The Fruit of My Lipstick (8 page)

I know Lissa thinks I have more confidence than is good for me—and in some ways, I do. I have total confidence in God, for instance. Or give me an equation or a chemical formula, and I’m good to go. But with personal stuff? Not so much. You try being a girl in a houseful of boys and demanding mother types, and see how far off the ground your self-esteem gets. It certainly hadn’t prepared me to handle a boyfriend. Thank goodness for my friends here at school. If it weren’t for them, I don’t know what I would have done.

By 6:35 I’d managed to find a little calm by listening to Vienna Teng on my iPhone and watching the branches of the pepper trees on either side of the steps wave in the early February breeze. When I glanced at my watch the next time, it was 6:45.

Well, traffic could happen to anyone, but the school garage was under the field house, and that was only a block away. Maybe Lucas had had car trouble.

I shut off the music and scrolled to his number.

“Yeah?”

“Lucas?” The greeting sounded so abrupt, I couldn’t be sure it was actually him. Maybe Travis, his roomie, had answered his cell.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Gillian. Are you okay?”

A pause, as if to decipher what this meant. “Sure. What’s going on?”

Honestly. Guys. Living in a universe where time has no meaning. He was probably sitting in front of his computer, reading another fascinating monograph.

“I’m on the front steps. You know, six-thirty? Dinner at Tou-Tou’s and the nine o’clock show?”

He sucked in a breath. “Oh, no.” A cold breeze swirled up the hill, blowing my velvet skirt flat against my legs. “Gillian, how stupid can I be? I forgot. I’m in Palo Alto at my dad’s apartment. He called right after lunch and said they’d had a breakthrough and would I come down for a celebration dinner. We’re just getting ready to leave.”

“Oh.” My tone held a combination of “wow, great for them” and “gee, I’ve just been stood up.”

“I’m really sorry. My brain is full of work for the Olympiad and I forgot to put the time in my BlackBerry. Can we do it when I get back?”

“Sure.” I tried to sound stress-free, like I wasn’t really standing out here in full view of the entire school—not to mention two photographers—being stood up. “No biggie. Call me whenever and we’ll figure out a time.”

It was Valentine’s Day weekend. I hung onto that thought like a lifeline. Surely he’d make up for it with something special tomorrow.

“You know, you’re really something,” he said in a soft tone I’d never heard before. “Most girls would be throwing a fit. But you’re cool, even if I am the dumbest rock on the planet.”

“You’re not dumb,” I said with a smile. “You’re just overextended right now. I completely understand. Where are you going for dinner?” Like I would know if he told me, but I could look it up.

“El Capitan. That’s where the really big deals go down in Silicon Valley,” he explained. “All the VCs go there to do their deals, so if I was to go with a startup when I graduate, it helps to be seen.”

It had never occurred to me that Lucas Hayes would care about being seen. Which showed me that he had political smarts and I . . . didn’t. “Speaking of being seen, want me to cancel the reservation?”

“Reservation?”

“At TouTou’s. We had a seven o’clock, and it’s nearly that now.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. They won’t have any trouble filling the table. Thanks, Gillian. I really appreciate it. You have every right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Not now. Not after hearing that note in his voice that might just have opened a new door in our relationship.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Put it in your BlackBerry,” I teased.

“Already done. Good night.”

“’Night, Lucas.”

I turned and pushed open the front doors, welcoming the warmth of the huge entry hall. The potted palms in pairs on either side of the windows looking out onto the quad made it seem a little tropical, too. Just to be on the safe side, I called TouTou’s as I climbed the stairs. No point in getting on their black list.

“I’d like to cancel a seven o’clock reservation, please,” I told the cool female voice that answered. “A business matter came up. It’s under Hayes.”

A pause, during which I heard chatter and laughter in the background. “I’m sorry, miss. We don’t have a reservation under that name within half an hour on either side.”

“Oh. Try Chang.”

Another pause. “Not Chang, either.”

That was weird. “Okay, not to worry. I guess if it’s not there, I don’t need to cancel.”

She hung up on me without another word. Sheesh. Someone wasn’t going to get their Michelin stars at this rate.

