didn’t tell me immediately—for letting me go out in public clueless—than I was about what happened. Almost.

Come on! He stood by while I asked Corinne how her summer was! She had an incredible summer. She was hooking up with my boyfriend!

Tears streamed down my cheeks as he told me the story.

“You’re making
me
cry,” he said, his eyes welling up.

“Good!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a dumbass! I just assumed you were hooking up with French douches . . . and Corinne was there. . . . Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” I asked. I felt as if my world had flip-flopped, as if everything I trusted had been turned upside down, and not for the first time. “Would you even have told me if I hadn’t brought it up?”

“Yes!” he said, looking at his shoes. “I
was
going to tell you.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes . . . maybe . . .”

“Maybe?”

“I’m just so happy you’re home!”

“Whatever. You’re probably going over to her house next.”

“No, of course not! April . . . you’re the one who said we should see other people.”

I pressed for details. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

What did you do exactly? (Just kissed.) No under-the-shirt action? (A little, but not much.) A little was enough. Anything below the belt? (No, no, nothing.) Why should I believe you? (I wouldn’t lie.) How many times did it happen? (Not many.) How many times
exactly
? (Two, maybe three. Four tops.) Where did it happen? At your house? (At the beach.) Compo Beach? Where we just went? (Yes.) Every time? (Mostly.) So not always. Where else? Your house? (No. Never. Her house.) You were in her house? Her room? (The living room.) What, did her family meet you or something? (Just once.)

The black spots danced in front of my eyes. My heart hurt. I was sinking, sinking, sinking.

I hadn’t been back to France since. Obviously I’d have to go at some point. My mom and Matthew lived there. And I would visit. Soon. It wasn’t just because I didn’t want to leave Noah unattended, I swear. My brother spent Christmas in Westport, so it hadn’t made much sense for me to go there. And my mom and brother came here last summer to see me. She wanted me to visit this summer. She expected me to visit this summer.

And maybe I would. I wasn’t sure. I had a lot going on. You know.

And it wasn’t that I didn’t trust Noah. Because I did.

When we’d first started dating, I’d asked him if he’d ever cheat on anyone.

“I’d never,” he said. “You?”

“Never,” I’d told him. Never would I ever.

THE DIABOLICAL TWINS

We didn’t skip school on the first day of the winter semester, but we
were
extremely late.

Why?

Because—as it turns out—there is a difference between Seventh Generation dish soap and Seventh Generation liquid detergent. You wouldn’t know this from looking at the bottles. Both are white. Both feature green-and-blue photographs of grass and sky. To the casual observer (well, to me), they might look like identical twins. The kind of identical twins who wear matching outfits just to screw with you.

Before the soap fiasco, I was taking my sweet time getting ready for school. I had woken up at the crack of dawn. Partially because while the basement had blinds, it did not have blackout shades, partially because it was all still new to me—new house! New bed! New ceiling!—partially because I could hear Vi stomping on the floor above me, and partially because I’m the kind of geek who finds the first day back to school exciting.

I even had a back-to-school outfit laid out on my desk—one of Vi’s low-cut gray sweaters, her crystal necklace that hung on a rope of black suede, and my favorite jeans.

Upstairs, Vi was still in gym clothes, putting a bowl into the dishwasher. “Morning!” she said. “Will you run the dishwasher when you’re done?”

“Of course,” I said. “Were you working out?”

“I do the HardCore3000 videos. Have you ever tried them? Incredible. You should do it with me tomorrow morning.”

“Um . . . maybe.” I tended to sit on my ass whenever it wasn’t soccer season. But maybe Vi’s athleticism would inspire me. Or not. “Is there anything to eat for breakfast?”

“Not much,” she said. “There’s some cinnamon raisin bread in the freezer. We really need to go grocery shopping after school.”

We’d been planning on shopping the day before, but it had snowed all day. Well, that and we’d been too hung over to leave the house. Not hung over in a sick way—just tired and happy. Saturday night had been so much fun. Sure, it had been a bit weird with Noah—since he’d driven people home, we never got any alone time. But there’d be plenty of time for that.

“Should we meet back here around five and go together?” she asked. “I have an
Issue
meeting after class or else we could take one car to school.”

“Yeah, let’s meet here then.”
The Issue
was the school paper. Every month they chose a different theme and all the articles had to be about that. Last semester they’d done Family, Sports, Health, and Holidays. “So what are your next issues?”

“No January issue, but February is bullying, and I’m thinking March will be sex,” she said and then disappeared into her bathroom.

Sex? I guess I wouldn’t be the cover story.

After I finished eating, I loaded my plate into the dishwasher and scoped out the situation. I had never actually
run
a dishwasher before. That was something my mom did, and then Penny or my dad. I was more of the unloading type.

How hard could it be?

