A Novel Idea (13 page)

“Come now, Fitzgerald,”
she had whispered, taking his arm as they promenaded past Lorenzo in town. “Let us pretend we are desperately in love. I will explain all later.” And they had cuddled and kissed and left Lorenzo in a fit of jealous rage. (Fitzgerald, actually, had been
too
happy to comply and tried to
really
seduce Rosamund right afterward. But his wickedness became a separate subplot that ended in his death by drinking and reckless horseback riding.)

I know, I know. I had sworn off Rosamund and her silly stunts. But how perfect was this moment? There I was, with
my
(much nicer) Fitzgerald, while my (much more difficult to get) Lorenzo was only inches away from noticing us. I’d be a moron to let the opportunity pass me by.

And, trust me, if you had your pick of any guy in the world to pose as your fake boyfriend, you’d want Langston.

James and his family were almost across the aisle from us. Time was running out. Still facing Langston, I slipped my arms around his neck and wriggled in closer. I was going places, all right. I tried to drape my leg across his lap but the armrest was in the way so I settled for resting my forehead against his and giving him what I hoped was a seductive smile. I wondered if I should try to kiss him, but that might be pushing it; besides, did I
really
want my first kiss to be with Audre’s older brother?

Langston, I should say, tried to bite the heads off my Barbie dolls when I was seven, and used to mock me for wearing headgear retainers when I slept over at Audre’s in middle school. That was during what Audre’s mom kindly called Langston’s “awkward stage,” before he’d discovered contact lenses, dreadlocks, and the gym. So Langston and I had just enough history between us to make this moment feel sort of incestuous.

And, from Langston’s point of view, totally alarming.

“Norah, what—what are you
doing?
” he spluttered. He pulled back, looking terrified.

Poor Langston. He hadn’t been expecting bookish, innocent little Norah to turn all temptress on him.

“Just play along,” I whispered, clinging tighter to him. “Pretend we’re on a date.”

“Norah, you’re like a sister to me—I can’t—we shouldn’t—” Langston rambled on as if he hadn’t heard me. “There’s Jill, and—”

His girlfriend. How thoughtful. How annoying.

“Fake it,” I hissed. James had to be at the row across from us by now. I snuggled in closer. “Please,” I added. “I’ll explain everything lat—”

Suddenly, I heard chorus of voices in the aisle behind me.

“Norah?” That was James.

“Ew, I
hate
PDA.” That sounded like it could be his sister.

“Uh, who wants to explain to me what’s going on here?” Definitely Audre. Who did
not
sound happy.

Very slowly, I turned around. James and his sister were standing in the aisle. James was watching me with one eyebrow raised while his sister scowled at us; she probably still hadn’t decided if she thought boys were gross or not. James’s parents had staked out four seats, but were also glancing over with interest. And, finally, there was Audre, her hands on her hips and her popcorn in a bright yellow heap at her feet.

Not good.

First, I flashed Audre a look that I hoped translated to:
Rosamund! Sorry! Later!

Then I faced James. “Hi there,” I said in my most casual voice. “Meet my boyfriend, Langston.”

“Oh, Lord,” Audre muttered.

If James was shocked by this introduction, he didn’t show it. He simply lifted his chin and stuck out his hand for Langston to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said. I couldn’t believe it. James was being polite!

Duh. What had I been thinking? This wasn’t
To Catch a Duke
. Even if James was jealous—which he didn’t seem to be—he wasn’t going to challenge Langston to a duel or anything.

Though that might have been sort of exciting.

“Norah, can you let go of me?” Langston asked quietly. Not usually what boyfriends say. Then I realized I still had my arms wrapped tightly around him, boa-constrictor style. Smooth, right?

I dropped my arms, and Langston returned James’s handshake, looking at me like I was a sociopath.

“These are my parents and my sister, Dina,” James said as Audre stalked by us to get back to her seat. He turned to his family. “These are some kids from that book group,” he explained casually. I felt a small pang of disappointment. I guess I’d been hoping he would say,
This is Norah Bloom—you know, the love of my life?
His parents nodded and smiled but Dina pouted.