I hesitated outside our room.
Oh, come on. You don’t seriously think Lissa’s going to laugh at you, do you?

I let myself in and Lissa looked up from her laptop in astonishment. “Did you forget something?”

I nodded and shrugged out of my jean jacket. “My date. Actually, my date forgot me.”

Her hands dropped from the keyboard. “No way.”

“He’s been in Palo Alto since this afternoon. Some big breakthrough at the brain bank. He forgot to put our thing in his BlackBerry, so when his dad called to say come celebrate, he went.”

She gazed at me, brows raised. “So aren’t you, like, furious?”

“What’s to be furious about? Disappointed, maybe. He has a lot on his mind. People only have so many neurons.” I lifted a shoulder. “Not a big deal. On the bright side, I don’t have to go see
Silver Surfer
. The reviews were, um, mixed.”

She snickered. “Why don’t we go see your Jodie movie instead?” A glance at the time clock on her monitor. “We can just make it to the seven-thirty show if we hurry.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t really in the mood to take the consolation prize, even if it was offered by a caring friend. “I think I’ll see what’s left in the dining room and then practice for a while.”

“Okay.” She glanced at her screen again. “I’ve got a note here from Kaz. He says to tell you to read your mail.”

Ooh. I hoped he liked the panel I’d sent, and that he had an opinion about the “do what you’re good at” versus “do what you love” question. I wasn’t quite ready to share that with Lissa, though. I didn’t know why.

Well, yes, I did know why. Because she tended to bubble over with things, especially happy things. And if one of my parents happened to call our room instead of my cell, I didn’t want her burbling about my newfound interest in graphic art. That would really start a war, and I just couldn’t face it.

“Tell him I will, as soon as I get back.”

Dining Services kept cold stuff in a case for people like me who didn’t make it to supper between five and six-thirty. But even there I was too late. There was nothing left but egg-salad sandwiches. Blech.

People say that the devil is in the details, but I’ve always believed that it’s really God who cares about every little thing in His children’s lives.

On a day like today, though, you’d really have to work to convince me.

To: GChang©spenceracad.edu

From: kazg©hotmail.com

Date: February 13, 2009

Re: Re: Graphic art

Hey Gillian,

Thanks for the panel. So yeah, obviously it’s your first, but here’s what I think. You have talent. Your character is original (
Buffy
meets
Crouching Tiger
? Who knew?) and while you have a long way to go technically, it’s just a matter of nailing your craft and getting some practice. The point is, it was only four frames and I could see energy, passion, and storytelling. This is what counts.

As for your question, you have to make the call. Some people would say being a starving artist versus a doctor is a no-brainer. It would be better not to starve. But we can’t all be Neil Gaiman. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m in the same boat myself. But we can talk about it some more if you want.

Kaz

Chapter 8

S
ATURDAY MORNING
at a couple of minutes after nine, someone tapped on our door. I opened it to see a girl from my Chem class, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name.

“Are you Gillian?” she asked. When I nodded, she said, “Lucas wants you to come down to the common room.”

“Uh, okay.”

She went on down the corridor, while I closed the door and met Lissa’s gaze. “He has my cell number,” I said. “Why does he need to use random people as messengers?”

“You could ask him,” she suggested. “As soon as you put actual clothes on.”

I yanked on some jeans and a T-shirt, then buttoned a soft burgundy velvet vest on over it. I don’t know what was with the velvet fetish lately. Maybe because it was cuddly and yet it made me feel elegant. Confident. Or something. I’m not to the point where I’m psychoanalyzing my clothes.

I laced up my sneaks and took the stairs at a rational rate—not so fast he could hear me racing to see him, but not so slow he’d give up on me before I got there. I found him, as promised, in the common room.

And he was holding roses.

Lucas Hayes, the genius. Holding a dozen white roses.

For me.

“Oh, my,” I breathed. Wordlessly, he handed them to me and I buried my face in their cool, scented beauty.

“Red and pink seemed kind of boring,” he offered. “But these are simple and straightforward, like you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I wasn’t about to tell him that to a Chinese person white is the color of mourning, the way black is Stateside. He couldn’t possibly know that. And the point was, they were
roses
. My first bouquet from someone I wasn’t related to. And it was Valentine’s Day.

