Do-Over (17 page)

As it is, it’s going to be hard enough for me to find a dress I can wear to the prom when I’m a senior. Not without a ton of help from Dad
and
a really good push-up bra to hold up whatever creation he finds at the store. Tape alone wouldn’t cut it for me. There’s nothing to tape.

“Probably not,” Georg concedes. “Most of the people who come to my parents’ parties are older. I’m always relieved when they bring their kids. Gives me someone to talk to and hang out with.”

And he never went out with any of them?

“Never met one I wanted to get serious with, though.”

The guy is a freaking mind reader. “So does this mean you’re not the type to, um, date around? See more than one person at once?”

“Depends on the situation.” He plays with my hair again, which is kinda distracting.
“If you’re asking about your Dad, if he and Anna aren’t all that serious about each other, it’s probably a healthy thing if they go out with other people too.”

Angelina has stopped to talk to one of the entertainment reporters, but neither of us is listening anymore. I feel Georg press a kiss to the top of my head before he says, “But if you’re asking about us, Val . . . I have no desire to see anyone else right now. I’m happy like this. I meant it when I told you that I love you.”

Hoo-boy. “I meant it too. I hope you know that.”

I feel my fingers flinch in his. Damn. He felt it too, because he sits up so my head is no longer against his shoulder, then turns so his whole body is facing me. “What?”

Now or never. I try to picture Jules lacing up her combat boots, telling me to spit it out.

“Well,” I say, trying to fight back the sick feeling in my stomach, “there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you since I got back from Virginia, but I was never sure how. Or how you’d take it.”

“You went out with someone else while
you were home.” He says it as a statement of fact, not even a question. Like he knew this was coming once I started asking him what he thought about Dad and Anna. I just nod.

“Was it serious?”

“No. No way.” He doesn’t look the least bit angry, so I take that as a good sign and barrel on, “It was this guy I’ve known since kindergarten. I had a huge crush on him, but he never even looked at me. When I went home for break, Christie had set us up on a blind date totally without my knowledge. It was one of those things where I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

“So why do you seem so upset about it?”

Breathe in. Breathe out
. “To be totally honest, at the time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to say no.” I can barely get the words out. I hate saying them, but I feel like I’d be hiding something important
not
saying them.

Georg obviously thinks so, too, because he looks troubled. “Was it . . .” He fiddles with a piece of popcorn, then tosses it back in the bowl, something Dad wouldn’t approve of. “Was it because I’d told you I wanted to cool it?”

“That was part of it. And I’ll admit, I
did
have a thing for him for, like, forever. So I was curious.”

He’s just quiet. Angelina is off the screen, and they cut to a commercial—something in German for an orange drink that looks positively gross—and the weird music only seems to emphasize the awkward silence between us.

I do
not
want my relationship to go into a tailspin during an orange drink commercial. It just seems wrong.

“Georg, I know you’re probably mad. But you should know it turned out great—”

“Great?”

“Yes. Great. Because I found out what I want.” I’m as serious as I can be, trying to ignore the goofy cartoon, which is now showing exploding oranges. Really and truly
exploding
.

I reach over and put my hand on top of his. “Even if you
had
meant that you really wanted to cool it—as in break up with me—I figured out that what I really wanted all along was you.”

He looks down at where my pale hand is resting on top of his. “So why didn’t you think you could tell me?”

“‘Cause I know how I would’ve felt if you told me you’d gone out with Steffi while I was gone.” I gesture toward the screen. I can’t help but giggle now, because the commercial is getting beyond ridiculous. “I’d probably do like those nasty oranges. Kerblooey.”

I should shut up. I mean, sheesh. Sometimes I say things that are just uncalled for. They leap out of my mouth before my brain can grab them back.

And worse—I laugh while I say them.

“I sincerely hope this guy wasn’t as bad as Steffi.”

I shake my head. “Nah. He’s okay. But he’s not you.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“Seriously?” He’s not going to grill me about whether or not I kissed David? Or whether I’m e-mailing him or if I’m dying to go back to Virginia to be with him? Because those are the questions most guys would ask.

