This Is So Not Happening (10 page)

“I get it,” Ally said flatly. Her smile had completely died.

Alarm bells went off in my mind. Nice. The one thing I’d promised myself not to mention was the first thing out of my mouth. I was screwing this up royally.

Newsflash: When you’re out on a date with your girlfriend, it’s not a good idea to bring up the chick you impregnated.

“At least they let us get our own table,” I said, feeling like a jackass.

“True.” She tried even harder to smile. “And that salad
was
yummier than any salad should be. Plus it’s not every day you get to hear a live string quartet, right?”

“Right.” I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. As far as I was concerned, if she hadn’t been sitting across from me, the music would have been putting me to sleep.

I had to figure out a way to save this night. Ally looked so pretty in this dark blue dress with teeny straps and her hair back in a ponytail, which always killed me. I wanted to reach over the table and kiss her, but she was giving off about as inviting a vibe as a barbed-wire fence.

Ally’s mother got up to go talk to someone at another table and gave us a wave as she walked by. Suddenly I got an idea.
Someone had once told me that if you wanted to land a chick, you should make her talk about herself. Girls love to talk about themselves. I’d already kind of landed Ally, but maybe the tactic would get her to relax.

“So what’s up with your mom’s wedding?” I asked. “Everything cool?”

Ally shrugged. “Yeah. Except I have to make a speech and I have no idea what to say.”

“You have to make a speech?” I said, my eyes wide.

“Maid of honor,” she replied, raising her hand and faking a smile.

“Wow. That sucks.” I took a bite of my food and chewed. “You nervous?”

“I just have no idea what to say,” she told me, leaning closer over the table as her mom returned. She didn’t stop at our table, though. Just went right back to Dr. Nathanson and laid a big kiss on him, like she’d been gone for weeks. “Ugh. I can’t even look when they do that.”

“Yeah. The speech could be a problem, then,” I joked. “You should just keep it simple. Say something about how much you love her and you’re happy to see her happy. You don’t have to get, like, deep and mushy about it.”

“You think?” Ally asked, sitting up straight.

“Dude, I have, like, a million cousins, so I’ve been to a million weddings.” I leaned back as the busboy cleared our salad plates. “The best speeches are always the shortest ones. You ramble on, you lose the audience, and everyone starts to talk over you…. Keep it short and sweet and it’s a win-win.”

“Wow.” Her smile brightened as she reached for her water. “Cool, thanks. That’s good to know.”

Just like that, I felt warm inside. I’d actually given helpful advice. And I’d actually put a smile on her face.

“Okay, I’ve got a plan. We sit here through my dad’s award presentation, then grab one of those chocolate dessert things off the buffet and go eat by the pool,” I suggested, leaning into the table and whispering. “Just you and me for real.”

Her smile widened as she checked out the dessert table. “Okay. Deal.”

The waiter delivered our pasta course and Ally sat up straighter. She even let him shred a whole mess of cheese on top of her penne, which was a good sign. When she’s upset or annoyed, Ally doesn’t eat. Which is weird, because I always thought girls binged when they were sad or angry.

“So how’s the play going?” I asked her, figuring I should stick to what was working and make her talk about herself. I waved the waiter and his cheese grater away and concentrated on Ally. “You have a good part?”

Ally nodded. “Yep. It’s even almost as big as Faith’s!” she said with mock enthusiasm.

“Wow! Then it
must
be good,” I joked back. I tore off a piece of bread from the loaf in the breadbasket and offered her some, which she took. Okay, this was better. This was normal. “I don’t know how you do it, though. I can’t understand Shakespeare to save my life. Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Most of the time. It’s not one of his most complicated plays,” she said with a shrug. “But the guy I’m supposed to be in love with in the play? Lincoln? He totally gets it. He explains it whenever anyone gets stuck.”

I paused and my stomach sort of thumped the way your
heart is supposed to. She had a fake boyfriend in this thing? “Lincoln? Who’s Lincoln?”

Ally dipped the bread into the olive oil on her bread dish. “Lincoln Carter?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “He’s a junior. Kind of tall … red hair?”

“You mean that dude who upchucked at the Woodmont carnival sophomore year?” I asked.

“Um … I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” she replied, popping the bit of bread into her mouth.

