The Perfect Guy (Books We Love Young Adult Romance) (5 page)

I doodled on the inside back cover of my notebook. I drew a heart, and in tiny letters only I could read I wrote
R.C.
+
P.N.

Chapter
Five

After school I rushed to the Town Hall, where I headed straight for the Historical Society room and buried myself in books and newspaper clippings of history about Sandy Cove that would never be found on the internet. Lost in the stories of earlier centuries, I didn’t even realize what time it was until Mrs. Gluck, on duty that day, cleared her throat and announced that it was after five o’clock.

"Oh, I’m sorry to keep you here so long, Mrs. Gluck. I just got caught up in Sandy Cove’s history."

"That’s all right." Mrs. Gluck patted my arm. "I stay this late anyway." She turned and pulled a blue booklet off a shelf. "Here. You might be interested in this."

I scanned the cover. Under a drawing of a sailboat was the title:
350 Years—Sandy Cove
.

"It’s a compilation of local history, along with some personal remembrances by various residents," Mrs. Gluck said.
"Thanks to the generosity of the advertisers, they’re free if you’d like one."

"Oh, yes. Thanks." I added the booklet to my pile of books.

"You’re most welcome," said Mrs. Gluck. "Come again any time."

"I
definitely will." I put on my jacket. "Thanks again."

Since it was too late to catch a ride with Mom, I walked home, so excited I barely noted the haze of green gracing the trees. There was so much to discover about Sandy Cove’s past that it was difficult to pay attention to the present. The early settlers, the Revolutionary War, the first inn, the first school, the old sailing days, there was so much to research.

I whizzed around the corner so wrapped up in local history that I didn’t see the tall dark figure until I smacked into him. Books flew into the air and sailed in six directions.

"I’m sorry," I exclaimed, as I scooped to pick up my books, trying to sort mine out from my victim’s.

"The pleasure was all mine."

I looked up. It was Josh. He knelt beside me and we sorted through our piles and traded until we each had our own books. Then Josh helped me up.

"Are you all right?" He squeezed my arm in several places. "No broken bones, I hope."

"It would be my fault if there were," I said. "Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I was thinking about all the information I dug up about Sandy Cove."

"Wait a minute," Josh scolded, shaking a finger at me. "Don’t forget that I’m supposed to help you with that research this Saturday."

"I haven’t forgotten." I grabbed Josh’s finger in mid shake. "Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty for us to do sorting it all out."

"Good." Josh took my hand in his. "Just to make sure you get there in one piece, I’ll walk you home."

"My protector."

"Don’t you forget it."

I smiled and shook my head. "Can you believe there’s so much written about our town’s history? For starters, look at this pamphlet Mrs. Gluck gave me."

"Hey, this is really interesting," Josh said, absorbed in the booklet.

"I’m glad you think so." I was a bit surprised at Josh’s reaction.

When we got to my house, Josh opened the gate on the picket fence. "I’ll walk you to the front door."

"That’s what I call service," I said.
When we reached the steps I gave Josh a hug. "Thanks for seeing that I got home in one piece."

"My pleasure," Josh said. "See you in the morning."

"Bye." I went in, dropped my books on the hall table, and hurried to the kitchen to see if I could help Pres with dinner. From the dining room I heard Mom’s voice.

"Anything I can do to help, Pres?" she asked cheerfully.

"No," Pres said, louder than necessary. Then, in a softer voice, "No, thank you."

"Okay," Mom
said. "Just let me know if you do need help."

"
I will."

I tiptoed back to the hall and was hanging up my jacket
, when I heard Mom go upstairs. I wanted to offer to help Pres, but if he accepted my offer after rebuffing Mom’s, I’d know he was avoiding Mom, and I didn’t really want to know that. So I went to my room to study until dinner.

During dinner I filled everyone in on the details of my research. I could see that Bill was impressed. Pres looked interested too.

After dinner I helped Pres clear the table while Mom and Bill watched the evening news. I hovered close to Pres and chatted about school, the play, baseball, anything I could think of to keep his attention.

It occurred to me that I was going to have to do more than just hang around the kitchen with Pres if I was going to develop more than a brotherly relationship with him. Short of Celeste’s black negligee suggestion, I couldn’t think of what to do.

"Well, I’d better hit the books," Pres said, after turning on the dishwasher.

That was it
! "Some time," I said casually, "could you help me with my French vocabulary lists?"

"French isn’t my best subject," Pres said, "but, sure, I could help you some time." He tossed a sponge into the sink and went up to his room.

Since I’d already done most of my algebra homework in study hall, I decided to watch a little television. I stretched out on the sofa. Mom had left for a meeting at Town Hall. Bill sat in the blue wingback chair, grading papers.

He looked up. "No television after dinner, Rebecca."

"Oh, I don’t have much homework tonight," I said. "I’m just going to watch this one show."

"House rules." Bill tapped his pencil on the grade book. "No television after dinner on school nights."

I wished Mom were home. She would tell Bill that it was all right, that I’d do all of my homework, I just needed to relax a little. I looked at Bill. His steady gaze drilled holes in me. Sensing that protesting would do no good, I stood and stalked out of the room.

Lying on my bed, anger boiled inside me. The resentment I suddenly felt toward Bill shocked me. Where was that loving father I’d pictured? Not down there in that dictator, that was for sure.

I got up and paced. When I calmed down I decided to write a list of arguments to convince Bill that it was okay for me to watch television after dinner. I jotted down a couple reasons, then felt indignation moving my pencil. Soon the paper was covered with a cartoon of a fire-breathing dragon, with hair and mustache remarkably like Bill’s. It was tapping a pencil and issuing the command, "No TV after dinner."

