Speed Dating (19 page)

“Thanks,” Lina said. Peter and Tess were finally dead. Lina and Walker were very relieved. That night she pressed on Walker’s
squeaky spot to celebrate.

To:     mad4u

From: your daily horoscope

HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: No one expects you to be master of your domain, but low-level competence would be nice.

I
s it me? Is it him? What am I doing wrong?” Mads asked Quintana. They were sitting on the bleachers after school, watching
the boys’ varsity lacrosse team practice.

“Tell me again what happened,” Quintana said. “And this time, give me every single detail.”

“The gum thing was kind of a fluke,” Mads said. “The main problem is, whenever we’re really into it, and I start
to French-kiss him, something interrupts us. It’s getting to the point where I think I’m turning him off. But, why? He seems
really eager to kiss me at first, but—”

“Stop right there.” Quintana shook her head in disapproval. “Did you say
you
start to French-kiss him?”

“Yes?” Mads said uncertainly. “What?”

“No, no, no,” Quintana said. “Mads, don’t you know about the Tongue Rule?”

The Tongue Rule? “I’ve never heard of that,” Mads said.

“I thought everybody knew it,” Quintana said. “The Tongue Rule is: Never put your tongue in a boy’s mouth first. Always let
him
do it first.”

“But why?” Mads asked, baffled. This sounded like a rule left over from her grandmother’s days, like expecting a boy to stand
up when you entered a room. Remnants from another time. Another one that was big with Grandma: “No boy will ever want to marry
you if you don’t learn to hold a fork properly.”

“It’s one of those weird boy-secrets,” Quintana said. “If you go first, it makes them feel like they don’t have control. It
scares them. Maybe when they’re older and have more confidence it’s okay, but with high school boys you must always follow
the Tongue Rule.”

“All this time I’ve been violating the Tongue Rule without realizing it,” Mads said. “No wonder Stephen’s
been so weird with me. How can I reverse the damage?”

“Just start following the rule now,” Quintana said. “It’s not irreversible. Things will get better soon, Mads, if you let him
take the lead.”

Mads sighed. So she
had
been doing everything wrong. But why did she have to let the boy take the lead? It was very frustrating. She didn’t like
to wait. She wanted to take charge and make things go in the direction
she
wanted.

Well, she decided, if it would make Stephen more comfortable, it was worth it.

On the field, a whistle blew. The lacrosse ball got away from one of the players and rolled toward the girls, stopping at
Quintana’s feet. Mads waited for Quintana to pick it up and toss it back onto the field. But Quintana just leaned back, shook
her long hair, and tapped the ball with her toe.

A boy—Mads couldn’t tell who it was because he had his helmet on—ran over to the sidelines and called, “Little help?”

Why was Quintana just sitting there? Mads leaned forward to reach for the ball and throw it back on the field.

But Quintana stopped Mads’ hand. “Wait,” she said. “Sit back.”

Mads sat back. The boy crossed the sideline to scoop
up the ball with his stick. Two other boys ran off the field, racing to get to the ball first. Inches away from Mads and Quintana,
they battled over the little white ball at their feet, knocking helmets and slapping at each other with their sticks. Finally,
one of the boys trapped the ball, scooped it up, and cradled it in the netting. He barked out a victorious laugh and glanced
back at the girls—the winner! The other boys wouldn’t give up, kept clacking their sticks against his, trying to knock the
ball away.

The coach blew his whistle. “Quit fooling around over there. Back to the scrimmage!”

“Thanks for the help, girls,” the boy with the ball said, a flirtatious lilt in his voice.

“Did you see that?” Quintana said. “They weren’t fighting over the ball. They were fighting over
us.”

“They were?” How did Quintana know these things? She seemed to be reading a secret code that Mads didn’t even know was there.

“Trust me. They were,” Quintana said.

“Did one of them win us?” Mads asked.

“No,” Quintana said. “Because we’re not that easily impressed.”

“Oh.”
I still have a lot to learn,
Mads realized with a pang. Her ignorance of boys was overwhelming. Scary.
So much to learn.

To:     hollygolitely

From: your daily horoscope

HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: After you die, your ghost will haunt the earth like one of those losers who keeps coming
back to high school after graduation. Why am I telling you this now? Just to see the look on your face.