“You mean the book group you won’t let me join?” she demanded, frowning at James. In bell-bottom jeans, a gasoline attendant shirt, and no makeup, Dina looked much more low-key than Stacey. But I wondered if she and James had some sibling issues of their own.

“We don’t read the kind of books
you
like,” James replied, grinning and giving her a nudge.

The lights dimmed then, so James and Dina sat down next to their parents, ending the discussion.

“Norah, you are
unbelievable,
” Audre whispered, leaning across Langston to glare at me. “I thought you said you were done with Rosamund. And using my
brother
is just disgusting—”

“I couldn’t help it,” I whispered, shrugging sheepishly. “Opportunity was, like, kicking down the door. I’m, um, really sorry, Langston.” Shame colored my cheeks.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Langston lied, moving as far away from me as possible.

“Shhh!” a guy in the back row called. “That’s
so
inconsiderate.”

“I hate people who talk at movies,” a girl agreed loudly.

Audre, Langston, and I all shut up and faced the screen, where some preview or other was blaring. I hoped the two of them could forgive me; Audre would probably get over it soon, but Langston might never want to be alone with me again. I sighed forlornly.

“Hey.” A whisper came from across the aisle, and I tensed up. Had my sigh disturbed someone else? I glanced to my right, and in the darkness, I could make out James, also in an aisle seat. He was looking at me, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“What about Sebastian?” he whispered.

My heart soared with sudden, unexpected hope. James remembered my fake admirer! He
was
paying attention.

“He’s still around,” I whispered back, smiling, in the best imitation of Rosamund I could muster.

“Good to know,” James whispered. Then he faced forward again.

And, in that moment, I knew what I had to do. I’d come this far in the Rosamund plan—there was no reason not to finish. After all, Rosamund hadn’t won Lorenzo until she’d completed big, bad step number four: going after his best friend, Count Alberto.

Now it was my turn.

The minute I got home, before I could lose my nerve, I called Neil.

“Hi, it’s Norah,” I began, my stomach clenching, and then I stopped, at an utter loss.

How on earth did a girl ask a boy out? I wished I had a handbook or something to check for advice. Then I remembered the line Audre had suggested when we’d been analyzing the James situation back in April.

“I’d really like to get to know you better,” I told Neil in a rush.

“You would?” Neil asked, sounding surprised. I heard beeps and booms in the background and realized he was playing a computer game. For some reason, knowing that made me feel less nervous. I was talking to good old
Neil
. I could totally do this.

“Of course,” I replied, as if my interest in Neil had been obvious all along. “Maybe, um, we could have dinner somewhere in the neighborhood?” I blurted.

There. Mission accomplished
. Asking boys out actually isn’t all that hard, once you just make yourself go through with it.

“Oh, I get it,” Neil said after a long silence. “This is a trick, right?”

Okay,
now
I was nervous. Was Neil on to me? He
was
supersmart; maybe he’d pieced together exactly what was going on.

“I know how girls work,” Neil went on sagely. “You want to get back at me for the secret-admirer note, so you’re making me think this is a date and then you’ll stand me up to embarrass me.” He paused. “Did I figure it out?”

I flopped back against my pillows, relieved. Neil’s confusion was almost cute.

“Girls,” I replied, “are
not
all about tricks and schemes.” I blushed.
Well, except for me and Rosamund
. “Anyway,” I continued, “how about this Friday night? I won’t stand you up. Honest.”

“Friday?” Neil repeated. “Isn’t the Philippa Askance reading on Saturday morning?”

Which is perfect
, I realized. If Neil and I ran out of stuff to talk about, we could always do last-minute event planning.

But it didn’t matter even if the date sucked; the whole point was that Neil would tell James about it, just like Alberto had told Lorenzo. The parallels were so deliciously apparent, I couldn’t help but grin to myself.

