The Lance Temptation (2 page)

It
was
time to go, but I should've been getting ready to meet Marc. The guilt was kicking in again. Earlier in the day, I'd caught up with him outside algebra class.

“Marc, about the game…”

He'd come over to me, eagerness stamped all over his face. “Same plan as always, right? Meet me at the gate?”

“Farah wants me to go with her this time,” I said, insisting to myself —
It's not a lie.
It's not a lie.

Marc inclined his head. His hair, which was the color of warm cocoa, fell in waves across his forehead. Whenever he tilted his head, it swished to the side, looking exactly like Razor Wild, my most favorite singer in the world. I paused. What was I doing?

“She could come with us,” he said.

My eyes widened. “Um, you know Farah. She's got this whole plan. We're spending the night together and everything. She has a special sitting spot I think, and I had to say yes to her. She wouldn't let up…” I couldn't seem to stop my mouth.

Marc laughed. “Whoa, Emili! If it's such a big deal to her, fine. I have a project due in Spanish anyway. And then we've got a bunch of History to do. Maybe it's better if I skip the game.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good time, though,” he said. “The bell's going to ring — catch you later.”

He was off. I'd stood there for a moment not moving. Had I just participated in Massive Deception 101?

No, I was being silly — everything was fine. I'd only told him the truth, right? No need to turn into a Drama Queen.

But my squirming stomach disagreed. I inhaled deeply and fingered Farah's makeup.

I gave a final glance to my once-again tidy dresser, and dutifully put on eye shadow and mascara before leaving the room. When Mom saw my face, she raised her eyebrows, but thankfully said nothing.

“Mrs. Jones, we could've walked, but it's so nice of you to drive us,” said Farah. “My mom is too busy like always. Emili's lucky to have you for a mom. And thanks again for being so nice and letting me spend the night.”

Honestly, you'd think any mother could see through Farah's load of syrup, but she never did.

Mom put her arm around Farah and gave her a squeeze. “You're welcome, honey. You're always welcome to stay with us.”

Farah bent quickly to fix the strap on her shoe. For a split second, I thought I saw actual tears spring to her eyes. But a moment later, she straightened back up and her eyes were desert-dry.

Guess I was wrong.

Mom grabbed her keys, and we headed to the car. I eyed the slouchy brown leather purse draped across Farah's shoulder and stifled my burning questions. Right then, I could barely handle my quivering thoughts of Lance.

I'd have an ulcer before the night was over.

It only took a few minutes to drive to Bates Academy Ball Park. Mom dropped us off at the entrance. “Girls, I'll pick you up at 10:30. There's no way I'm letting you two walk home in the dark. Call me if it's over early.”

“Oh, you don't have to pick us up,” Farah said. “Jeannie Sander's mom is bringing us home.”

“Okay, then, if you're sure. I'll see you at home. Have fun, girls!” She drove off.

I grabbed Farah's sleeve. “Mrs. Sander isn't bringing us home.”

Farah smiled. “I know she's not, and you know she's not. But your mom doesn't have to know. Why can't one of us have a driver's license already? It's a total handicap.”

“What difference does it make? I wouldn't have anything to drive anyway.”

“Minor issue. You're the A student, you should have your license. I don't see why your parents are making you wait another six months.”

“Like I said, nothing to drive anyway.”

“Well, it's cramping my style.”

I frowned at her. “I don't see you with your license.”

“Yeah, well. Unfortunately, my parents don't trust me.”

“Who would've guessed?” I said. “So are we walking home, or what? It's going to be cold and dark. I'd rather have Mom pick us up.”

“You worry too much — it's not good for your health. Besides, how can you doubt me? You ought to know I have a plan.”

And there it was. Another plan. My nervousness climbed another notch. I wasn't feeling too excited about the possibilities. We entered the stadium and the field lights were blinding. They had recently been replaced by the Parent Booster Club and you'd have thought they'd personally bought the sun. The week the lights were installed, the paper ran an article every day boasting about the Booster Club, the unflagging Bates' spirit, the football team, yada, yada, yada. But I had to admit, it was nice to see everything clearly for once. Our Bates players were already on the field, their orange and black uniforms nearly fluorescent in the light. I didn't know who we were playing, and I didn't care. The other team wore purple, so I guessed they might be our rivals from Gainesville down the road.