First, the soap. Probably under the sink. Yes! Seventh Generation Dish Soap! I took out the white container, squirted it into the welcoming square, closed the door, and pressed
START
. All right, then. I headed back downstairs, where I brushed my teeth, put on makeup, and grabbed my car keys.

And then.

I got to the top of the basement stairs to find Vi on the kitchen floor on all fours with a dish towel, surrounded by a flood of white, foamy bubbles.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I think you used the wrong soap,” she said calmly.

“I am
so
sorry.” My cheeks burned and I felt like a complete idiot. “Let me get it. Where are the paper towels?”

“Under the sink. But I think a towel-towel would work better.”

I grabbed the other dish towel and crouched down beside her. We mopped up the rest of the mess in silence. Great start to the year, April!

After we were done she said, “Will you just put these towels in the wash? I’ll run it when I get home.”

“I can run—” I started but she gave me a look and I decided that having a brief seminar on all the appliances was not a terrible plan under the circumstances. “Okay.”

By the time I hurried down to the washing machine (which was in my bathroom downstairs), and then back up, Vi had almost contained the situation. “You better go on. It’s going to take you a while to clean off your car.”

“Right. Thanks,” I said. It was a one-car garage and my car was just outside in the driveway. “I’ll see you at school.”

I stepped into my boots, zipped up my coat, and braced myself for the cold. And there it was. Penny’s car. My car. Buried under two feet of snow. Excellent. I wiped the snow off with my gloves, then used the scraper on the windows. Once my gloves were soaking, my wrists were frozen, and I was done, I tossed my schoolbag into the passenger side, and climbed in. It felt strange to sit in the driver’s seat of Penny’s car. When I drove—which I hardly ever did—I always took my dad’s car. A blood relative would hate you less than an inherited one if you scratched his vehicle.

I stuck the keys in the ignition and turned. And turned again.

Nothing.

One more time for good luck.

Still nothing.

Agh! I banged my head against the steering wheel. My dad was right. I should have started the car over the weekend. What was wrong with me? How was I going to manage on my own if I couldn’t even run the dishwasher or start my own car?

I took a deep, icy breath.

I could just go with Vi and get a ride back with Noah. Although this was the exact reason I had gotten the car in the first place—so I wouldn’t have to depend on other people to get around.

If I called Noah now, then at least we’d get to talk. Last semester, he’d picked me up every day. But then I’d been on his way, and now I was not. Anyway, driving with Vi made more sense, since we lived together.

The garage door opened. Vi’s car was running inside. I immediately spotted the problem with my plan to catch a ride with her. My car was blocking hers.

In her rearview mirror, I saw her slap her palm against her forehead.

Vi was going to rue the day she invited me to move in.

ROAD TRIP

Vi called Dean and Hudson to come get us.

“I’m so sorry,” I told them through Dean’s rolled-down Jeep window.

“Are you kidding?” Dean asked. “This is the highlight of my day. I get to be the knight in shining armor!”

“Technically, I’m the knight,” Hudson said. “Since I’m driving.”

“Dean, get in the back, and let me sit in the front,” Vi said. “Two guys in the front is ridiculously chauvinistic.”

“It’s our car,” Dean protested.

“My car,” Hudson said. “Technically.”

“I don’t care whose car it is,” Vi said. She pointed to Dean. “Out.”

“Fine,” Dean said, popping open the Jeep door. “But if I’m in the back, so are you.”

“Wahoo!” I cheered. “Shotgun!”

As we all climbed into our spots, I looked over at Hudson. Those cheekbones! Jeez. It was almost a shame to waste them on a guy. If I didn’t have Noah, I don’t think I’d be able to talk to Hudson without freezing up. “Thanks for being my knight,” I told him.

He smiled. “My pleasure. Do you want me to try jump-starting your car? I have cables.”

“Oh. Thanks. I don’t want to make us even later, though. I’m really sorry about this. My dad warned me I should start it every day in the winter, but I was feeling rebellious.”

“Rebelling against parents you don’t even live with. I like it.” He took the car out of
PARK
and headed down the street.

“It’s easier to rebel when no one’s around to see it. I’m wimpy like that.”

He shook his head. “You seem pretty gutsy to me. I don’t know that many girls who would move out on their own at sixteen.”

I blinked. Gutsy? Me? I moved in with Vi because I was afraid of leaving my life behind. I was the opposite of gutsy. Instead of admitting that, I sat up straighter. “I’m not exactly on my own. I have Vi.”

“And Zelda,” Vi piped in.

“Who’s Zelda?” I asked.

“Didn’t I tell you about the ghost that lives in the oven?”

I turned around to face her. “No. You did not.”

“Personally, I think the creaks are because the oven is from 1972, but my mother is convinced they’re from a ghost. Zelda.”

“Did someone die in the house or something?”

“No, my mother is just crazy,” she said. “She was convinced we had a ghost. And that the ghost committed suicide in our oven, Sylvia Plath style. Which doesn’t even make sense, because our oven is electric.”