Otavio—dressed in pressed jeans, a pink polo shirt, gold chains around his neck, a yellow sweater tied rakishly over his shoulders,
tasseled loafers, no socks, and hair freshly blow-dried—answers the door of his lavish villa. At the threshold stands Blanca,
Marisol’s beautiful blond younger sister. She is dressed in a tight, brightly colored, cleavageenhancing
wrap dress and red spike heels.

Otavio: Blanca!

Blanca: Otavio—I have to talk to you. May I come in?

Otavio (letting her in): Is everything all right?

Blanca: No. It’s Adolfo. (She looks shaken.)

Otavio: Adolfo! Your adopted brother?

Blanca (sobs): Yes. Oh, Otavio, it was horrible! (She throws herself into his arms. As he holds her, the camera reveals a
sneaky look on her face that Otavio can’t see.)

Otavio: What did he do to you?

Blanca: He tried to… he tried to… kiss me, and then… (dissolves into tears)

Otavio: My poor, darling girl. (Looks at her, then kisses her. She returns his kiss, passionately.) Oh, Blanca.

Blanca: Oh, Otavio!

(They stumble into Otavio’s bedroom, all over each other, and fall into bed.)

Otavio: Wait, my darling. I have to make a quick call first. (He reaches for his bedside telephone and dials a number he knows
well.) Marisol? Darling, it’s me. I have bad news. I can’t make our dinner date tonight. I’m sorry, beloved, but it’s
business and I can’t put it off. I’ll call you later. Love you. Kiss kiss.

(He hangs up and snuggles up beside Blanca in bed.)

Otavio: Now, where were we?

(Commercial.)

“That was hot,” Sebastiano said.

“I found it disturbing,” Holly said.

So far, Otavio had only had eyes for Marisol. And that was how Eli had behaved, too. Now, all of a sudden, Otavio was a giant
cad? Now that Holly was falling again for Eli? How could those Mexican writers change the script on her this way?

“Disturbing?” Sebastiano said. “Why? Would Eli seduce your sister?”

“I doubt it, since she’s in college and not exactly interested in high school boys,” Holly said.

“So? You’re safe.”

“Not necessarily,” Holly said. “The point is that Otavio is cheating on Marisol. Does that mean Eli will cheat on me?”

“Are you seeing him tonight?”

“Yes,” Holly said. “We’re going out to dinner.”
It’s just a TV show,
she told herself.
Don’t freak.
But she knew Eli
would take it and tweak it in his own special way. The question was, how would he do it?

Her cell phone jingled. Holly looked at the caller ID. Eli. “It’s him,” she said.

“Oh, my god.” Sebastiano slid across the couch to be closer to the phone.

“Hello?” Holly said.

“Hey, it’s me,” Eli said. “Listen, I can’t make dinner tonight. I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Holly froze. This was unbelievable. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing big, just family stuff. I’ll call you later.”

“All right.” Holly clicked off. She turned to Sebastiano. This was too weird.

“Look at it this way,” Sebastiano said. “He doesn’t do
everything
like Otavio. He doesn’t wear those heavy gold chains, or tasseled loafers without socks. Or tie his sweaters around his neck.
He doesn’t, does he?”

“How do I know?” Holly asked. “Maybe, in the privacy of his room, he secretly does all that and more. Maybe he even irons his
jeans. What kind of guy patterns his whole life on a soap opera?”

“A lunatic?” Sebastiano said.

Holly frowned. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”

To:     mad4u

From: your daily horoscope

HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: A question will be answered, but if s not the one you asked.

I
t happened again,” Mads told Quintana. Mads was glad to find her in the lunchroom Thursday morning, having coffee before classes
began. Quintana: her guru, her adviser, her savior. Mads mixed herself a hot chocolate and sat down. Rebecca and Claire walked
in and waved to them from the coffee station. Quintana waved back. It looked as if things had warmed up between Quintana and
the female population of RSAGE.

“This time, I followed the Tongue Rule,” Mads said. “I held it in check. Then he started French-kissing me. His tongue was
all over the place. So I figured it was okay to release Old Sloppy and let her do her thing.”

“What happened?”

