Текст книги "Lola and the Boy Next Door"

Автор книги: Stephaie Perkns

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

I scoot closer to my window.

When we get home, we’re greeted by a wagging Heavens to Betsy and the sugary warmth of baked goods. I throw my arms around her and breathe in her doggie scent. It’s safer to focus on Betsy. Cricket offers to help with the dishes, but Andy refuses as he reaches for his wallet. “You’ve already done too much today.”

Cricket is surprised. “That’s not why I helped.”

Andy holds out a few twenties. “Please, take something.”

But Cricket puts his hands in his pockets. “I should get home. I just came over to deliver your package.” He nods to the box addressed to me, which is still on the floor outside the kitchen.

Alarm dawns across Andy’s features. “Did you call your parents? Do they know where you are?”

“Oh, it’s fine. They had a big day with Cal planned. I doubt they noticed I was gone.”

But Andy doesn’t look reassured. Something is bothering him.

“See you around.” Cricket reaches for the doorknob.

Andy steps forward. “Would you like to go with us to Muir Woods next Sunday? We’re having a family outing. I’d be honored if you joined us, it’s the least I can do.”

Muir Woods? A family outing?

What is he talking about?

“Uh.” Cricket glances at me nervously. “Okay.”

“Great!” Andy says. He’s already talking about picnic baskets and avocado sandwiches, and my mind is going haywire. Not only is this the first mention of a day trip, but . . . Max.

“What about Sunday brunch?” I interrupt. Betsy squirms as I hold her tighter.

Andy turns back to me. “It’s still on for tomorrow.”

“No. Next Sunday.”

“Oh,” Andy says, as if the thought has just occurred to him. Even though it hasn’t. “We’ll have to skip it next week.”

I’m dumbfounded as they say goodbye and Cricket leaves. My parents would NEVER ask Max to join us. And Max is my BOYFRIEND. And Cricket is . . . I don’t know what Cricket is! How am I supposed to explain the cancellation to Max? I can’t tell him that

I’m going on an outing with Cricket Bell.

I open my mouth in outrage, but I’m too furious for words.

Andy locks the door and sighs. “Now, why couldn’t you date a boy like that?”

chapter twelve

“Andy said that?” Lindsey asks. “Kiss of death.”

“I know. As if I’d ever go for him now that

my dad

wants me to date him.”

“As if you’d ever go for him again, period.”

“Right . . . right.”

There’s a weighty pause on the other end of the line. “Lola Nolan, please tell me you are not thinking about Cricket Bell in that way.”

“Of course I’m not!” And I’m not. I’m definitely not.

“Because he broke your heart. We’ve spent two good years hating him. Remember that sixteen-page letter you buried in my backyard? And the ceremonial tossing of the pink bottle cap into the surf at Ocean Beach?”

Yeah. I remember.

“And your boyfriend? You do remember your boyfriend? Max?”

I frown at his picture beside my bed. His picture frowns back. “Who’s leaving me to go on tour.”

“He’s not leaving you. Stop being such a drama queen, Ned.”

Except he is. Max announced at brunch this morning that Johnny had already secured a show in Southern California. The miracle is that it’s for next Saturday night, so he couldn’t have made it to our next brunch anyway. So there was no need to invent an excuse for canceling it.

“I don’t wanna talk about guys anymore,” I say. “Can’t we just rehash

Alias

instead?”

There’s only one type of television show that Lindsey and I agree on: shows that involve solving crimes while wearing cool disguises.

Alias, Pushing Daisies, Dollhouse, Charlie’s Angels,

and

The Avengers

are our favorites. My best friend is happy to comply, so we don’t talk about ANY guy for the rest of the week. But they’re on my mind.

My boyfriend. Cricket. My boyfriend. Cricket.

How could Andy put me in this position? How could he make up a dumb family outing on the spot like that? And I’m frustrated because since the Bells moved back, every important event seems to happen on weekends. School has always dragged, but it’s nothing compared to now. Endless.