I wasn’t sure why one couldn’t kill oneself in an electric oven, but decided not to ask.

“Great to know,” I said instead. “Whenever you’re out and I want company, I’ll talk to Zelda.”

“Why don’t you get a parrot?” Dean asked. “At least he would talk back.”

Vi slapped his knee. “Why would you assume the parrot is a male?”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. At least
she
would talk back.”

I narrowed my eyes and gave an exaggerated wag of my finger. “Oh sure, if an animal talks a lot it must be female.”

“Gutsy and funny,” Hudson said, making me blush. “Vi, where have you been hiding her?” He looked over at me and smiled.

“In the oven,” Vi and I answered simultaneously.

LATE

By the time we got to school, we were fifteen minutes late.

The front door was locked and we had to buzz. Once you had to buzz you were done for. We did the walk of shame to the office.

“You’re late,” the school secretary said, handing all four of us tardy slips.

“Doreen, we apologize profusely,” Dean said, nodding solemnly.

“It was my fault,” I said. “Car died.”

“The funeral will be after school,” Dean added. “It would mean a lot to all of us if you could make it.”

“Next time we call your parents,” she said, cracking a smile.

I tried to maintain my gutsy image, but inside I was freaking as I took my slip. “I am so, so, so sorry,” I said as we exited the office.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hudson said.

“Shit happens,” Vi told me as she waved good-bye and ran up the stairs to the second floor.

Dean put his arm around me. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: highlight of my day. It can only be downhill from here.”

I laughed. “Thanks for coming to get us.”

Hudson rolled his eyes at his brother, then turned to me. “Let me know if you want me to jump-start your car after school,” he said.

“Thanks. I might take you up on it.”

“Anytime,” Hudson said over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall.

Gutsy, huh? I straightened my shoulders and headed to class.

ON THE WAY TO CALCULUS

“So how was night number two?” Marissa asked when we met up after English and walked down the hall to AP Calculus. “Tell me everything.”

“Fun. We made spaghetti. We watched TV. Stayed up late chatting.”

“Oooo, I’m so jealous,” she said with a sigh.

“Well, on the less fabulous side, I didn’t bother to start my car on Sunday, and now the battery’s dead.” I stopped myself before adding the bit about this morning’s soap explosion, feeling uncomfortably ashamed at how little I’d managed to do right since moving into Vi’s. “But, whatever. What did you do?”

“Finished my Israel application,” she said. “Finally.”

“Congrats!”

Marissa was applying for a summer program called the Kinneret Israel trip. The association of camps she went to every year sent fifty juniors on an all-expense-paid trip to Israel. Aaron, her summer boyfriend, and Shoshanna and Brittany, her summer best friends, had applied too.

I was jealous.

Marissa’s camp friends had her all summer.

“When do you hear?” I asked, following her into our calculus room. A part of me hoped she wouldn’t get in. A terrible, selfish, worst-best-friend-ever part.

“Sometime in March,” she said.

“Good luck,” I said.

A second later, Lucy Michaels, aka the spy who liked to make amateur videos, strolled in and sat down beside us. “How’s your car?” she asked me, eyes open wide.

“Um . . .” How did she know about my car? “Fine.”

“Yeah? It looked really snowed in this morning.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was. How did you see my car?”

“I live two houses down from Vi.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t good.

“So how come you’ve been staying at Vi’s?” Lucy asked. “You’ve been there since Saturday.”

Stalker . . .

“My dad moved to Ohio so I moved in,” I said. “With Vi. And her mom.” She could not find out that Vi’s mom wasn’t there. She could
not
.

Lucy gave me a calculated smile. “Very interesting.”

Ms. Franklin came in. She was in her early thirties and was one of those young, hot teachers who wore cute outfits. All the guys had a thing for her. “Hope you’re all ready,” she said, clapping her hands. “I’m going to keep you on your toes this semester.”

I snuck a peek at Lucy, fearing Ms. Franklin wasn’t the only one.

I SEE YOU

Marissa and I rushed out of class before Lucy could follow. At the door we spotted Noah and Corinne walking out of Mr. Gregory’s economics class across the hall. My stomach sank. Now I had two things to worry about during calculus—Lucy hanging all over me, and Corinne hanging all over Noah. I hated that I had no classes with him, and she had at least one. As I watched the two of them share a laugh about who knows what, my shoulders tensed up again. I was probably being paranoid over nothing, but if Corinne happened to get selected for a prestigious high school internship in northern Siberia, I wouldn’t be the slightest bit upset. If only she could go on the Israel trip instead of Marissa.

“Hey, Noah,” Marissa called.

He looked up and blinked, caught with his pants down. Well, not really, obviously, but he had a guilty air about him that did nothing to reassure me.

“Hey!” he called, abandoning Corinne and crossing the hallway. “What’s up?”

He kissed me on the lips, but it did not make me feel better.