Pretenders (22 page)

“Has he texted or asked to hang or anything?”

“No. He invites me over to shop.”

“Ha! That old excuse.” Blake held the nameless dog’s leash with one hand and tipped his paperboy cap with the other, proof that he subscribed to the I-shop-for-love channel.

“You think it means something?” I asked, jumping a crack in the road.

“Of course it does.”

“What?”

“It means he’s using clothes as an excuse to hang out. Guys are shy. They need a way in. Shopping is his way in.”

“You think?”

“Um, Snooki, have you seen
my
wardrobe?”

“Yes, Amelia. I have.”

When we got back Duffy was shooting hoops on his driveway. Blake hugged me goodbye, whispered “get some,” and rolled on outta there. I would have killed him if I didn’t love him so much.

“Back with the dogs,” I announced.

“Interesting technique,” he said as they pulled me up his driveway.

I giggled because I didn’t know what to say.

Duffy shot a basket. “That your boyfriend?”

My heart bounced higher than the ball. I couldn’t believe he asked me that.

“ ’S okay if you don’t want to tell me,” he said, shooting again.

(Swish.)

“Tell you
what
?”

“If that guy is your boyfriend.”

I needed Vanessa or Blake or anyone who might know what I should do next. If I said yes, would that make him jealous? Would jealousy make him like me more? Or give up and move on? If I said Blake wasn’t my boyfriend, he’d think I was incapable of being liked. Or that I liked Blake but he didn’t like—

“I’m getting a new box of clothes tomorrow,” he said. “If you want to come by.”

“Blake is gay.”

10.5.12

INT. LAVENDER BATH—NIGHT.

SHERIDAN puts quill to paper while soaking in the memories of her first date earlier that evening.

Logan pulled up to my house and honked. I kissed my parents goodbye and told them to put the camera down. This wasn’t a date. They weren’t missing any big moments. I was simply getting a ride to rehearsal with a friend. Dad said he wasn’t questioning my plan, only my motive. I dug through my purse to hide the fact that his
CSI
jargon was freaking me out. Did he know I was about to commit a crime?

Mom tried to explain.

Your father isn’t questioning the fact that you’re going to rehearsal with this boy—

Logan.

Logan. It’s just that he, we, think you’ve spent a long time getting ready.

So?

So maybe Logan means more to you than—

Than what, Mom? A ride? Because that’s all he is. A ride. I spent a long time getting ready because I am trying to get into character.

But you’re the—

It’s okay. You can say understudy. But I’m also a professional. I need to be ready in case Octavia gets taken out by a truck or something.

Sheridan!
(Them.)

Excuse me for being optimistic.

Another honk.

Gotta go.

I bolted.

Logan said
wow
when he saw me. I knew Scarlett Johansson was the right call for a date. Rubenesque undercarriage, sexy, and daring; I needed to be all of those things. And I was.

My hair was sculpted to the side and loosely curled at the bottom. Like Scarlett I played up my lips with berry-colored gloss (“Maybe she’s born with it”) while downplaying the eyes with mascara and gold shadow. I stuffed my pear parts into skinny jeans and showcased my flat midriff with a boxy tank
that “accidentally” shot north when I moved. And my pointy faux snakeskin pumps? Ssssssssssssexy.

The “daring” is everything that happened next.

The dealership was closed when we got there. Floppy Beemer was our only witness. I made Logan turn around while I disabled the alarm system, then made him triple swear he’d never talk about this.

Dude, this is so hot.

I wanted to turn around and run. Not because I was afraid of getting busted. But because Logan was rubbing his hands together really quickly and licking his lips. Like he was about to eat a giant steak and I was the side of potatoes. If I was going to be anyone’s side I didn’t want to be his. But that was Sheridan talking and this night belonged to Scarlett.

I lifted the keys from the case and jangled them in front of Logan’s eyes the way he had done to Audri back on the first day of school. The memory gave me a chill. It was hard to believe that was only a few weeks ago. My life has changed so much since then. Audri, the play, this crime. None of it seemed possible. And yet, here I was. Helping some Biff drive Dad’s prized possession.

Let’s do this!
Logan snatched the keys from my hand, unlocked the door, and tossed his suede jacket into the backseat. I laughed when he slipped on fingerless driving gloves and said,
M3 GTR ready for liftoff.

I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. The guy blasted out of the dealership before my seat belt clicked, and shot down Old Bell Road doing 90. The speed limit is 35.

Slow down!

I can’t! My shoe is stuck on the gas!

This time he was joking but I didn’t laugh. I squeezed his arm.
Seriously! Slow down.

Drivers flashed their headlights. Pedestrians scurried.

Logan, please! Someone is gonna call the cops.

What are they gonna call them? Pigs?
(Him, not being funny.)

Drop to 60!

He took it to 100. I blamed Octavia. She drove me to this. (PUN INTENDED!)

Deer!

Where?
Logan stomped on the brake. We flew forward.
Incredible control.

He sat there gripping the wheel, staring out at the road ahead. He was practically panting.
I don’t see any deer.

My text alert chirped. I leaned forward to get my purse off the floor. Logan jammed the gas. My head slammed back against the seat.

I felt dizzy. Clammy. Heavy. Achy. I found my phone. Audri. She just asked Jagger to Octavia’s party. He said yes.

Yay!
(Me texting.)

My intestines began to throb. I started to feel sick. I can’t remember if it was Logan’s driving, the texting while speeding, or not being invited to their party that did it. All I remember is that Scarlett was gone and Sheridan was back.

Guess I wasn’t invited.
(I texted.)

I told O to put you on the list. She promised. Maybe it’s in your junk mail.

I rolled down the window.

Sher, you believe me, right?

I wanted to type
yes
, but we were about to break the sound barrier and my mouth was starting to water. Then came the prickly sweat.

I stuck my head out the window. My hair uncoiffed and blew into my gloss. Logan was clueless. To him the open windows were an opportunity to poke himself out the moon roof and drive with his knees. The car began to sway. I tugged on his Diesels.

Sit down!

Whooooo-hoooooooooooo!

I began to taste batteries. I felt around the backseat for Logan’s jacket.

He was howling out the moon roof and didn’t hear my yeti burp. Or the splat of puke that pooled in the satin lining of his Hugo Boss bomber. Or me whipping the suede barf bag onto Old Bell Road. The screeching tires drowned everything out.

We made it back to the dealership without an arrest, a hit-and-run, or death. Logan said he was so excited he could kiss me.

I didn’t want anything of the sort. And not just because I had puke breath. After that ride, after what I risked for him, I hated him even more than Octavia. I invited him to Octavia’s party.

He accepted without hesitation.

We spent the next hour searching the dealership for his
jacket. He said it was really expensive. He just got it. It was his favorite. His house keys were in there.

I acted like someone who cared. It was quite the performance. Where are the cameras when you need them?

To Be Continued…

END SCENE.

Oct. 5.

I took one of Randy’s Chihuahua puppies for a late-night walk. The tan one. I was smiling too much to be alone.

Audri invited me to a party.

As her date.

A BMW zoomed by.

The pup started to shake.

I found a suede coat on Old Bell Road.

The label said Hugo Boss.

Lucky day!

I’d wrap the shaking dog in the coat. I’d wear it to the party with Audri. I’d sell it after and use the money to buy her flowers.

I picked it up.

It was filled with puke so I dropped it.

I still felt lucky.