And work? Forget it. I lose count of how many wrong tickets I print, wrong soft drinks I pour, wrong theaters I sweep. Even Anna—my most good-natured supervisor, someone I’ve begun to consider one of my few friends—finally loses it on Saturday when I come back from my dinner break twenty minutes late.

“Where have you been? I’m dying out here.” She gestures with her head toward the packed box-office lobby as she hands someone their change and takes the ticket order of the person behind them.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time.There’s this thing tomorrow—”

“You did it yesterday, too. You left me hanging. There were, like, sixty people in the lobby with these screaming children and bad hair, and this one lady projectile sneezed all over my window, and it was totally on purpose, and—”

“I’m so sorry, Anna.”

She holds up a hand in panicked frustration, like she doesn’t want to hear any more, and I feel terrible. I went to a Turkish coffee shop down the block for a pick-me-up and ended up lost in my thoughts. I don’t feel picked up at all.

By the time my shift ends and Andy brings me home, the Bell house is dark. Did Cricket come home? His curtains haven’t moved. If he doesn’t show up tomorrow, will I be relieved? Or disappointed?

I plan my outfit. If this is going to happen, I need to look better than the last time I saw him, but I can’t look

too

interesting. I don’t want to encourage him. I choose a red-and-white checked top (cute) with jeans (boring). But by morning I’ve decided it’s hopelessly lame, and I change my shirt twice and my pants three times.

I settle on a similarly checked red-and-white halter dress, which I made from an actual picnic blanket for the last Fourth of July. I add bright red lipstick and tiny ant-shaped earrings for theme, and my big black platform boots because walking will be involved. They’re the sportiest shoes I own. I smooth my dress, erect my posture, and parade downstairs.

No one is there.

“Hello?”

No reply.

My shoulders sag. “What’s the point of a staircase if no one is here to watch my entrance?”

Behind me, a slightly breathless “hi

.

”

I spin around to find Cricket Bell sitting in my kitchen, and for some reason, the sight of him makes me slightly breathless, too. “I—I didn’t know you were there.”

Cricket stands, almost knocking over his chair in a rare moment of clumsiness. “I was having some tea. Your parents are loading the car. They were giving you three more minutes.” He glances at his watch. “You had thirty seconds left.”

“Oh.”

“It was good entrance,” he says.

Nathan bursts into the room. “There you are! With twenty seconds to spare.” He wraps me in a hug, but quickly pulls away and looks me up and down. “I thought you understood we were going into

nature

today.”

“Ha ha.”

“A dress? Those boots? Don’t you think you should change into something less—”

“It’s not worth the fight.” Andy pops in his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I follow him outside to avoid further chastising from Nathan. Cricket walks several steps behind me. It’s a careful distance.

I wonder if he’s looking at my butt.

WHY DID I JUST THINK THAT? Now my butt feels COLOSSAL. Maybe he’s looking at my legs. Is that better? Or worse? Do I want him looking at me? I hold on to the bottom of my dress as I climb into the backseat and crawl to the other side. I’m sure he’s looking at my butt. He has to be. It’s huge, and it’s right there, and it’s huge.

No. I’m acting crazy.

I glance over, and he smiles at me as he buckles his seat belt. My cheeks grow warm.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

As always, he chats easily with my parents. The more relaxed everyone else gets, the more worked up I am. We’re already approaching the Golden Gate Bridge, so we’ve been driving for . . . fifteen minutes? How can that be?

“Lola, you’re awfully quiet,” Nathan says. “Do you feel okay?”

“Is it motion sickness?” Andy asks. “Because you haven’t had that in years.”

“WE AREN’T EVEN OUT OF THE CITY. IT’S NOT MOTION SICKNESS.”

There’s a shocked silence.

“Maybe it’s motion sickness,” I lie. “Sorry. I have ... a headache, too.” I cannot believe I’m screaming about motion sickness a foot away from Cricket Bell.

Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.

I adjust my dress, but the fabric sticks to my leg, and I accidentally flash Cricket my thigh. This time, I catch him looking. His fingers are messing with his bracelets and rubber bands. Our eyes lock.

A rubber band snaps and shoots into the windshield.

Nathan’s and Andy’s heads jolt back in fright, but they laugh when they realize what happened.

Cricket’s body shrinks up in his seat. “Sorry! Sorry.”

And I’m strangely relieved to know that I’m not the only one freaking out.

chapter thirteen

It’s been years since I’ve been here, but Muir Woods still makes me feel as if I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. It’s an enchanted forest, I’m sure of it. Amid the trees are devilish wood sprites and red mushroom caps with white spots and faeries tempting mortals with golden fruit. The redwoods have the same soothing effect on me as the moon. They seem as old as the moon. Ancient and beautiful and wise.

And I need that right now.

The remainder of the drive was restless, but at least it passed quickly. The park is only forty minutes from home. After strolling the trail for a while, we split up. Nathan and Andy, Cricket and me. We’ll meet back at the car in a few hours, and because it’s not Max, my parents don’t ask me to check in with them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they’re trying to set me up.

Wait. Are my parents trying to set me up?

No, they know I have a boyfriend. And Nathan hates the idea of me dating

anyone

. They must see Cricket as the trustworthy friend he is. Right?

“Is it okay if I eat this in front of you?” Cricket sounds hesitant.

We’re sitting beside the creek that runs through the park, half of the picnic spread before us. He holds up the sandwich Andy made for him. It’s smoked salmon with cream cheese and sliced avocado.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He points at my hummus wrap. “You’re still a vegetarian, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. But it doesn’t bother me to see other people eating meat, I just can’t stomach the thought for myself.” I pause. “Thanks for asking. Most people don’t ask.”

Cricket turns toward the bubbling creek and stretches out his legs. His pants are well-worn, faded pinstripes and frayed hems. It’s appropriate for the outdoors as far as his wardrobe is concerned, and once again, I find myself admiring his sense of style.

God, he has good taste.

“I just don’t want to offend you.” He sets down his sandwich but picks at the poppy seeds on the bread. “I mean, any more than I already have.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Cricket.You’ve never

offended

me.”

“But I hurt you.” His voice grows quiet. “I wish that I hadn’t.”

The words are tumbling out before I can stop them. “We were so close, and then you just dropped me. I felt like such an idiot. I don’t understand what happened.”

He stops flicking poppy seeds. “Lola. There’s something I need to tell you.”

The acceleration of my heartbeat is sudden and painful. “What is it?”

Cricket faces me with his entire body. “When we talked at our windows that last night,” he says, “I knew something was wrong. I could tell you were hurt, when I thought

I

was the one who was supposed to be hurt. But I was so upset about the moving thing that it took me weeks to put the pieces together.”

I draw back from him. Why should he be the hurt one?

He’d

excluded

me.

There’s an excruciating pause as his fingers tense and flex. “My sister lied. I didn’t know about the party until we got home and a crowd of people jumped out and yelled ‘surprise.’ Cal told me that she’d invited you, and that you’d turned her down. I believed her. It wasn’t until later that I realized you were hurt because she hadn’t.”

Anger swells inside of me. “Why would she do that?”

He looks ashamed. “She dodged the question, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? She claimed she was trying to do something nice—throw a party for me, not for her or for the both of us. Sometimes . . . I get overlooked. But she did it out of fear, because she thought she was losing me.”

“You mean, she did it out of spite, because she’s a bitch.” My own fury startles me.

“I know it seems that way, but it’s not. And it is.” Cricket shakes his head. “It’s been the two of us for so long. Her career hasn’t given her much of an outside life. She was scared of being left behind. And I’m just as guilty; I let her get away with acting like that, because she was all I had, too.”

No. She wasn’t.