“The same as always,” Mads said. “He bolted upright, as if I’d stuck him with a pin, and that was it. Makeout session over.”

Quintana tore open a sugar packet and stirred it into her coffee. She shook her head. “Mads,” she said. “I have to confess
something. My store of boy knowledge has never been so tested. I’ve run out of advice.”

“You have?” Quintana run out of boy advice? Had Mads tapped her dry?

“Almost,” Quintana said. “I have one last piece of advice for you. If this doesn’t work, you’re on your own.”

“What?” Mads asked, impatient for Quintana’s last gem. “What is it?”

“Talk to Stephen,” Quintana said. “Ask him what’s going on.”

“Ask him?” Mads was disappointed. This was the kind of advice her mother would give her. But she’d tried everything else. It
was the only choice left.

“What if he shuts down?” Mads asked. “What if he won’t answer me?”

Quintana shrugged. “Then you’ll have to keep wondering.”

“That would suck,” Mads said.

“That’s the chance you take,” Quintana said.

After another aborted make-out session in his mother’s studio—Mads thought she’d give him one last chance—Mads dropped the
charade and confronted Stephen.

“Stephen,” she said. “Can I ask you something?” She leaned her right shoulder into his side and played with the buttons on his
shirt with her left hand. She wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t complaining, exactly, but just curious. “Have you ever
noticed… anything funny… about the way we kiss?”

“Funny?” He puckered up and kissed her quickly on the lips. “No. I like it.”

“I like it, too,” Mads said. “I love kissing you. That’s why it bothers me—or, I wonder why—it always has to stop so… abruptly?
Before we really get anywhere?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, but she saw something flicker across his face. He knew exactly what she meant. Something was
up, she was sure of it.

“I mean, I’m getting into it, and suddenly you stop,” Mads said. “Quintana told me I was breaking the Tongue Rule—”

“What’s the Tongue Rule?” Stephen asked.

“You should always let a boy initiate French-kissing,” Mads explained. “Or they freak out or something. But last time, you
started Frenching me, so I thought it was okay for me to do it. But you stopped me.”

“That’s crazy,” Stephen said. “Your friend Quintana doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Then what is it?” Mads asked. “Is something wrong with me? Does my mouth taste funny? Is my tongue too rough? Do I turn you
off somehow?”

“Mads, no!” Stephen hugged her and kissed her and hugged her harder. “Nothing’s wrong with you at all! You’re so cute and very
sexy and you always taste like delicious fruits or mints.”

“Then what is it?” Mads asked. “I don’t understand.”

He hesitated. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“That’s okay,” Mads said. “I won’t make fun of you.”

He squirmed. “It’s—it happens when you put your tongue in my mouth.”

“I’m doing something wrong, aren’t I,” Mads said. “I knew it. I just don’t get French-kissing!”

“No, Mads, you kiss great,” Stephen said. “I like that little swirly thing you do. It’s not that. It’s… This is so embarrassing…”

“What? You can tell me.”

“Well… look.” He opened his mouth wide. Mads peered inside. She saw a tongue, teeth, fillings…

“What? Do you pick up radio waves through your fillings or something?”

“No.” He pointed toward a spot in the back. “I’m missing a tooth. In the back. One of my molars. See that gaping hole?”

Gaping hole? “Oh, yeah,” Mads said. “But it’s not a gaping hole. It’s just a little tooth-sized empty spot.”

“It feels huge to me,” Stephen said. “And I can see it sometimes, if I look in the mirror and smile really wide or open my
mouth as if I’m laughing.”

Boys checked themselves out in the mirror that way, too?

“But what does that have to do with kissing?” Mads asked.

“I was afraid you’d feel the hole with your tongue and get grossed out,” Stephen said. “I was afraid you’d laugh at me. I feel
like a toothless hick. Like Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel.”

This did make Mads laugh. “You mean like the guy in the joke who’s so inbred, he’s his own grandpa? Just because you’re missing
a little tooth?”

“See?” Stephen said. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m laughing at the joke you made, not at you,” Mads
said. “I never even noticed that silly hole. Relax. You don’t have to worry about it—I swear. Even if I feel it, I promise
it won’t gross me out. Unless there are chewed-up crumbs stuck in there or something.”