After a few more awkward stops and starts, Neil and I finally agreed to meet on Friday night at MeKong, this Vietnamese restaurant in the Slope.

“Hey, Norah?” Neil said before we clicked off, and then he lowered his voice. “I’m really glad you decided to ask me out.”

What have I done?
I wondered when I clicked off. Now Neil thought I was into him. What if he tried to put the moves on me during our date? I closed my eyes and imagined him leaning forward to kiss me over a bowl of pad Thai. Not that Neil was unattractive, but still—I didn’t want to actually make out with him in order to get James.
Ugh
.

When I opened my eyes, I looked across the room at my Magritte calendar hanging on the wall. “Meet with Ms. Bliss—3 p.m. sharp!” I’d scribbled in the slot for Thursday. Tomorrow.

I groaned aloud. Right. Suddenly, the Neil date didn’t seem so crucial. First, I had to survive another Bliss attack.

Eleven

“Norah Bloom,” Ms. Bliss greeted me when I came into her office the next afternoon. She glanced up from a file on her desk. “Lovely to see you again.”

I felt a serious flash of dèja vu as I sank into the chair across from her. This time, I stared down at my silver ballerina flats instead of my orange Pumas, but the fluorescent office lights were still buzzing loudly. Ms. Bliss took a dainty sip from her coffee cup and crossed her long legs. Today, she was busting out of a peach-colored suit but was apparently trying to downplay her Victoria’s Secret vibe by wearing wire-rimmed glasses and her hair up in a bun. It wasn’t really working.

“So,” Ms. Bliss said, riffling through some papers, “it seems you’ve had a lot going on since February.”

Instinctively, I glanced at the wooden frame on her desk, which now held a photo of a blond, muscular guy standing on a dock and holding up a gigantic fish. Definitely not the gym trainer who’d been in that frame on Valentine’s Day.

Apparently Ms. Bliss had also had a lot going on since February.

“Mr. Whitmore sent me a very interesting memo,” Ms. Bliss was saying.

My English teacher? I glanced at her, worried. Was it about that time he’d caught me and Audre passing notes instead of listening to his mind-numbing lecture on Ralph Waldo Emerson?

“I can explain,” I said.

“I see he approved a book group you started,” Ms. Bliss went on, still looking at her papers. “Along with Scott Harper and Audre Legrand?” She flashed me her sparkly smile. “Impressive. I met with Audre last month—she’s such a poised young lady, wise beyond her years. And Scott—well, he’s just one of my favorites.”

No surprise that Ms. Bliss would adore Activity Boy. “He’s amazing,” I agreed, reminding myself to thank Scott and Audre for being my friends, especially after my recent Rosamund insanity.

“Tell me about this book group, Norah,” Ms. Bliss said, tapping her Marshmallow nails (it’s a curse—having Stacey for a sister, I always recognize nail polish shades) on the desk.

Tell her about the book group? What could I say?
Well, there’s this boy I’m in love with but I just asked his best friend out on a date, and there’s this bitchy girl with a secret past who might or might not be sleeping with the hot college boy my best friend is in love with, and Scott is taking a break from love, though he did go on a date last night
….

“What sorts of books did you read?” Ms. Bliss prompted.

I blinked. Books. Right. That
was
supposed to be the whole point of the group—not who was in love with whom. How did my little extracurricular club turn into a soap opera?

Coming to, I told Ms. Bliss everything—well, everything that would matter to a college counselor. I told her about
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, The Devil Wears Prada, Bitter Ironies
, and the upcoming Philippa event we’d organized. As I talked, I started to realize that we
had
kind of done a lot, especially considering half of us had hated each other in the beginning. Maybe the book group was an actual accomplishment. Who knew?

Ms. Bliss thought so. “Colleges will love this, Norah,” she declared. “And, considering your solid SAT scores and improved midterm grades, I’d say your college future is looking much, much brighter. You might even have a shot at Vassar.”