He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, it’s been crossed off. There’s only a black box. “Lola, you were the

only

person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn’t know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but . . . I couldn’t. That one small move felt impossible.”

Now I’m staring at my hands, too. “I would have let you take it.”

“I know.” His voice cracks.

“I had a present for you and everything.”

“I’m sure I would have loved it. Whatever it was.” He sounds heartbroken, and the sound breaks mine. “I had something for you, too.”

“On

your

birthday?” That’s so like him. There’s another sharp pain in my chest.

“I made this mechanism that could run between our windows, and I thought we could use it to send each other letters or gifts. Or whatever. It sounds stupid now, I know. Something a little kid would think up.”

No. It doesn’t sound stupid.

“It was supposed to be ready on your birthday, but I wanted it to be perfect. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. But I was stalling. I blew it. I messed up everything.”

I rip off the end of my hummus wrap. “

Calliope

messed up everything.”

“No. She never would have been a problem if I’d told you how I felt. But I didn’t, not even when I knew we were moving—”

“You knew you were moving?” I’m shocked. For some reason, this news is worse than Calliope’s betrayal. How could he keep that from me?

“I couldn’t tell you.” His body twists in misery. “I thought you’d give up on me. And I kept hoping the move wouldn’t actually happen, but it was confirmed that night.”

He waits for me to look at him. Somehow, I do. I’m overwhelmed by sadness and confusion. I can’t take any more. I want him to stop, but he doesn’t. “I’ll only say this once more. Clearly, so there’s no chance of misinterpretation.” His eyes darken into mine. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. It would be wrong for me to come back into your life and act otherwise.”

I’m crying now. “Cricket . . . I have a boyfriend.”

“I know. That sucks.”

It surprises me, and I give a choked laugh. Cricket pushes a napkin toward me to blow my nose. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Was it wrong for me to say that?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

We’re able to laugh as I wipe away my mascaraed tears, but our lunch is resumed in agonizing silence. The distance between us feels too close, too far, too close. It’s warmer than it should be underneath this green canopy. My mind throbs.

I’ve always liked you.

What would my life have been like had I known this unquestionably?

He still would have moved away.

I’ve always liked you, I’ve always liked you, I’ve always liked you.

But maybe we would have stayed in contact. Maybe we’d even be together now. Or maybe I would have lost interest. Am I only fixated on Cricket because of our traumatic history? Because he was my first crush? Or does something about him transcend that?

He’s polishing the skin of a golden apple against his arm. Faeries. Temptation.

“Remember that day I made you the elevator?” he suddenly asks.

I give him a faint smile. “How could I forget?”

“That was the day I had my first kiss.”

My smile fades.

“I’m better now.” He sets the apple beside me. “At kissing. Just so you know.”

“Cricket . . .”

He holds my gaze. His smile is sad. “I won’t.You can trust me.”

I try not to cry again. “I know.”

Despite this complication—knowing he liked me then, knowing he likes me now, and knowing he never purposefully hurt me—as we walk through the woods, the smoky haze between us lifts. The air is tender but clear. Am I that selfish? Did I just need to feel desired? But when I study him on the drive home . . . I can’t help but notice his eyes.

There’s something about blue eyes.

The kind of blue that startles you every time they’re lifted in your direction. The kind of blue that makes you ache for them to look at you again. Not blue green or blue gray, the blue that’s just blue.

Cricket has those eyes.

And his laugh. I’d forgotten how easy it is. The four of us are laughing about something dumb in that silly way that happens when you’re exhausted. Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I’m laughing, if I think he’s funny, and I want him to know that I

do

think he’s funny, and I want him to know that I’m glad he’s my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he’s really here.

But we cannot touch.

Everyone laughs again, and I’m not sure why. Cricket looks for my reaction again, and I can’t help but laugh. His eyes light up. I have to look down, because I’m smiling so hard back. I catch my parents in the rearview mirror. They have a different kind of smile, like they know a secret that we don’t.

But they’re wrong. I know the secret.

