The Perfect Guy (Books We Love Young Adult Romance) (8 page)

"He sounds interesting."

"That’s not all. In the blizzard of eighty-eight he saved a girl by guiding her home through the storm. He refused to take shelter at her house. The next day they found him dead in a cave down by the Hammonasset River."

"
How sad!"

"Ye
ah," said Josh. "But maybe he’d make a good character for the play."

"Definitely." I looked through the papers Josh had given me. "You really dug up a lot of information. You’re a big help."

"I aim to please." Josh smiled as he surveyed all the papers spread over the table. "Where do we start?"

"I’m trying to organize things by date for now."

"Sounds easy enough." Josh started sifting through everything.

"Take it easy on that leg," I said. "Sit down if it bothers you."

"My leg?" Josh stared at me. "Oh. Don’t worry. My leg will be fine."

We sorted and stacked papers, jotted notes, and began a rough outline. J
osh joked around the whole time, so, though we accomplished a lot, before we knew it three hours had whizzed by.

"We got a lot done." Josh stood and stretched. "It’s time to relax. How about if you and I—"

"Hi." Pres entered the kitchen. He was dusty and dirty from practice. "How’s your leg, Josh? Will you be able to play Tuesday? That opening game against Guilford is going to be tough. We’ll need you."

"My leg feels better already." Josh bent his knee a couple of times. "Probably just a cramp. I’m fine now."

"Good," Pres said.

"Pres, you’re a mess." I brushed dirt off his sleeve. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to touch him.

"Well, I guess it’s time for me to go," Josh said.

"Thanks for your help," I said. "I really appreciate it."

"As I said, any time." Josh ran his hand through his dark curly hair. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

As soon as Josh was out the door, I turned to Pres again. "Could you help me with my French homework?" I hoped to recapture the closeness I’d felt to him that night in the attic. How better to achieve it than to study a beautiful, romantic language together?

"I’ve got to shower," Pres said. "And I have to work out some chemical equations later. But I guess I can help you for a while, if you don’t mind waiting."

"I’ll be here."

While Pres showered I cleared off the kitchen table, took the play papers up to my room, gathered up my French book and notes, and spread them out on the dining room table. I thought it was slightly more conducive to "amour" than the kitchen.

I opened my book to the Chapter I was supposed to study. The words I saw, however, were not those on the page. Instead, the phrase
Je t’aime, Je t’aime
flashed before my eyes. What a beautiful way to say
I love you
. I pictured myself in a sylvan setting, curled up on a blanket with Pres. He was whispering in my ear, "
Je t’aime
, Rebecca.
Je t’aime
."

"This is what you’re working on?" Pres grabbed the book from my hands and sat down across from me, jolting me out of my daydream. "Okay, conjugate the verb
manger
, to eat."

For the next thirty minutes I conjugated verbs, described pencils on tables in French, and worked my way through about fifty vocabulary words. I didn’t have time to admire Pres’s gorgeous blue-green eyes or devote myself to even a moment of complete adoration. Pres was a stern taskmaster. For a couple of seconds I felt as if I were studying with Bill.

"Well, I hope it helped." Pres snapped the book shut and handed it to me. "I’ve got to get back to my chemistry."

I was left sitting at the dining room table, staring at my French book and wondering what other method I could use to try to captivate Pres. Studying French together had
totally fizzled.

During the next two weeks I was too busy working on an outline for the
350th Celebration play to contemplate any schemes to entrance Pres. Saturdays Josh and I spent most of the day together slaving away. He even dropped by a couple of weeknights to help. I liked working with him. No matter how things were going, he could always make me laugh. That made my huge task much easier.

One evening after I’d done my homework and had devoted as much time to the play as I cared to that particular night, I decided to relax and watch a little TV.
But no sooner had I settled comfortably on the sofa, than Bill reminded me about his rule. "Remember, no television on school nights, Rebecca."

Anger bubbled inside me. I shot a glance at Mom, but she was so engrossed in a book that I don’t think she even heard Bill. I stormed out of the room.

I ran to my desk and grabbed the list of arguments I’d saved to use when the "no TV" situation came up again. I was about to charge back downstairs, brandishing my list, but a tiny voice of reason made me stop. Given the mood I was in, I’d only wind up in a shouting match with Bill. I thought he was being arbitrary and unfair, but I wasn’t ready to confront him. Not alone, not full blast. I should talk to Mom, but she probably wouldn’t want to say or do anything to cause conflict so early in her new marriage. Pres, it seemed, was content to live by his father’s rules.

It was a sticky situation. If Mom
wasn’t
prepared to contradict Bill, my chances to make him see reason were small. I had to live with him too, after all. Maybe I should wait until we’d all settled in before I talked to Mom about her trying to influence Bill.

I crumpled up my list and threw it in the wastebasket. Then I sneaked a peek at the picture I’d drawn of Bill looking like a dragon. That gave me some satisfaction.

Time, I decided, was what we all needed to get used to each other’s ways. In time I’d figure out the best way to deal with Bill. I’d learn how to talk to Mom about Bill without flying off the handle.

Of course, time was all I needed to get Pres to see me in
a more-than-sisterly light. Yes, things would work themselves out in the proper fashion, if only I’d let them…

Chapter Nine

By the time I finished the outline for the 350th Celebration play, I was proud of the work I’d done. That is, the work Josh and I had done. I was really grateful for his help. He’d surprised me with his enthusiasm for research, enthusiasm I’d thought he reserved mainly for sports.

After I handed the outline to Bill I excused myself so he could read it without me hovering over his shoulder. I got busy in the yard, cutting forsythia and lilacs for a bouquet.