I was getting a lot of satisfaction out of the way I drew the scowl on the dragon’s face, when I heard a door open. I shoved the drawing into my desk drawer.

I heard quiet footsteps. It sounded like someone was going towards the attic.

I went out in the hall and listened carefully. Mom must’ve come home
, because she and Bill were talking downstairs. It had to be Pres going into the attic.

I waited a minute then tiptoed up after him. I could always pretend I was looking for a book or something I’d packed away. I could ask him about Bill’s "house rules." Maybe I could persuade him that if we banded together and presented a logical and convincing case, we could make some changes.

I couldn’t see Pres in the dim attic light, so I pretended to hunt through some cartons. As I rounded a pile of boxes I spotted him sitting on an old trunk.

He looked up, startled.

"Oh, excuse me," I said. "I didn’t know you were up here. Um, it’s pretty dark."

The way he looked, I had a feeling I was intruding. "I, uh, was looking for my thesaurus. It’s probably in one of these boxes, but I can’t figure out which one."

I started to leave, then hesitated. "You look a little upset, Pres. Anything I can do?"

He shrugged and shook his head.

I worked up the courage to sit next to him. "You sure?"

"You must think I’m
totally stupid, the way I’ve been acting."

"What? Why do you say that?"

"The way ... the way I’ve been treating your Mom. I haven’t been exactly nice."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. I’ve been rude, like snapping at her when she asks to help with dinner."

"Pres, don’t worry." I couldn’t let him know I’d noticed his attitude. "You heard Mom. She’s glad she doesn’t have to rush home to cook any more. She’s just being polite when she offers to help."

"Nice try, Rebecca." He patted my hand. "But I know she loves to cook. Dad told me that before they were married. He thought I’d be thrilled to let her do some of the cooking."

"I don’t understand," I said. "You let me help you in the kitchen."

"Well." Pres flashed a lopsided grin. "You aren’t old enough to be my mother."

"It
… it has to do with
your
mother?"

"Yeah." Pres stared off into space. "My mother started teaching me to cook as soon as I was tall enough to see the top of the stove. She said everyone should know how to cook. And do laundry. And mow the lawn." He paused then went on. "Cooking together was special. As we worked I’d tell my mother about my day, she’d tell me about hers. I don’t know. It was just a nice time for the two of us ...
." His voice trailed off and he looked embarrassed.

"You mother sounds like a very special person," I said.

"She was."

"You’re disappointed that my mom isn’t like your real mother." I stated it matter-of-factly. I wasn’t accusing him. I was thinking of how I was discovering that Bill was not like my own father.

"That’s not ...." His voice faltered. "That’s not it. She’s great and I
want
to like her. But in a way I feel as though I’m betraying my own mother."

I waited for Pres to go on. It didn’t seem like the time to intrude with more questions.

He continued. "My mother died in a car accident when I was thirteen. I was pretty rebellious at that age and I know I hurt my mom. It—it just makes me ... sick to think how I acted toward her then, that the last time I saw her I was being obnoxious. To think she died, and she never even knew how much I always loved her, even when I was being horrible."

"Oh, Pres. She knew you loved her." I touched his shoulder li
ghtly. He must be exaggerating—I couldn’t imagine him ever being horrible. "You know kids go through all kinds of stuff. My mom still rolls her eyes when she talks about the way I acted in junior high. She said I almost drove her nuts with my moods. She laughs too. It sounds as though you and your mother had a good relationship. She probably was annoyed by some of your behavior, but I’m sure she always knew that you loved her. Nobody’s perfect." I paused. "Do you think she stopped loving you whenever she was angry with you?"

"You ... you probably have a point.
And I guess maybe deep down I know that’s true. Still ...." A shy smile crept into his look of uncertainty. "You know what? I used to wish I would walk around a corner somewhere and see my mother. Just for a minute. Just long enough to tell her I loved her."

I gasped. "I used to wish I’d see my father in my dreams, only he’d really
be
there and we could talk."

"Honest?"

I nodded.

"Maybe that’s how everyone feels. That if only they could say one more thing, do one more thing
...." Pres seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me.

"I think you’re right," I said. "I used to think I was the only person who ever wanted to do that, and I was afraid I was being stupid.
But now I can see it’s only natural to want to talk to someone you’ve loved just one more time."

"I’m glad I’ve found someone I can talk to about these feelings." Pres put his hand over mine. "I never said anything to my father, because I was afraid it would just make him sad and I didn’t want him worrying about me."

"Yes. I always thought that if I said anything to Mom that she’d start to worry about me." I cleared my throat. "You know, Pres, I never realized until now how much I needed to talk to someone about this."

"Me too." Pres gave me a quick hug. "I’m glad we’ve got each other."

"Me too."

Funny, I wasn’t thinking about Pres as a potential boyfriend then. He was a friend who shared some of my deepest feelings. There was a shimmer of kinship.

"Well, it’s getting late." Pres stood up and pulled me up too. "We’d better call it a night."

I went to my room and crawled into bed. Somehow, right then, my list of arguments and being upset with Bill over television didn’t seem quite so important.

Chapter
Six

The next morning my conversation with Pres was still fresh in my thoughts. New feelings were surfacing. It had been an intimate moment up there in the attic. Images of Pres hugging me, his hand over mine, kept flashing through my mind. I couldn’t wait until after school to be alone with Celeste, so I could tell her all about it.