The salty smell of popcorn glutted the air, so I knew the Chess Club was busy at their booth. They continually bragged about how they could raise one hundred dollars in under two hours. The band was blasting out a new song the whole school had learned during Friday's pep rally, and I could see the cheerleaders jumping from each other's shoulders, landing in twisted contortions. The whipped-up crowd chanted and someone blew an air horn.

Farah kept walking toward the bleachers. “Lance has a brother. He's, um, older. He'll give us a ride home.” She spoke close to my ear over the throbbing noise.

It was stupid, but at the mention of Lance, my heart started to beat a bit faster. “Oh, so Lance's brother and Lance will be with us?”

A look of delight passed over Farah's face. “It's all Lance, isn't it? My, my, whatever will Marc say?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. This has nothing to do with Marc.” I could feel my face go hot. I didn't tell her about my earlier lie-fest with Marc. Whoa, what if Marc texted me during the game? I pulled my phone from my jean's pocket and switched it off.

I nudged Farah. “I didn't know Lance had a brother. How much older is he?”

“Old enough.” Farah's eyebrows rose, and she continued in a dreamy tone, “Wait till you meet him. He's fine.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Oh, Emili, you know I get around.”

“Did Lance say he was coming for sure?” I was practically yelling now as we got closer to the stands.

Farah ignored me, dashing ahead, starting up the bleachers two at a time.

“Wait,” I called. She wasn't listening — she was on a mission.

A senior guy — I thought his name was Scott — grabbed Farah's arm on her way up. He pulled her onto his lap amidst hoots and whistles from his friends. Farah's initial surprised expression became a smile and a laugh. She pushed on his chest playfully, jumped off his lap, and kept moving.

I glanced upward and saw Lance and what could only be his brother. Both of them were watching Farah, and Lance had his arms open toward her. I took a deep breath. Even from where I was, I could see how hot he looked. I chewed my lip. What was I doing? I was prepping for a major guilt attack. But how would it look if I didn't go up there? Farah would be annoyed.

And I'd told Lance I'd be there.

I took the steps slowly, climbing the bleachers as if they were Mt. Everest. While I climbed, I glanced down at my T-shirt and jeans and despaired of my choice of outfits. Next to Farah, I looked like I was ready to dig latrines at the local wilderness camp.

When I arrived, Farah was already sitting between the guys, laughing hugely and tossing her hair. Lance saw me approach. “Cecily, right?”

Farah slapped him on the arm. “It's Emili. How many times do I have to tell you?”

She leaned in toward his brother. “I hope his stupidity isn't genetic.” And I swear she fluttered her green eyes at him. She put her hand on his arm as if staking a claim. “Emili, this is Pete.”

“Hey, Pete,” I said, slightly out-of-breath. I glanced at Lance and sat down in front of him.

We were nearly to the top of the bleachers, giving me a bird's-eye view of the colorful mass of spectators below. I spotted Jeannie, whose mother was supposedly taking us home. She was chatting it up with her groupies. Not too long ago, I would've been down there with them. A pang of regret squeezed my heart, but then I realized who was sitting right behind me. Without Farah, Lance would be nowhere close. Ditching old friends for Farah was paying off exactly like I'd hoped it would.

The game began and we settled in. I felt a bit silly sitting in front of the three of them by myself.

“Pete, how come I haven't seen you at other games?” Farah asked.

“Didn't know how good the scenery was going to be,” came his answer.

Farah giggled. Actually
giggled
. I nearly burst out laughing myself. I'd never heard her giggle in my life.

Lance stretched out his legs, dangling his feet across the bench where I sat. In one smooth move, he lifted himself down to sit next to me. We didn't touch, but every cell in my body was on alert. With great effort, I kept my eyes on the game.

“Enjoying yourself, Cecily?” He spoke next to my ear. I felt his breath on my cheek.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You smell good,” he said, and shifted so his leg touched mine. I stiffened, forcing myself to keep my eyes forward.

