The Lance Temptation (4 page)

****

The next morning, I didn't wake up until ten-fifteen. I stretched my arms over my head. How could I have slept so long? I figured I'd be awake all night stewing.

I glanced at Farah who was still asleep. Her mouth was slightly open, and I could hear her deep breathing. She was an inch away from snoring. I wriggled out of bed and pulled on my slippers. Then I retrieved my phone from my purse and with a stomach full of dread, turned it on.

Six texts from Marc.

Oh, please don't let him know.

I opened the first text.
Hey Emili, I'm missing you. Did you come to the game?
No one I know texts with full-out spelling except Marc. I shook my head in amusement. Farah called Marc perfect, and maybe he was. It did carry a certain charm.

I read through the next five messages. He told me he'd gone to the game after all. There was no mention of seeing me leave. My breath gushed out with relief.

I felt like sleaze. I knew I'd have to break up with him because it was the right thing to do. But Marc liked me, and this wasn't going to be easy. One thing was for sure — I had to get to him before he heard it from someone else. And big-mouth Jeannie was ever ready to pounce, especially if it was juicy news.

On Monday, I'd break up with him when we were face to face. I owed him that much at least. I texted him saying I'd see him Monday. I knew he wouldn't question me. He'd just dive back into his homework.

Farah woke up at eleven and went home at noon. I wasn't sorry to see her go. In fact, I was relieved and I didn't hide it too well, either.

Well, add it to my sins.

****

On Monday morning, I was hopeful. No fall-out so far. Maybe I didn't need to break up with Marc.

I'd thought about it all day Sunday. I knew Lance was completely out of my league, so it couldn't go anywhere. Besides, Farah had practically forced me into his arms or him into mine. I wasn't sure which. He'd never have come after me if she wouldn't have paired off with Pete.

It could be like it never happened.

I walked into school looking for Marc. As always, he was leaning nonchalantly against the outer office wall waiting for me.

“Mmm, you smell nice. New perfume, right? What's this one?”

“Don't you remember? It's the rose and cinnamon blend.”

“Whatever it is, it smells great. Hey, I missed you.” He tugged lightly on my sleeve. “I missed our Friday night date, and I was busy studying the whole weekend.”

“I missed you, too.” I giggled, my spirits rising. I actually had missed him.

“You're in a good mood.” He pushed me playfully on the back, guiding me to my locker. “Let's unload your stuff. How'd you do on the history assignment?”

I paused. “Didn't quite finish it.” I saw his look of disbelief. “Don't worry, I have study hall before class, I'll get it done.”

“I know.” He gazed at me with pride. A sudden cramp knotted my stomach, and Lance's slow smile filled my mind. I shook my head. No, I'd stick with my new plan — Lance never happened and never could happen.

And then, there he was, right in front of me. He drifted over as if Marc was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Cecily, how was your weekend?” His voice was soft and his eyes searched mine.

I nearly choked.

“Cecily?” Marc questioned. “She's Emili.”

“My mistake,” Lance said and chuckled. He slowly ran his finger down my arm, then turned and sauntered off. His touch left a burning trail and my eyes clung to his back as he walked away.

Marc stiffened and took a step back. I looked at him and cringed when I saw the confusion in his eyes.

“Emili? What gives?”

****

By ten o'clock, I began to worry. Farah hadn't come to school and she never missed class. Between third and fourth period, I pretended to dig in my locker for books, but in reality I took out my phone and texted Farah. She didn't text back. Farah always answered a text no matter what time of day or night. I'd even known her to text right under Mrs. Binder's nose in Algebra like some kind of magician.

During lunch, I hid in the bathroom and called her. No answer. What was going on? I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Something wasn't right, and I couldn't think of one person to confide in.

I pulled my purse onto my shoulder when I heard someone come into the bathroom. I could tell it was Jeannie Sander when she hollered, “I'll only be a sec!” I flushed the toilet and walked out of the stall.

Jeannie was standing over the sink leaning close to the mirror. Her uniform blouse was easily one size too small and stretched tightly over her thick waist. She was studying her eyes. “What do you think I'd look like if they were blue?”

Since I was the only other person in the bathroom, I figured she was talking to me. “I don't know.”

“You know they have contacts to change the color of your eyes. Some of the seniors use them. Have you seen Brittany? She looks downright creepy. Hers are yellow, and they turn her into some kind of ghost woman.”

I started washing my hands. “Then why use them?”

“Boredom, I suppose.”

I yanked off a paper towel.

She continued, “You know — boredom. It makes you do stupid things sometimes.” Her eyes probed mine in the mirror.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. I threw the paper towel in the trash and headed for the door. I could feel her eyes still watching me.