I close my heavy eyes. I dream about reaching across the backseat and touching his hand. Just one hand. It closes slowly, tightly around mine, and the sensation of his skin against mine is

astounding.

I’ve never felt anything like it before.

I don’t wake until I hear his voice. “Who’s that?” he asks sleepily.

Some people claim to know when something bad is about to happen, right before it actually occurs. I feel dread at his question, though I can’t say why. His tone was innocent enough. Maybe it’s the silence in the front seat that’s so deafening. I open my eyes as the car stops in front of our house. And I discover the deep feeling in my gut is right. It’s always right.

For there, passed out on the front porch, is my birth mother.

chapter fourteen

Skin and bones. I haven’t seen Norah in months. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s lost more weight. For as long as I can remember, Norah has been too skinny. Now—body propped against the porch railing, sweater balled into a pillow to support her head—she looks like a pile of twigs wrapped in hippie rags.

Is she just asleep? Or has she been drinking again?

I flush with shame.

That’s my mother.

I don’t want Cricket to recognize her, even though it’s obvious the pieces have been put together, now that the question hangs in the air. Nathan is rigid. He pulls the car into our driveway and turns off the engine. No one gets out. Andy swears under his breath.

“We can’t leave her there,” he says, after a minute passes.

Nathan climbs out, and Andy follows. I turn in my seat to watch them prod her, and she immediately startles awake. I release a breath that I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I get out of the car, and I’m blasted by the stench of body odor. Cricket is beside me, and he’s talking, but his words don’t reach my ears.

Because it’s my mother.

Smelling.

On my porch.

I duck away from him and push up the stairs, past Norah and my parents. “I fell asleep waiting for you to come home,” she snaps to them. “I’m not drunk. Just evicted.” But I focus on my key in my hand, my key in the lock, my feet to my bedroom. I collapse in bed, but a voice says something about a curtain, it won’t stop talking about a curtain, so I haul myself up to shut it and then I’m back down. I hear them in the living room.

“Eighteen months?” Nathan asks. “You told me it’d been twelve since your last payment. I thought we’d worked this out. What do you expect me—”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP. I JUST NEED A PLACE TO CRASH.”

The whole neighborhood can hear that.

It takes nine long minutes before she lowers her voice. I watch the clock on my phone.

Lindsey calls. I stare at her name, but I don’t answer.

When I was little, I thought my parents were just best friends who lived together. I wanted to live with Lindsey when I grew up. It took a while for me to understand that the situation was more complicated than that, but by the time it happened, it didn’t matter. My parents were my parents. They loved each other, and they loved me.

But there’s always been this nag in the darkest corner of my mind.

I was right for Nathan and Andy, like they were right for me. Why wasn’t I right for Norah? I know she wasn’t in any condition to take care of me, but why wasn’t I enough for her to

try

? And why aren’t we—the three of us, her family—enough for her to try now? She may not be on the streets anymore, but . . . well, this time, she

is.

Why is it so impossible for her to be a normal adult?

My phone buzzes. Lindsey has sent a text:

i heard. what can i do? xoxo

My heart falls like a stone. She heard? How long was Norah outside? How many people saw her? I imagine what my classmates will say when they find out that I have

loser

wired into half of my genetic code.

Figures. It’s the only explanation for someone

that

screwed up. She must have been wasted while Lola was in the womb.

But that’s not even true. I’m not half loser. I’m one hundred percent. I was created from street trash.

Andy knocks on my door. “Lo? Can I come in?”

I don’t reply.

He asks again, and when I don’t answer, he says, “I’m coming in.” My door opens. “Oh, honey.” His voice is heartbroken. Andy sits on the edge of my bed and places a hand on my back, and I burst into tears. He picks me up and holds me, and I feel small and helpless as I cry all over his sleeve.

“She’s so embarrassing. I hate her.”

He hugs me harder. “Sometimes I do, too.”

“What’s gonna happen?”

“She’ll stay here for a while.”

