When You Were Mine (17 page)

“It’s like fate, or destiny or something,” he continues.

“You don’t believe in fate.”

Rob inhales and looks at me. “I care about you, Rosie. You know I do. We’re friends. Best friends.” The sound of the word makes me lose it.
Friends.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years, what I’ve been trying to talk myself into for months. He was the one who told me I was beautiful, who asked me out, who kissed me. He was the one who set this thing in motion, and now that I’m here, actually wanting to be with him, he wants to take it all back.

“We are? That’s news to me.” He looks taken aback. Hurt, even. Good, let him. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re not friends anymore.”

“But—” He swings his arms around and grabs on to his elbows. “Rosie?”

“I’m serious,” I say. I’m fighting back tears now. I know I need to leave before I lose my cool. “You made your choice. Live with it.”

Then I turn and walk away. And I walk until I start running. And I run until I’m sprinting. Past Cooper House and the math cubicles and all the way down to the lower soccer field. I don’t stop until I’m at the edge of campus. And then I sit down and for what seems like the millionth time in a handful of hours, I let myself cry.

“So we’re going to Malibu this weekend,” Charlie says.
She has Lauren’s three-ring binder, the one she uses for SAC, and she’s flipping through it.

We’re in Olivia’s room on her bed, a gigantic box of Twizzlers between us. After I pulled myself together post-bio and told them what happened, Charlie suggested we cut sixth and seventh periods and leave early. Usually I wouldn’t be into this, given the Stanford plan, but today it seems to make sense.

Olivia, per usual, was not difficult to convince. She’s not so worried about college next year, mostly because her stepdad has already made some deal with USC wherein he donates a building and she gets to go. It’s not that Olivia is a bad student, it’s just that school isn’t really her priority. It doesn’t have to be.

Olivia is standing in front of her mirror modeling a top she got over the weekend. It’s purple with white stripes and accentuates her boobs.

“Cute,” I say.

“Charlie?” Olivia asks. She turns sideways and sends the mirror a seductive stare.

“Mhm,” Charlie says, not looking up. “Guys, seriously, I think we need to go.”

“I’ll tell Ben,” Olivia says. She lifts her shirt up and over her head and stands there in her bra. It’s pink and brown with a bow in the middle. I’m pretty sure her underwear matches. Olivia always buys sets. It’s her thing. Like a seven, except only Charlie and I know about it. And maybe a few girls in gym class. Ben?

Charlie tosses her binder down and glares at Olivia. “I don’t think you get what’s going on here.”

“What?” Olivia asks. Her hands are on her naked hips.

“Ben is going to want to bring
Rob
,” Charlie says.

Olivia wiggles her nose and sighs. “We’ll just tell him not to.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t want him to think this is a problem. I don’t want him to think anything.”

Olivia shakes her head. Charlie nods.

“It’s okay,” Charlie says. She’s talking slowly now. “You’re allowed to feel totally screwed over.”

“Look, we don’t need to talk about this anymore. Like I said,
he was never my boyfriend. We had one date, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, but I can tell she’s not convinced. Charlie has an impeccable BS detector. One time she busted Olivia for ditching our plans to see
Pretty in Pink
at this indie theater downtown. Olivia said she had a dentist appointment, but Charlie caught her making out with the Belgian at her house. She actually made us drive over, just to prove it.

Realistically speaking, everyone is going to show up in Malibu anyway. Everyone always finds out about Olivia’s parties. Inevitably Jake tells John and Matt, who tell Darcy, who tells everyone. I think there were something like seventy-one juniors at her house at the end of last year. I don’t think this party will be quite like that one, but Rob will find out anyway. The question is just whether he’ll actually show or not.

“Do you think he’d bring her?” Olivia asks.

“I don’t know,” Charlie says. “Are they together?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I guess so.” Rob used the word “destiny.” I’m pretty sure that means they’re at least considering making things official. I slide a Twizzler out of the wrapper and snap off the end with my teeth.