“It's the perfume,” I said, ignoring the warmth from his leg.

“I figured.”

“I make it.”

“You make perfume?” I could tell by his tone I'd surprised him.

“Yeah. It's not so hard.”

He moved again, his leg pressing more firmly into mine. “You like football?”

I took a quick breath. “Sure. It's a cool sport.”

Oh, please. Did I say football was a cool sport?
Smooth.

Lance snickered softly. “Yeah, a real cool sport.”

We continued to sit, legs touching. I'd never felt so deliciously miserable in my life.

“How badly do you want to see this game?” I heard Farah ask Pete. Oh no, she couldn't, she wouldn't leave me stranded here, sitting next to Lance and feeling like the biggest misfit who ever drew breath. But I knew she would.

“Not so much,” he answered and chuckled. “What do you have in mind?”

I stopped breathing and my entire body tensed.

“You have a car, don't you?” she asked with undertones I didn't even want to think about.

“Have car, will travel,” he answered. “Let's go. Coming, Lance?”

Lance got up. “Not so big on the game myself.”

Why wasn't I here with Marc like I was supposed to be? Now I was going to be left alone like a big loser.

“Coming, Cecily?” Lance reached out his hand to help me up. His expression was hypnotic, inviting.

I took his hand. Even though the evening was cool, his grasp was firm and warm. I got to my feet. “And I do know Cecily's not your name. But I like it anyway.”

At that crazy, intoxicating moment, he could have called me Egg Salad Superstar for all I cared. He helped me down the bleachers, even though it was pretty obvious his eyes were watching every move Farah made. I couldn't fault him. When Farah moved, everyone watched. I prayed my hand wouldn't get clammy. I could sweat like a gymnast in under a minute — always when I was trying to impress someone.

Being with a guy still strained my sense of balance. It wouldn't take much to topple me over. Marc was okay, though. I was fairly relaxed around him. We had been dating for almost two months — which, at my school, was like forever. Marc wasn't experienced either, so we kind of bumbled along together. Everyone considered us a couple. Although sometimes when I was walking with him, the word “poser” echoed in my mind.

Last week, Marc and I had finally kissed. I'd never in a million years tell Farah, but it was a total disaster. Maybe I didn't know what I was doing or maybe I was too self-conscious. Either way, it wasn't close to what I saw in the movies or heard gushed about in the girls' bathroom.

And the second time wasn't any better than the first. I guess a person needs more than one kiss to be an expert.

So, being with Lance was way over the top, and I felt giddy. The fact he hadn't let go of my hand sent actual heat up my spine. I nearly stumbled down each step, trying to keep our hands connected and to keep from falling into him. I willed myself not to sweat.

“Hey, Lance,” some girl yelled. It was Megan Rochester, standing and waving wildly. Lance tipped his head at her, and gave her a smile. I felt a ping in my heart and frowned. I wanted all his smiles, which was absurd considering I barely knew him and certainly had no claim on him.

Thinking about claims, it occurred to me we were in public view, and I was supposedly Marc's girl.
Crap.

This couldn't go on. I needed to talk to Marc. It wasn't right to feel this way about one guy while going out with another. I heard a commotion and then saw Jeannie lean over her friends and call out to me with a voice like an electric drill, “Hey, Emili, fancy seeing you here…”

Lance kept pulling me down the steps. I glanced back but didn't have a chance to answer as the cheering exploded into a frenzy.

When we emerged from the heavy metal fence around the field, Farah made the pretense of adjusting her skirt. I knew that move. I'd seen her do it a hundred times in front of the mirror. She grasped the hem and tugged a bit; she almost always ended up hitching the skirt higher. Lance and Pete both had their eyes glued.

Lance dropped my hand. I sighed.

Well, it served me right. I shouldn't have been holding his hand in the first place.

“Where's your car?” Farah asked.

“This way.” Pete took her arm and we started across the street to the parking lot.

What happened next was like watching a bad movie. At the entrance gate, there was Marc being let off from his parents' blue mini-van. I did a double take. Marc had clearly said he wasn't coming, and since when did he ever change his plans?