Then again, Georg is not most guys.

“Seriously.” His fingers tighten around mine. “So what made you think about Steffi, of all people?”

“Well, you know how she is.”

“She wasn’t at the dance bothering you tonight, was she? Making all her little comments?”

I love that he sees her for what she is. It boggles my mind that no one else catches on to her slick little compliments that really aren’t.

Though, given Maya’s comments at the dance, I’m beginning to wonder if she at least is starting to see the light.

“Nah. Steffi didn’t make it to the dance for whatever reason. You know . . .” I make a face that’s less than polite. “I actually thought she might be trying to find you.”

“Hmmm. She might’ve been.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me do a double take.

“I did mention that I had an Oscar party, remember?” His smile is positively wicked. “When we were all at the lunch table.”

“Oh, I remember.” Steffi even looked at me and said it wasn’t meant to be with me and Georg.

Ha. She can bite me.

“Well, yesterday I also made certain to whine about an event I have to attend at the Freital Hilton. Didn’t say
when
. . .”

I totally lose it. Totally. I can’t believe he would even
think
to do that. “You’re as evil as Steffi!”

“It was for a good cause. And maybe when she spends an evening hunting me down for nothing, she’ll realize how insane she’s being.”

Another celeb is on the red carpet, and I hear the entertainment reporter gushing about a green dress, but I can’t look at the screen. I don’t want to. I only want to look at Georg and think about how lucky I am.

How could I have stressed out over telling him about David? Especially when the girls were bugging me about it, and they’ve never steered me wrong.

I know—I didn’t want to lose him—but I should have known him well enough to know how he’d take it. A-list opinion or not.

“I never told a girl I loved her before.” Georg’s voice is gentle compared to the gushing reporters on the television.

“Then I’d better not drink, ‘cause I never told a girl I loved her before, either.”

I. Must. Stop. Kidding. Around. When. I. Am. Nervous.

Must, must, must.

He just looks confused, so I explain, “Sorry. I Never. It’s a drinking game Jules said she heard about once. Someone says, ‘I never,’ and then follows it up with a crazy statement. Something like, ‘I never walked out of my house naked.’ Everyone who can say truthfully ‘I never’ to the same statement says it, but everyone else has to take a drink.” I roll my eyes. “It was just a bad joke.”

What is it with me and my mouth?

He seems pretty fixated on the joke, though. “So everyone who actually has walked out of their house naked would end up drinking?”

“Apparently that’s the game.”

“I never played I Never.”

“Me either, and I have no desire to play. Ever.” Good thing, too. I got in enough trouble when people simply
thought
I was smoking. If anyone gets the impression I’m teaching Georg drinking games . . . geez, I am so dead.

He gets a funny look on his face, but before I can ask him what he’s thinking—I know, I know, girls should never ask guys
the what-are-you-thinking question, but I’m dying to know—he scoots a few inches closer to me, and either the light from the TV is reflecting in his eyes, or they’re actually shining. “I bet I can change your mind. Say we play for kisses instead?”

Oooh, now that’s got my interest. “All right. I never told a guy I loved him before. But I do love you.”

He starts to lean in to kiss me, but stops with his mouth about an inch from mine. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Do we kiss if it’s an ‘I never’ or kiss if it’s something we have done?”

“Does it matter?”

He doesn’t answer. He just gives me what probably rates as the best kiss of my life. The kind that lets me know exactly what he’s thinking.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
THE PARTY!

Hey Val,

OMG. You missed a KILLER Oscar party at my house last night.

First, you know it’s always a girl thing. Just the four of us. Well, not half an hour into the preshow, when Angelina Jolie’s strutting along the red carpet showing off her numerous assets, Jeremy shows up. He has flowers in hand (no, really), and he tells Christie how sorry he is for bailing on her the last few weeks while he’s been marathon training. She, of course, loves the whole sappy flowers-with-apology routine, so she invites him to stay. And they are beyond mushy now, lemme tell you. It’s blinding to see it.