“We need new swimsuits,” Olivia says, like this is our real problem.

Last year Olivia’s parents took the three of us to Acapulco with their family for spring break. She had gone shopping before
our trip and went armed with five new Lilly Pulitzer swimsuits. The sensory overload kind with the neon pink. When we got home, she was wailing about how she didn’t make out with anyone the entire time even though there were tons of cute boys at the hotel.

“Maybe that’s because you had electric-green elephants all over your body,” Charlie said. Olivia pretended to be offended, but I hardly think that was the reason, anyway. I think she already had a thing for Ben.

“Fine,” Charlie says, “but I think we should focus on the real issue here.”

“I need a new black bikini.” Olivia’s rifling through her drawers now, things flying everywhere.

“Which is?” I ask.

“What we’re going to do about Juliet,” Charlie finishes.

“We could toilet paper her house,” Olivia says. She’s on her hands and knees, fishing a purple bikini top out of the bottom of her dresser.

“We’re not twelve,” Charlie says. She rolls her eyes at me and runs a Twizzler between her palms. “We need to get her out of here.”

“Like make her quit school?” Olivia asks.

“Like make her move back to LA. If she wasn’t here, this definitely would not be a problem.”

“Maybe she’ll sleep with Mr. Davis,” Olivia offers.

“They’d just fire him,” I say. I don’t want to keep having this conversation, because getting back at Juliet won’t help. It won’t fix anything.

“True,” Charlie says. “But seriously, Rose, snap out of it. This is not okay.
You’re
not okay.” She tosses a Twizzler in my direction, then perks up. “Do you remember when Fester first started school?”

“Brittany?” Olivia asks. She hops onto the bed, and Charlie sends her an annoyed look.

“Yes. She transferred in halfway through sophomore year and immediately tried out for drama,” Charlie says.

“Mrs. Barch runs drama now,” I say. Charlie looks at me like she has no idea why I know this, or why I’ve volunteered it.

“Anyway,” she says, “she fell in love with Matt, remember? He was doing that Julia Roberts play.” She waves her hand around like she can’t quite remember.

“
My Fair Lady
?” I ask.

“Right.”

“That’s not Julia Roberts,” Olivia says.

“Seriously?” Charlie asks. Olivia nudges her, and Charlie shrugs her off.

“Anyway, he wasn’t into her, clearly. We were dating.” She looks at each of us to confirm this information. We nod. “She
completely fell apart and almost quit school,” she says, like the point is almost irrelevant now. “I’m just saying.”

“But Rob
likes
Juliet.” Olivia bites her lip and looks at me. “It’s not the same thing, is it?”

“So? You think Rob has any idea what he’s doing? He’s blinded by her hair or something,” Charlie spits out.

I instinctively pull my ponytail over my shoulder and run my hand through it. I don’t want Juliet to fall apart, but I also don’t want Rob to be with her. I just don’t want any of this.

“You know what I mean,” Charlie says quietly.

“So we just need to get Rob to break up with her?” Olivia’s eyebrows are furrowed, and she’s looking at Charlie with a mixture of confusion and something else. Sadness, maybe, but it’s hard to tell.

By Friday I’m somehow in the wings of the auditorium
with Len, adjusting lightbulbs. On Wednesday, Mrs. Barch hit us with another pop quiz, and this time I didn’t let Len switch our papers. I got a sixty-eight, so I currently need all the extra credit points I can get.

They’re doing
Macbeth
. And so much for hiding out here with all the theater geeks. Turns out, in addition to being Rob’s new girlfriend, my cousin is also a talented actress. She landed the role of Lady Macbeth. The news spread fast at school that she used to be an actress in LA. Nothing big, just some pilots and commercials, but enough to warrant some serious Internet presence.

Charlie is convinced that Juliet is the paper towel girl. “The
one who does the commercials with the dog,” she says. Olivia and I just shake our heads. “God, do you guys never watch TV?”