I pull back. “For how long?” I’ve left a puddle of red eye shadow on his shoulder. I try to wipe it away, but he gently takes my hand. The shirt doesn’t matter.

“Only a week or two. Until we can find a new apartment for her.”

I stare at my red fingertips, and I’m angry that Norah has made me cry again. I’m angry that she’s in

my

house. “She doesn’t care about us. She’s only here because she doesn’t have any other options.”

Andy sighs. “Then we don’t have any option but to help her, do we?”

It grows dark outside. I call Lindsey.

“Thank God! Cricket called two hours ago, and I’ve been so worried. Are you okay? Should I come over? Do you want to come over here? How bad is it?”

An explosion in my mind. “Cricket told you?”

“He was concerned. I’m concerned.”

“

Cricket

told you?”

“He called the restaurant and gave my parents his number, and then told them to tell me to call him. He said it was an emergency.”

I grip my phone harder. “So you didn’t see her, then? Or hear her? Or hear about it from anyone else?”

Lindsey realizes what the issue is. Her voice softens. “No. I haven’t heard anything, neighborhood-wise. I don’t think anyone noticed her.”

And I’m relieved enough to let the sadness and frustration flood back in. After nearly a minute of silence, Lindsey asks again if I’d like to stay with her. “No,” I say. “But I might take you up on it tomorrow.”

“She wasn’t . . . was she?”

It’s easy enough to fill in her blank. “Not wasted, not high. Just Norah.”

“Well,” she says. “At least there’s that.”

But it’s humiliating that she had to ask. There’s a beep on the other line. Max. “I have to go.” I switch calls with dread. A vision of my boyfriend at brunch with Norah flashes through my head. This is bound to put an even bigger strain on his relationship with my family. What will he think of her? Will it change his opinion about me? And what if . . . what if he finds something of myself in Norah?

“I missed you,” he says. “You coming to the show tonight?”

I’d forgotten about it. I’ve been so fixated on last night’s show that I didn’t remember he’d be back here for another one tonight. “Um, I don’t think so.” The tears are already building.

No, no, no. Don’t cry. I’m sick of crying today.

I practically hear him sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Norah is here. She’s staying with us.”

Silence. And then, “Fuuuuck.” He says it like an exhale. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Me, too,” I add.

He gives a small, understanding snort of laughter, and then I’m surprised by how angry he gets when I tell him the full story. “So she expects you guys to bail her out of this?”

I roll onto my side, still on my bed. “Like we always do.”

“It’s messed up your dads are letting her take advantage of them again.”

The thought has occurred to me many times over the years, but I still don’t know if it’s true. Are they—Nathan, especially—enabling her? Or would she be even more lost without them? “I don’t know,” I say. “She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re defending them. If I were you, I’d be pissed. I’m not you, and I’m

still

pissed.”

His anger refuels my own. It’s getting easier to talk about it, to talk about everything. We go for another hour until he needs to pack the van for his show. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.

I tell him yes.

I get dressed with a fury I haven’t felt in years. I find a gauzy black dress that I’ve never liked in the back of my closet, and I rip the hem shorter. Orange-and-yellow makeup. Red wig. Boots that lace to my knees.

Tonight, I’m fire.

I storm downstairs. My parents are talking quietly in the kitchen. I have no idea where Norah is, and I don’t care. I throw open the front door, and there’s a loud, “HEY!” but I’m already blazing down to the sidewalk. Where’s Max? Where

is

he?

“Dolores Nolan, get your ass back in here,” Nathan says from the doorway.

Andy is behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to Max’s show!” I yell back.

“You aren’t going anywhere in that mood OR dressed like that,” Nathan says. A familiar white van turns the corner and speeds up our hill. Andy swears, and my parents push out the door but block each other in the process. The van jerks to a halt. Johnny Ocampo slides the door open.

“Do

not

get in that van,” Nathan shouts.