“Yeah. That guy. I know that guy,” I said. “He ate, like, twenty cotton candies on a dare then went on the Gravitron.”

“Yeah. That sounds like him,” Ally said with a laugh. For some reason the laugh made my blood stop. It was like a private laugh. Like an admiring laugh or something. Like maybe she liked this guy. Suddenly I felt hot and prickly behind my ears.

“That dude’s a total loser,” I said. “You have to pretend to be in love with him? Good luck.”

Ally put her fork down. “Why’s he a total loser? Because he puked in public?”

“No. It’s not just that. I mean, I just don’t like him,” I said.

She looked confused. “Have you ever actually talked to him?”

“No. But who cares? I can tell if somebody’s a tool without talking to them.” I shoved a huge forkful of pasta in my mouth, feeling like a tool myself. Why was I getting so worked up? It wasn’t like that scrawny freak was a threat. But then again, why was she defending him so much?

“Do you have to, like, kiss him?” I asked. My mouth was so full that some tomato sauce shot out and landed on the white tablecloth.

“Unbelievable,” Ally said, sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. More alarm bells.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin and swallowed. The food felt like a baseball going down my throat. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” she whispered. “You’re jealous and acting like I’m doing something wrong when all I’m doing is playing a part in a play. Meanwhile you got naked with Chloe and now you’re walking around school acting like you two are a couple and I’m just supposed to sit back and be fine with it.”

My neck got hot at the words “naked” and “Chloe.” I tried to focus.

“I don’t act like me and Chloe are a couple!” I hissed back.

“Yes, you do!” Ally said, leaning so far forward that her dress almost took on some tomato sauce. “The other day you two were—”

“Well, hello, Jake!”

Mrs. Corcoran, Connor Shale’s grandmother, stopped next to our table on her way back from the bathroom, wearing a black sparkly dress that showed too much wrinkled, old-lady cleavage. Her white hair was piled up on top of her head like a pyramid and her teeth looked yellower than ever. I immediately tensed. Mrs. C was known for acting buddy-buddy with me and my friends, and even flirting sometimes. It was totally yack-worthy.

“Hi, Mrs. Corcoran,” I said as Ally clamped her jaw shut.

“Well, don’t you look handsome tonight?” she said, running her age-spotted hand down the arm of my suit jacket. “Where’s Chloe?”

My eyes darted to Ally, who looked like she was about to either burst into tears or scream.

“Um, Chloe?” I said.

Mrs. Corcoran’s eyes flicked to Ally dismissively. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you two break up?”

Would it be wrong to strangle an old person?

“Chloe and I were never going out,” I said quickly.

“Oh. Oh, my. How embarrassing.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “I’d heard that the two of you were … and then I saw you two the other day at the mall looking adorably cozy.” She put her hand on my shoulder this time and squeezed. “I didn’t stop to say hello because I didn’t want to interrupt anything intimate, but I—”

I was going to kill her. Right here and now. I was going to commit murder.

“We’re not intimate or cozy,” I said, staring at Ally. “We’re just friends.”

“My mistake,” Mrs. Corcoran said, fiddling with her earring. “Well. Congratulations to your father. I hope you and your friend here have a lovely time.”

And then, mercifully, she was gone. But Ally had already pushed her chair back from the table.

“Al, come on. The woman’s, like, senile,” I said under my breath. “Last year she thought me and Hammond were a closeted couple.”

“I need some air,” she replied. “I think I’m gonna take that dessert by the pool early.”

“Oh. Okay.” I started to get up.

“Alone,” she added pointedly.

I sat back down so quickly I bruised my ass. Ally walked across the room, dumped a huge slice of cake onto a china plate, and strode out the door. I sat for a second and tried to
figure out what the hell had just happened. Clearly Ally was jealous I’d hooked up with Chloe, even though she’d said she wasn’t. But what was I supposed to do about it? I couldn’t take it back. And I couldn’t ignore Chloe at school either. Ally was the one who had told me to be there for her, right? So what the fuck was the problem?

There was only one thing I knew for sure. This had just become the worst date ever.

I was walking through the wings in the auditorium, on my way back from my first costume fitting, when I heard a noise that made me stop in my tracks. On the stage, my cast-mates were running through one of the Bottom-and-the-tinkers scenes, but I could have sworn the noise I’d heard had come from overhead.