Jeremy comes up for air (from kissing Christie) long enough to ask if he can call David Anderson. Just ‘cause we’re all having so much fun watching the Oscars and it’s Saturday night and all. So about fifteen minutes after Jeremy gets there, David shows up.

Then Natalie—being her late self—finally arrives. Her parents let her come, since she swore to them she wouldn’t go anywhere else except straight to my house and back, yadda yadda yadda. Apparently, they had some dinner party with Dr. and Mrs. Petrie last night and
Natalie actually behaved herself just so she could come. (I know, I know, I found it very hard to believe.)

Wall—guess what? There was another reason she was on her best behavior for her parents.

SHE BROUGHT JOHN!!!

No warning. She didn’t ask me before-hand or even give me a hint she might bring a guest. She just brought him. (Not that this was a problem . . . it was just a shock.)

And you know what? John’s actually pretty cool. Very much a chilled-out type and not someone who’ll’ take Nat’s snarky comments seriously (which is key).

That’s not even the best part of the night.

Sit down. This is huge.

Okay . . . you sitting?

After I get an eyeful of Heath Ledger and Orlando Bloom (oh, Orlando, my baby . . .), go to the kitchen for more Diet Coke. I turn around to walk back to the family room and realize that David has followed me to the kitchen.

Get this: He was trying to get me alone
because he wanted to know if maybe we could go out sometime.

I actually laughed in his face. I didn’t mean to, I swear. He’s a nice enough guy and all. But CAN YOU IMAGINE? After all these years of him going for the big-boob cheerleader types. Then him finally going after you (after waking up to the fact that you are COOL). Now he comes clawing at my door.

Needless to say, once I managed to stop laughing, I told him no.

He was really cool about it, though. (Surprise, surprise.) In fact, we hung out in the kitchen for a while, making fun of the two lovebird couples in the family room. (And man, were they lovey-dovey. I swear, I’ve never seen Christie or Nat so happy. Go figure.)

I’m sure you’ll get the scoop from Christie and Nat once they wake up and can get on e-mail, but since they’re going to be all gushy when they write and will probably go on and on with their whole I-had-this-(GUY-thing-happen-to-me crap, I figured you ought to hear my totally unbiased perspective on it all.

And I figured you’d want to know that all is right with the world.

Love,

Jules, single girl extraordinaire and proud of it

PS—So tell me about your night with Georg. Yeah, we knew all about it. How else do you think a total Oscar virgin like him would know how to find a network over there carrying the preshow in English? Or how you can’t watch without popcorn? Or who might’ve tipped him off on how to ditch that Steffi chick you whined to us about when you were home for vacation?

PPS—Blame your dad. He gave Christie’s e-mail addy to Georg so he could get some coaching from those of us who love you best.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: RE: THE PARTY!

Dear Coolest Jules,

Thanks for the inside scoop on the Oscar party.
Of course you know I trust your version of events as the One True Story. (Ha. I’m SO gonna e-mail Christie. . .)

I’m very happy for Christie and for Nat. You’re gonna love this, though: I literally fell out of my chair laughing reading about David, so your warning to sit down before I read about it didn’t do much good. I was leaning back in the chair, total tears running down my face, and somehow my chair fell over backward. I stuck out on arm to save myself, but still ended up whacking my head on the wall.

Even worse, Dad came running into my room to see what happened and I was just sprawled on the floor, laughing so hard I thought I might actually throw up. Now he thinks I’m insane because I’m laughing-slash-crying while alone in my room.

Anyway—I’m about to head out with Dad to run errands. He’s taking me to the Schwerinborg Wal-Mart. No kidding . . . they have Wal-Mart here. It’s like they’re going for world domination. (Even worse than McDonald’s, which I will confess I am having total cravings for.) But as soon as I get home, I’ll send a longer e-mail and tell you everything about my completely romantic, perfect night. (Though since apparently you guys were planning this with Georg ahead of time, you know a
lot of it already. This is why you, Nat, and Christie are my absolute A-list and I will love you forever.)