How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend (18 page)

Then Grandma spent the next half an hour telling me how wonderful I was and that Jesse didn't deserve me, and I wasn't too emotional, I was
piena di vita!
Grandma had been the exact same way as a girl.

I'm not sure how comforting that last part was, because it made me worry that I was doomed to be the kind of little old lady who insults her granddaughter's dates twelve seconds after meeting them. So you know, maybe there really is a time and place to rein in those overreactions.

Still, Grandma said I could come over Thursday night and in fact any night I ever wanted to, and she was going to invite over Gary, that nice young man from her bingo group, to meet me sometime.

“You don't have to,” I said. “Daphne is doing a fine job of setting me up. In fact she's setting me up more than I want to be set up.”

“But who is she finding for you? Is he Italian, this boy?”

“Buddy's American, Grandma. We're all American.”

“Is he Catholic at least?”

If I had been smart I would have said, “Yes.” I mean, what would it have mattered? The guy was already pretending to like me for Jesse's sake. What difference would it have made for him to be Catholic for one night? But instead I said, “I don't know,” which earned me a lecture that I couldn't quite follow because she kept lapsing into Italian. Finally she said, “
Bellissima,
it will all work out for the best, and I'll see you on Thursday.”

The next morning I felt a little better. I told myself that from now on instead of being emotional, I was going to approach my problems from a logical point of view. Dante obviously did this, and it worked well, because thus far he'd never been arrested. Well, okay, maybe he wasn't approaching the whole thing with Raine very logically, even though I told him again that she didn't like him. Dante wouldn't look at her, and he was clearly avoiding her.

I mean, really, was that the best way to handle things? He was going to hide from Raine until he was convinced she didn't like him anymore? Wouldn't the logical thing have been to talk to her and say something like, “Hey, I just like you as a friend”? And in which case she would have told him, “Hey, you're so full of yourself. What makes you think I like you in the first place?”

And then he would tell her about our conversation on Saturday, and well . . . maybe it was better for Charity if I let Dante be illogical about this one. I didn't want him to start avoiding her.

Anyway, the point is, I was trying not to be emotional. I examined the facts surrounding my problem. Fact 1) I broke up with Jesse because he'd betrayed Dante. Fact 2) That might have been an overreaction, but now we weren't on the best of terms, and Jesse had said some things that irritated me, but Fact 3) I had probably also said some things that had bothered him, like when I yelled, “We're through” in a roomful of people. Fact 4) Daphne had assured us that she knew the way to the concert stadium in Houston, but instead had driven us everywhere except to the concert stadium in Houston, so probably I should give Charity's advice a try and talk to Jesse.

So drawing upon the vast powers of logic, which, after all, were used to build complex things like computers, bridges, and an entire amusement park made out of Legos, I decided I needed to talk to Jesse. Face to face. These really weren't things I wanted to talk about over the phone. I didn't have time during English class, since I knew if I even looked in Jesse's direction, Bill would start into a treatise on transferring into World History.

But I had a good idea where Jesse would be in the morning. Daphne had said Wilson held his campaign meetings in the library. I'd seen Wilson hang out in the library before, so I knew where he liked to go—the very back corner of the nonfiction section. If I got there early enough, I could intercept Jesse before his meeting. I'd be casually reading up on the life of Nikola Tesla, and see him, and I'd say something like, “We really should talk.”

And then we could work things out. Or he would tell me we couldn't work things out. In which case I was so going to La Comida Ranchera with Buddy to make him jealous.

Oops, I'd let emotion creep back into my thoughts. I had to stop doing that.

At breakfast time I sat down beside Skipper and Dante and poured myself cereal.

Skipper chomped on a spoonful of Cheerios, then tilted her head at me. “How come your eyes are puffy?”

Leave it to the five-year-old to notice details the adults overlooked. “I guess I'm having a reaction to my new mascara,” I said.

Dante looked over at me but didn't comment.

Skipper kept staring. “Can I have it then?”

Skipper loves putting on makeup, with or without permission. “I wouldn't want it to make your eyes puffy,” I said.

“Oh.” She went back to eating her Cheerios, clearly disappointed by this outcome and probably scheming to get into my makeup as soon as I walked out the door.

Dante looked over at me again. “Is it that Jesse brand of mascara you've been using?”

I didn't answer him. “Can you drive me to school about a half an hour early?”

He glanced at the clock, then at his bowl full of cereal. “Why so early?”

I shrugged. “No reason.”

“I won't be ready that soon.”

“All right.” I took another bite of my cereal. “I'll wait for Raine then. She mentioned she would stop by our house and offer us both a ride to school.”

Dante held up one hand and shoveled cereal into his mouth. “Five minutes,” he sputtered between mouthfuls. “Give me five.”

You see, when used in the right way, logic can be a very effective tool.

 

When I walked into the library, no one else was there. This was because Dante had become so eager to leave the house before Raine supposedly showed up that he practically dragged me out the door on the spot. When he got to the school, he hurried off, I wasn't sure to where. Maybe he planned on hiding out in the boys' bathroom until school started or something. It made me feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough that I wanted to tell him the truth.

I went to the library, parked myself behind the biography shelf, and pulled out a book on Galileo. As soon as Jesse walked through the library doors, I would come out of my spot. I tried to go over casual opening lines in my mind.

Except what if he noticed my puffy eyes? I mean, I couldn't count on all guys to be less observant than my five-year-old sister. Maybe I should wait until another day when I didn't look like I'd spent last night crying. I could get Dante to take me early again if I mentioned Raine was stopping by tomorrow morning too. In fact, who knew how much stuff I could get Dante to do for me simply to avoid my friend? I may have stumbled upon the mother lode of motivators.