“I love them. They’re gorgeous. You really didn’t have to.”

“Oh, yes I did. You can throw them in the trash and never speak to me again and I’ll understand.”

I clutched them between my hands. “Nobody’s throwing these in the trash. It was a simple mistake, Lucas. It could happen to anyone.”

“Yes, but I made it happen to you. I’ve been seeing you waiting on the front steps all night. I would have come up to the dorm with these and apologized when I got back last night, but Tobin was on duty patrol and she’d have had me arrested.”

I laughed, but only because he was correct. Mr. Milsom and Ms. Tobin between them had everyone in our dorm completely cowed. It was obvious to everyone but them that they were meant to be together. Kind of like two porcupines—they were the only ones who could tolerate each other.

“I’m going to go put these in water,” I said. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Buy you breakfast?” he asked with a quirky grin. “It ain’t El Capitan, but it’s the best I can do.”

“Who needs El Capitan when we have Spencer Academy oatmeal?” I tossed over my shoulder, laughing, as I climbed the stairs.

“Wow.” Lissa’s eyes widened as she held the door for me to pass with my prize. “
Lucas
brought you those?”

“He really did. For Valentine’s. And he apologized again.” I looked around a little desperately. “Do we have anything I can use for a vase?”

Lissa scanned the room, too. “A drinking glass? A test tube? Not one thing.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it.”

She dashed out the door and in less than a minute was back with Carly in tow. Carly carried a clay pitcher—the old-fashioned kind with a fat body and a curved spout. She filled it at our bathroom sink and I put the roses into it. The crackled blue and green glaze set them off perfectly.

“So what’s with the white?” Carly asked. “You guys planning on getting married?”

“Of course not.” I carried them over to the dresser and adjusted the arrangement. “He said they reminded him of me.”

“What—pure and innocent? That’s what white roses stand for, you know. In the language of flowers.”

“Flowers have a language?” Trust Carly to know this.

“Sure. You know, red roses mean love, yellow ones mean jealousy, pink ones mean . . . I forget. Anyway, that’s why they use white ones for weddings. To say the bride’s still pure.”

“That’s way more information than my florist needs to know,” Lissa cracked.

Okay, I was
so
getting off this subject. “Where’d you get this?” I asked Carly, touching the pitcher. “It’s not exactly on the supplies list.”

Color washed into her face and faded again just as quickly. “My mom gave it to me for Christmas. She teaches people to make pottery on the cruise ships. Artist in residence or something.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Lissa commented.

“I guess. So. Lucas. Flowers. Things are getting interesting.”

I nodded. Now it was her turn to swerve away from something that made her uncomfortable. Carly had told us her parents were divorced but she hardly ever talked about her mom other than to say that she’d gone back to live with Carly’s grandparents in Veracruz. And that there was a boyfriend in the picture. I hadn’t known she was artistic, but that went a long way toward explaining Carly’s love of costume and fabric and history. I mean, she isn’t exactly on her way to a computer engineering career like her dad’s.

“They’re an apology for standing her up last night,” Lissa informed her with more relish than necessary. “I hope you’re going to torture him a little, Gillian. Make him suffer before you forgive him.”

“Too late,” I confessed. “We’re having breakfast together, so don’t you guys even think about crowding our table.”

Carly placed her fingertips on her chest. “I’m so hurt.”

Lissa gave a slump-shouldered sigh. “Cast aside again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone’s a comedian. Give me a break, you two. After standing on the stairs for half an hour last night, I deserve flowers. And breakfast. And maybe some more groveling, too.”

“You do,” Lissa agreed. “Heavy on the groveling. Sure we can’t watch? I mean, this has to be a first.”

“No.” I glared, only half-joking. “No watching, no eavesdropping, no clandestine activity of any kind.”

“This from the girl who runs criminal checks on other people’s boyfriends.” Carly went to the door. “We’ll be standing by at the yogurt machine if you need us.”

I gave my outfit a final check, swiped on some lip gloss, and headed back down the stairs.

My friends. Even if I didn’t need it, it was nice to know that, along with the angels, they had my back.