I give Johnny my hand. He pulls me inside and slams the door. I crash into a folded cymbal stand as the van lurches forward, and I shriek in pain. Max lets out a rapid string of profanity at the sight of blood running down my arm. The van jerks to another stop as he leans back to make sure I’m okay.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Go!”

I look out the window to see my parents on the sidewalk, frozen in disbelief. And behind them, sitting on the steps of the lavender Victorian—as if they’ve been there for a long, long time—are Cricket and Calliope Bell.

The van roars away.

chapter fifteen

I shouldn’t have come here.

It takes the band forever to set up, and I’m left alone the entire time. I didn’t bring my phone, so I can’t call Lindsey. The club is cold and unfriendly. I cleaned the blood off my arm in the bathroom, but it was only a scratch. I’m restless. And I feel stupid. My parents will be enraged, Norah will still be in my house, and the twins were witness to another foolish act. The memory of their expressions is almost too much to bear: the scorn of Calliope, the hurt of Cricket, the shock of my parents.

I’m in so much trouble.

As always, my mind returns again and again to Cricket Bell. Muir Woods seems like a lifetime ago. I remember

what

I felt, but I can no longer remember

how.

“Lola?”

WHAT’S THAT? WHO’S HERE? Who did my parents send? I’m almost surprised they haven’t showed up themselves—

“We thought it was you.” It’s Anna.

“Hard to tell sometimes.” And St. Clair.

They’re holding hands and smiling, and I’m so relieved that I fall back against the club’s brick wall. “Ohthankgod, it’s you.”

“Are you

drunk

?” she asks.

I straighten and hold up my chin. “NO. What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to see Max’s band,” St. Clair says slowly.

“Since you invited us? Last week? Remember?” Anna adds at my confusion.

I don’t remember. I was so worried about Max touring and the day trip with Cricket that I could have invited the editor of

TeenVogue

and forgotten about it. “Of course. Thanks for coming,” I say distractedly.

They don’t buy it. And I end up spilling another private story to them: the story of my birth parents. Anna grasps the banana on her necklace as if the tiny bead is a talisman. “I’m sorry, Lola. I had no idea.”

“Not many people do.”

“So Cricket was with you when you found her on your porch?” St. Clair asks.

His question snags my full attention. I’d purposefully left Cricket out of the story. I narrow my eyes. “How did you know that?”

St. Clair shrugs, but he looks self-chastised. Like he said something he shouldn’t have. “He mentioned something about taking a road trip with you. That’s all.”

He knows.

St. Clair knows that Cricket likes me. I wonder if they’ve already talked this evening, if St. Clair already knew what happened with my mother. “I don’t believe it,” I say.

“Pardon?” he says.

“Cricket told you. He told you about all of this, about my mother.” Anger rises inside of me again. “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you to check up on me?”

St. Clair’s countenance hardens. “I haven’t spoken with him in two days. You invited Anna and myself here, so we came. You’re welcome.”

He’s telling the truth, but my temper is already boiling. Anna grabs my arm and walks me forward. “Fresh air,” she says. “Fresh air would be good.”

I throw her off and feel terrible at the sight of her wounded expression. “I’m sorry.” I can’t look at either of them. “You’re right. I’ll go alone.”

“Are you sure?” But she sounds relieved.

“Yeah. I’ll be back. Sorry,” I mumble again.

I spend a miserable fifteen minutes outside. When I come back, the club is packed. There’s hardly standing room. Anna has snagged a wooden bar stool, one of the few seats here. St. Clair stands close to her, facing her, and he smoothes the platinum stripe in her hair. She pulls him even closer by the top of his jeans, one finger tucked inside. It’s an intimate gesture. I’m embarrassed to watch, but I can’t look away.

He kisses her slowly and deeply. They don’t care that anyone could watch. Or maybe they’ve forgotten they aren’t alone. When they break apart, Anna says something that makes him fall into silly, boyish laughter. For some reason, that’s the moment that makes me turn away. Something about their love is painful.