“Psssssst!”

I looked up. The stage lights momentarily blinded me, but then I saw someone waving at me from the rafters. As the spots cleared from my vision, I could make out long legs dangling down, a striped vest, and a bright white candy bag.

“Lincoln?” I whispered. “What are you doing up there?”

“This is the best view in the house,” he hissed back. “Come see.”

I glanced out toward the seats in the auditorium, where Mrs. Thompson was growing increasingly frustrated with one of the tinkers’ inability to pronounce the word “Pyramus.” He kept saying “Paramus,” which is a town near Orchard Hill that almost has more stores than people.

“How?” I asked, looking around for a ladder.

“It’s over by the wall,” he whispered, chucking his chin in that direction.

I turned around. The ladder in question was skinny, rickety, and seriously tall. Even if I could get to the top without slipping, I’d have to swing myself up onto the crisscrossing metal beams and crawl over to Lincoln without falling to my death.

“Come on. If I can do it, you can do it,” he said.

I took a deep breath. My plan for the afternoon had been to go home, sit down at my desk, and crack open the book I’d taken out of the library about wedding etiquette and speeches. This, suddenly, seemed far more appealing. I brushed my sweaty palms off on the butt of my jeans and started to climb. The ladder made some ominous creaking noises but was surprisingly sturdy. When I got to the lowest rafter, the one Lincoln was sitting on like it was nothing but a big old log, I grasped the rails for dear life and crawled, realizing with a quiet laugh that I was more worried about looking inept in front of him than I was about actually falling. Finally, I managed to sit down next to him, letting my feet dangle over the heads of the actors below. From the bird’s-eye position, I could see the parts in their hair and the top of one guy’s butt crack above the waistband of his baggy jeans.

I wrinkled my nose. “I thought you said this was a good view.”

Lincoln sighed and dug some caramel out of his tooth with his fingernail. “I know. I was hoping for real cleavage, not butt cleavage.”

I snorted a laugh and he held out the candy bag for me. I took a caramel and tried to unwrap it silently. Didn’t work. But no one seemed to notice.

“So what happens if we get caught up here?” I asked.

“Immediate expulsion,” he replied.

“Really?” I almost choked on my caramel.

He smirked and tilted his head. “No.”

I rolled my eyes, which threw me off. My stomach swooped and I grabbed on to Lincoln to keep from falling.

“Are you okay?” he asked, clinging to me.

“Fine. Fine.” Except that my heart was pounding in my eyeballs.

He let out a nervous laugh, then put his arm around me and hooked his thumb through one of the belt loops on my jeans. I froze. That was kind of intimate, no?

“Um, what’re you doing?” I asked.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

Now my heart was pounding for a whole other reason. Lincoln was not unattractive. He was, in fact, pretty damn cute. But that didn’t mean it was okay for him to have his arm around me.

“What? Are you afraid Jake Graydon’s gonna come in here and pound me?” he asked.

I blinked. “So you do know I have a boyfriend.”

“Everyone knows you have a boyfriend,” he replied, glancing casually into the candy bag in his other hand. “But I’d like to think he’d thank me for keeping you from going splat.”

I grinned. “You think?”

He turned and looked me directly in the eye. “If you were my girl, I’d thank anyone who kept you from going splat.”

I couldn’t breathe. Guys didn’t look you in the eye like that unless they were going to kiss you. But if I moved, I was definitely going to fall. And also, there was this part of me—this teeny, tiny part—that didn’t want to move. That tasted the danger of the moment and kind of liked it. Jake had had sex with Chloe. So what if I let this guy kiss me?

This was very not good. Very not me.

But then, suddenly, he looked away. “Anyway, I’m not worried.”

“Why not?” I asked, my palms prickly. That was a near miss. Too near.

“Because, Jake Graydon has never graced this auditorium with his presence unless it was for a mandatory assembly,” he said. “And I doubt he ever will.”

A hundred different replies jammed up my brain space. That Jake
would
be here for our play, to see me. That Jake wasn’t as big a Neanderthal as Lincoln made him out to be. That there was every possibility that Jake could walk in here right now to surprise me and take me out for pizza or coffee or something and when he saw Lincoln’s arm around me, he
would
pound him.