“Where's Farah today?”

I turned back. “Out sick,” I said, wondering if it was the truth.

“Too bad. I imagine you feel lost.”

I frowned at her. “Why would I?”

“Come on, Emili, you two are like Siamese twins.”

“No, we're not.”

She ignored my words. “Yeah, I imagine you're feeling the boredom something fierce.”

I started for the door again.

“But then, you always have your boyfriend Marc. And oh yes, the new guy, Lance — we can't forget him. Weren't you with him at the game Friday night?”

I stiffened, and then turned back to her. “Jeannie, I meant to talk to you about the other night. I wasn't going to—”

She held up her hand. “Emili, you always did underestimate me,” she said. “But no need for explanations. I'm not your mother confessor. Tell it to Marc.”

She smiled ever-so-sweetly and paraded right past me out of the bathroom.

Oh my
word
.

The rest of the day was endless. I see-sawed between worrying about Farah and feeling like slime because of Marc. When I went to the bathroom during sixth period, I tried texting Farah again. Still nothing.

My head hurt. I even felt my forehead to see if I had a fever — which was lame, because I knew having a fever had nothing to do with it.

At the end of the day, I burst through the school doors and called Farah the second I got outside. It went straight to voice mail. “Where are you?” I asked. “Why aren't you answering? I'm going to kill you for this. I'm getting freaked out.”

I figured Farah's mom would know where she was. I knew my mom had Mrs. Menins's cell number, so I called her at work. “I need to talk with Farah,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Her phone's messed up so can you give me her mom's cell?”

“Isn't Farah at school?” Mom asked.

“I think she's sick, and I want to check on her.”

“Give me a sec,” Mom said. Then, “Okay, got it. It's 765-3129. Honey, if she's sick, maybe you shouldn't call. You don't want to disturb her.”

“I'll only talk a minute. Thanks.”

I started to punch in Mrs. Menins's number, then froze. Farah would never in this lifetime want me to call her mother. Mrs. Menins was, well, less than nice. What if Farah was skipping school, and I called asking where she was? Farah would dump me faster than all of her old boyfriends put together.

I tucked my phone away, but a bad feeling pressed on me. I should be doing something; I just didn't know what.

Maybe Lance would know where Farah was. I glanced at the crowds hanging by the doors. Since Lance was tall, he'd be easy to spot.

The thought of him made my heart begin to dance. Worry for Farah was edged out by delicious memories of kissing Lance. This was the ideal excuse to talk to him. It wouldn't be like I was stalking him — it'd only be one friend asking about another. Perfect.

While this parade of thoughts marched through my head, I caught a glimpse of him. Somehow I'd missed him at the door because he was already heading down the sidewalk towards town. He was beautiful, walking tall and easy, his hands swaying loosely at his sides.

“Lance,” I called and started running after him. “Lance!”

He slowed and turned around. When he saw me, he tipped his head and narrowed his eyes, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulders. I ran too quickly and nearly slammed into him. I put my arm out to stop myself and ended up grasping his solid bicep. Jerking my hand back, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

Lance grinned. “Well, Cecily, nice to see you, and alone this time.”

“Uh, hi, Lance.”

“Need something?”

I was breathing hard, and standing so close to him didn't help. “Have you seen Farah?” I asked.

“Haven't seen her all day.”

“She didn't come to school, and she's not answering my texts.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to answer.”

“This is Farah. She always wants to answer. I'm worried.”

Lance shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not sure what I can do about it.”

I flinched, surprised at his abrupt tone. I'd expected deep interest. I fumbled for something to say. “I guess nothing. Sorry I bothered you.”

He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Don't leave all mad. I'm just saying…”

“I know, and you're right. There's nothing you can do.” Why was I being so curt?

“Let's go,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me along.

“Where?”

“Over to the bench to sit. Okay with you?” His voice was warm again, the way I remembered it from Friday. Maybe he wasn't annoyed after all. “I could call my brother. He'll probably know where she is.”

We sat on a rough cement bench at the edge of the school grounds. The words
In Memory of Walter Koenig
were carved into the back of it. Everybody at Bates knew Walter Koenig had donated big time for all the landscaping around the school. He had been some kind of famous biologist or something.

Lance took out his cell phone and pressed a button. “Pete? Emili's looking for Farah… What…? You serious? Right now?” He stood so quickly his backpack slipped from his shoulder, and hung down his side. “Are you… What? You're insane.”

The words coming out of his mouth were hard like stones. I could hear Pete's voice on the other end but couldn't make out what he was saying. He must have been mad though because his voice came fast and loud.