We look it up. Charlie is right. Not only is Juliet the paper towel girl, but she’s also the Super Soaker girl and the allergy girl.

By some stroke of luck, my thespian cousin and I share no classes together, so at least I only see her between classes and at lunch. And it seems like she and Rob eat off campus most of the time, so even that hasn’t been much of a problem. There’s something about watching her onstage that feels comforting. Like I’m keeping tabs on her. Like at least I know she’s not with Rob.

The Belgian is here too. He’s playing Macbeth, which makes sense, because Mrs. Barch is obsessed with the Belgian. I think it’s because he’s basically the closest thing to British she’s ever going to get. From my place in the wings I can see her fussing over him, asking him if he needs some water and making Lucy Stern, her sophomore assistant, fetch it for him.

Right now Juliet and the Belgian are wandering around the stage, taking directions from Mrs. Barch, who keeps looking at her clipboard and yelling things like “Stage right!” I don’t know much about Mrs. Barch outside science, but I’m pretty sure she has no actual theater background. Which is probably why this entire thing feels more like a parody of a play than an actual play.

“Hey, a little help here?” Len is next to me, rifling through a box of big metal clamps.

“Sorry. What’s up?”

He hands me a clamp and instructs me to keep the light still. “Right there. Good.”

He tightens it in place and then nods for me to let go. It’s dark up in the wings and kind of chilly despite the fact that it’s eighty degrees outside and barely even September. I hug my arms to my chest and watch as Len works, brow furrowed.

“Why are you here, anyway?” I ask.

He answers without looking at me. “Because thanks to that quiz of yours, I’m currently pulling a D in bio. I need the points too.”

“Yeah, but I thought you didn’t care about grades.”

He straightens up. “Why don’t you tell me why I’m here. I’m sure your answer is better.”

I glance down at the stage. “Just show me what to do.”

“I’ve been at this awhile,” he says. “I got it.”

I plunk down in a plastic chair and look at him. “So when you’re not taking bullets in bio or playing piano, you’re stage crew?”

“Playing piano?”

Thank God it’s dark, because my face instantly goes red. I can feel the heat creep up my neck like water rising in a bathtub.

“Um, yeah. Didn’t you used to take lessons or something?”

Len crosses his arms. It’s dark, but I can see the edges of a smirk. “Keeping tabs on me, Rosaline?”

“You wish.”

“Don’t worry. I remember,” he says, handing me a red slide. “Here, take this.”

“You do?”

“I may be—what do you call me? Vile?—but I’m not an idiot.” I see something flit across his face. Like the sunset of a smile.

“I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t say that.”

Len looks amused. “No? Must have been one of your minions.” He picks up a metal clamp and then sets it back down. “So what happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I just stopped playing. I got busy with school, and it was hard to find the time to practice.”

Len shakes his head. “No. Not with piano, with him.”

“Oh.” I fiddle with the red slide. I put my hand underneath. It looks sort of distorted, like it’s under one of those gigantic microscopes I used to have when I was little, to look at bugs. “I dunno.”

“Here.” He takes the slide out of my hands and slips it onto a light. Then he turns the light on. Immediately a spot on the stage is illuminated. It startles Juliet, and she curses, looking up.

“It’s kind of like playing God,” I say.

“Exactly.” He hands me a green slide and helps me set it in place. Juliet jumps again.

“I like this,” I say.

“I can tell. You have it out for Lady Macbeth, huh?”

I shrug. “She’s my cousin.”

He flips on a blinding yellow spotlight, and Juliet throws her hands up in the air. “Doesn’t really answer my question.”

Len stays perfectly still, looking at me. He looks different when he isn’t busy smirking at me. He reminds me of one of those marble sculptures we’re always reading about in history class. Even his curly hair looks kind of like the
David
’s. Who would have guessed that Len is actually kind of handsome?