"Those flowers are almost as pretty as you are."

I whirled around. It was only Josh.

"You startled me," I scolded him. "What are you doing here anyway? We finished the outline yesterday."

"Can’t I come over and just visit?" Josh faked a hurt look, then grinned. "Actually, I couldn’t wait to hear the verdict on our work."

"Bill’s reading it now." I cut a white lilac and sniffed it. "Mmmm, smell this," I said, holding the flower under Josh’s nose.

"Ah." Josh smelled the lilac. Then he sniffed my neck, smacked his lips and rubbed his hands together. "Almost as nice as you, my sweet." He clicked his teeth and pretended to bite my neck.

"Watch out or I’ll get my silver stake."

"You wouldn’t do that to me." Josh dropped to his knees, clutching his heart. "Not to innocent me."

"Well ... not if you behave yourself," I said, laughing. "Come help me arrange these flowers in a vase. Bill should finish reading the outline soon."

After we’d arranged the flowers in a crystal vase and placed them on the dining room table, Bill came in with
the outline in his hand.

"This is good," he said. "It’s a bit long
. I’ll have to cut it. The Patch Man can be deleted, for example. But overall, it’s quite good."

The meager words of praise passed right through me. "But, Bill," I protested, "the Patch Man was one of the most interesting characters in Sandy Cove."

"I agree," Bill said. "He’d deserve an article in the newspaper maybe, but he didn’t really contribute anything significant to Sandy Cove’s history. He’s a fascinating footnote, but that’s all."

"A fascinating footnote?" I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I could feel my anger rising, but I couldn’t tell if I was angry more on my own account, or Josh’s. After all, he was the one who’d found out about the Patch Man in the first place. I’d considered it his special contribution. "But—"

"I see what you mean," Josh interrupted, speaking to Bill. "The Patch Man is interesting, but not vital." He rested his hand on my shoulder, as if to absorb some of my anger.

I relaxed a little when Josh defended Bill’s decision. If it didn’t bother Josh, maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me. But I wanted more than just facts included in Sandy Cove’s history. I wanted to capture its heart and soul too.

"Well, I’ve got to grade some essays." Bill handed the outline back to me. "I’m looking forward to seeing your first draft. Keep up the good work."

"Arg!" I wailed after Bill left the room. "We just finished slaving over the outline and now he wants a first draft."

"Take it easy," Josh said. "You knew a first draft was next. You’ll have me to help you."

"Would you?" I clutched his arm. "Do you have time to help me today?"

"I’ll make time."

"Great!" I exclaimed. "We’ll set up everything in the kitchen."

Just as we got everything organized on the kitchen table, Pres drifted in.

"It’s ten o’clock and he’s just making an appearance," Josh said. "At least he’s dressed."

"Since when did you stop sleeping in on Saturday?" Pres asked as he peeled a banana.

"Since I found a reason for getting up early."

Before we could grill Josh on just what that reason was, Mom and Gramma popped in with eager looks on their faces. Mom said, "Have you checked your application status for Yale recently? I've heard that some people are starting to hear."

"
I'll bet it would be good news," Gramma said, a twinkle in her eye.

While I realized it kind of put Pres on the spot, I hoped he'd check. I was also sure it would be good news..

"Um …." Pres, hesitated, then pulled out his smartphone, but I didn't see his thumbs moving.

"Aren’t you going to
check it?" Josh asked. For once he didn’t joke. It was obvious this meant a lot to Pres.

Pres shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I should wait."

"Well, if you think that's best," Mom said.

"But I bet it's good news," Gramma said again. "And we'd all love to hear it."

Pres stared at his phone.

We all waited, not saying anything, barely breathing.

Finally, I saw Pres's thumbs move. His eyes widened. He gasped. "I got in!" he yelled. "They’ve offered me a scholarship!"

"Pres, that’s wonderful." Mom hugged him and Josh jumped up and slapped him on the back.

"Congratulations, Pres," Gramma said, shaking Pres’s hand and giving him a big hug.

"I’ll get Bill," Mom said. "Isn’t it wonderful, Rebecca? Both our boys getting into the schools they wanted—and so close to home."

My heart raced. It was a great opportunity for
me
to hug Pres. Too bad it wasn't in private, but I couldn’t have everything. I walked over to Pres and embraced him.

"Congratulations." I said.

Pres returned my hug. My heart raced in circles around my chest. This could be the start of—

"Thanks." Pres danced me around the kitchen.

If only I could shut out everything and everyone except the two of us.

"Come on in, Celeste," Josh shouted.

I hadn’t even noticed the knock at the door.

"Is this a party?" Celeste asked.

"Sort of." Josh pulled Pres away from me and propelled him toward Celeste. "Congratulate the man. He just got accepted at Yale."

"Pres!" Celeste shrieked as she hugged him. "Congratulations."

"News spreads quickly, doesn’t it?" Bill stood in the doorway, grinning. He had his arm wrapped around Mom as he watched the celebrating.

He held out a hand to Pres
. They grasped hands, then Bill gave Pres a big hug. "Congratulations, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

It was great seeing everyone so happy, but I still wished I’d been alone with Pres when he’d gotten the good news. Maybe my congratulatory hug could have led to something more … intimate.

"
Hey," Celeste said to me, "I almost forgot in all the excitement. I’m on my way to the Hair Conditioner for a trim. I thought maybe you’d like to come along, and then we could go to lunch and do some window shopping."

"Thanks," I said, "but I’ve got to work on a script for the play." Too bad, I thought. I hadn’t seen enough of Celeste lately. But, who wants to leave when maybe I could work in another congratulatory hug or two.