I peered at my reflection on the metal book shelf, trying to tell how bad my eyes looked. That's when I noticed Wilson and Luke walk in. They walked toward the back of the room, but Alex McCarthy intercepted them halfway there. Alex is the type of guy I'm well acquainted with, because I spent thirty days in the alternative learning center with people just like him. If he wasn't currently in trouble with the law, he'd be there soon. I wouldn't have thought much about Wilson stopping to talk to him, because Wilson in campaign mode talked to everybody, but Alex was a senior. Seniors couldn't vote. So Alex wouldn't have anything to say to Wilson about the election, and Wilson had no reason to try and win his vote.

While I watched, Wilson pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out some bills, and handed them to Alex. Alex tucked them into his jeans, then without an acknowledgment or good-bye, he turned and strode out the library door. The whole thing happened so quickly that a moment later I asked myself if I'd really seen it. But I had, and I had no idea what it meant. Why would the mayor's son give someone like Alex McCarthy money? It seemed so sinister.

Wilson and Luke sat down at the table directly in front of my bookshelf. Instead of waiting for anyone else, they talked about Wilson's speech for the election assembly on Friday, and what he should and shouldn't say to the student body.

I gazed past them at the doors. I should have taken into consideration that Jesse probably wouldn't be the first one to come to the meeting. Now it would be awkward to walk out when he came. It would seem like I'd been spying on their meeting. Which I totally wasn't because, really, the talk was boring even in outline form.

Another thing I hadn't considered: What if Jesse walked in with Bridget? I couldn't tell him I wanted to talk to him with her standing right there.

Apparently this logic stuff took some practice, and I had failed miserably at my first attempt.

Wilson and Luke went on, and no one else came. I couldn't walk out of the library unless I walked right past them. Which meant I was stuck here until they left. So I listened to them, because that was slightly more interesting than reading about where Galileo was born.

Wilson wondered if he should emphasize the dependability factor more blah blah blah, because he could get the job done better than Dante blah blah blah.

I was about to opt for Galileo after all when Luke said, “Dude, you've way overworked this campaign. You could have won without doing half the stuff you've done.”

Wilson's grip on his paper tensed. “But people love an underdog, and in this election Dante is David and I'm Goliath. More than a few people would love to see me crash face-first into the dirt.” He laid his speech back on the table, smoothing it out where he'd gripped it too hard. “Besides, if I lose, my dad will never let me live it down. He controls the whole city, and I couldn't win a stupid school election? It would be less humiliating to come home and tell him I want to enroll in ballet school.”

Luke smirked at him. “Maybe, but think how spiffy you'd look in tights.”

Wilson smacked Luke across the shoulder, and I ducked farther behind a row of books in case one of them looked in my direction. I couldn't see them anymore, but I still heard their voices.

“Just leave Dante alone,” Luke said. “He's doing a fine job of driving away voters with stupid stunts like he pulled last Saturday. Come this Friday he'll have the word ‘Loser' stamped on his forehead for good.”

Wilson let out a sigh. “Should I put that joke about financing our ten-year reunion into my speech, or is that too much?”

“You know what you need to win by a landslide? Just don't ask anyone to prom before Friday. You've got every dateless girl in school voting for you.”

Wilson gave a laugh that was almost a snort. “That's not what I have to worry about. What I have to worry about is how many of them will ask me to prom before the election.”

Luke's voice lost its serious edge. “Man, they were all over you on Saturday. I nearly had to issue them numbers and make them stand in line.”

“You think I should tone it down?”

“Nah, keep it up and let them all ask you to prom. In fact, turn the whole thing into a bidding war. Whoever offers the best deal gets you as their date.” They both laughed at this, and then Luke added, “Low-cut dress and limo required.”

“What will I do with the rest of my offers?”

“Keep one as a backup and cut the others loose.”

More laughter. I peeked over the books and saw Wilson leaning forward in his chair. “No, I'll write them rejection letters like Mrs. Pembroke's.”

“For their own personal bulletin boards,” Luke said.

Wilson ripped a page of paper out of his notebook and placed it in front of him. “Dear Prom applicant . . .” He didn't say anything else, but whatever he wrote must have been funny, because Luke laughed so hard the librarian sent them one of those You'd-better-be-quiet-or-I'll-smack-you-with-your-own-book sorts of looks.

After that they laughed more quietly, but Wilson kept writing. I craned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of his words, but I was too far away. Then Luke glanced toward the front of the library. “Ditch the letter. Here comes Bridget.”

I looked and then took a step over to where the books completely hid me. It wasn't just Bridget.

“It doesn't matter,” Wilson said, but he crumpled up the paper anyway. “She's the only girl in school who doesn't want me to ask her.” I heard the thud of paper hitting metal, and then Wilson said with forced lightness, “Two points.”

“Bridget's just ticked off that you're flirting with other girls, so she's trying to make you jealous,” Luke said. “That's the only reason she hangs off of Jesse like she was some kind of a Christmas tree ornament.”

A moment later I heard them all say hello to each other—Bridget, Stacey, and Mr. Christmas Tree himself.

“Sorry we're late,” Jesse said. “We passed out the rest of the ‘Vote for Wilson' buttons.”

“We didn't think you'd miss us,” Bridget said, and I could tell there was another meaning to her words.

Wilson answered her unemotionally. “We didn't. We were going over my speech.”

Was Luke right about her? And how would Jesse feel when he found out she only trailed around him to make Wilson jealous? I smiled, despite myself.

Wilson gave them a rundown of his speech—still just as boring—and then the bell rang. I heard them pick up their books and move their chairs. I listened as their voices and footsteps grew distant. And even then I didn't come out of my hiding place. I waited another minute until I knew they weren't coming back. Then I walked over to the garbage can, sorted through the trash, and pulled out a wadded piece of paper with Wilson's handwriting.