“No way…” Lance said. He snapped his phone shut, took a huge breath, and started pacing around the bench.

I sat there wide-eyed, watching him.

“Slime bag.” He spit the words out.

“Is Farah okay?” I asked.

He started cracking his knuckles, pulling each one with a loud pop. “Turns out I can help you after all. Farah's fine.”

“What's wrong? And would you sit, you're making me dizzy.”

He plunked down on the cold cement. “She's been with my brother and just left his place.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“She was there all day?”

“Sounds like it,” Lance answered. He ran his hand through his hair.

“How dumb can they be?” My voice was rising. “Does your brother even know what grade she's in?”

“Don't yell at me. I'm not the slime bag.” He shook his head and started pulling on his knuckles again.

We both sat there, listening to the loud snaps. Most of the kids had cleared out; they had either been picked up by their parents, or they'd driven home in their own cars. The sun shone low in the sky and my breath started to make little puffs of white in the air.

“At least she's all right,” I said.

“And yes, he knows how old she is.”

“I worried all day.”

Lance tilted his head and regarded me. “All day, huh?”

I nodded. “All day.”

Another long silence. Lance sighed, and I felt the mood shift. “It's one of the things I like about you, Cecily Jones — you're a good friend.”

I smiled. “You know my last name.”

“I know a lot of things about you.”

I inhaled sharply and Farah dropped right off my radar.

He continued, “So, this boyfriend of yours…”

“Marc — you saw him. He's a close friend.”

“Cecily.” He drawled out every syllable. “Why are you calling him your friend? He's your boyfriend. You and I both know it — the whole tenth grade knows it.”

I studied my feet. I'd never noticed how big they looked in black flats. Like monstrous walruses. I angled my right foot sideways.
Huge.

“Cecily,” Lance repeated, more loudly.

“Okay, fine. He's my boyfriend. But that doesn't mean he always will be.” My chest tightened, and I could hear my own voice get higher. “I'm not totally unpopular.”

Where did
those words
come from?

Lance actually chuckled. “Who says you are? I'm only thinking maybe Marc could pose some problems — you know, get in the way.”

My gaze snapped to his. “What do you mean?” A flash of hope made me hold my breath.

“If you're already hooked up, then maybe I should be on my way.” He shrugged, stood, and began to walk away backwards, keeping his eyes on mine as if daring me to let him go.

“Stay,” I said. “He won't always be my boyfriend.”

Lance paused, smile still in place.

And just like magic, Marc's faithful face faded right out of my brain and heart. Lance raised his eyebrows, came back, and lowered himself to the bench. He leaned in until his face was within a breath. “All right, then. Sounds good. See you soon.”

He kissed me lightly — right there in the middle of the whole world. He kissed me, and I thought I'd surely burst open.

I quickly glanced around to make sure no one had seen. Kissing was grounds for suspension, and I'd never been suspended in my life.

Lance squeezed my shoulder and left. I watched him walk away, and pride coursed through me.
“Mine,”
I thought to myself.
“He's mine.”
I heard a soft clucking sound behind me and swirled around.

There stood Jeannie, big as life.

“How did you get there?” I asked sharply.

“I walked. It's a free country.” She scrutinized me and then made the clucking noise again. “Well, well, well, if it isn't Marc Rounder's girlfriend kissing other guys.”

“Marc and I broke up.”

“No kidding? You didn't mention it in the bathroom earlier today. And it seems highly suspect considering I saw you with him not even an hour ago.”

“Well, we're about to break up,” I said.
Oh help
. What now?
Would she talk to Marc before I could? Would she tattle to Principal Ramos about Lance and me kissing?

“You won't tell, will you?” I asked.

She raised her eyebrows and sat. She wriggled her ample behind against the back of the bench.

“Worried?” she asked with actual pleasure in her tone. Her brown eyes were bright.

There was a time when Jeannie and I were friends. For a few years, we were good friends. I sighed — that was forever ago.

“Maybe,” I answered.

“Well, you should be. Oh, Emili, kissing right here where anyone could see you. Are you crazy?”

“I guess I am. But to be fair, he kissed me.”

“Like you didn't kiss him back.”

She had me.

“Are you more worried about Mr. Ramos or Marc?”

“Both.”

“Marc's a nice guy, Emili.”

“I know.”

“He shouldn't be treated like this.”

“I know, Jeannie. I know. I'm going to talk to him today, I swear.”

“You're scum, Emili Jones.” She got up from the bench and walked off. And even though she wasn't much of a friend anymore, I felt like I'd been punched.