We Are All Made of Molecules (16 page)

“This isn't about me. This is about Ashley.” My voice was shaking. “I just don't think you should talk about her that way.”

Jared stared at me for a few moments. “I get it. You're jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You have the hots for your stepsister, don't you? Gross, Stewie, that's verging on incest.”

“I
do not
have the hots for Ashley!” I shouted, and a couple of kids looked in our direction. I could feel my face flush hot with anger.

Jared just laughed some more. “I bet you try to spy on her when she's in the shower—”

“
Stop it!
You're being disgusting.”

“I can hardly blame you, she's gorgeous—”

“You keep trying to change the subject!”
I yelled. “Just—quit disrespecting her like that. If not for her sake, then for mine.”

He stopped laughing. “Why would I do it for your sake?”

“Because we're friends.”

“Right. You and me. Friends.” Jared stared at me again. His eyes looked dead.

“Jared, get into uniform now! And, Stewart, get into the bulldog suit!” Coach Stellar yelled from the other end of the hall. “Quit dawdling! Game starts in ten!”

“We'd better get a move on, Stewie,” Jared said.

“Please stop calling me Stewie.”

“Sure thing,” he said as he headed to the change room. “Stewie.”

I had to stay where I was and just breathe for a moment. I now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jared was
not
a quality human being.

—

I DIDN'T TELL MY
mom any of these things. And I am relieved that November is officially over for another year.

WHEN LAUREN ASKED ME
on Monday how Saturday night had gone, I flashed my best secretive-yet-knowing grin and told her, “Fantastic.” We were hanging out on the front steps of the school, our coats pulled tight around us because it was freezing. Yoko, Amira, Lindsay, and Claudia were there, too.

“What'd you guys do?” Claudia asked, rather boldly if you ask me.

I giggled. “Oh, a little bit of this…a little bit of that…”

“C'mon, details!” Lauren begged.

“I never kiss and tell.” I took out some cherry-flavored lip gloss and started applying it.

“Does he really live in a mansion?” asked Claudia. She blew a huge bubble with her wad of gum.

“Yes.”

Lauren sighed. “You're such a lucky duck. I bet it was incredibly romantic.”

I just smiled. But inside I felt kind of barfy.

I could never tell them the truth.

—

JARED HAD TEXTED ME
late Saturday afternoon, two weeks after our movie date. We'd seen each other a lot since then, but always in public or around other people. This time he asked if I wanted to come over to his place. I texted back
yes
. Mom was out emceeing another fund-raiser, so I went downstairs and told Leonard my plans. He was in the living room practicing some of his fencing moves, complete with the sword-thingy.

“Will his parents be home?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, even though I had no idea.

“And your mom would be okay with this?”

“Yes.”

“Where does he live?”

“Shaughnessy.”

“Ooh. Fancy. How are you getting there?”

“Bus.”

“I'd rather drive you.”

“I'd rather bus.”

“Nope. I'm driving you. Nonnegotiable.”

I did
not
like him talking to me like he was my parent. But I didn't want to rock the boat, so I simply said, “Fine.”

At seven o'clock, Len drove me to Shaughnessy. He was right—it is a very fancy neighborhood, very
old money
, with
enormous houses. We almost got lost a couple of times 'cause the roads in Shaughnessy are twisty-turny.

When we finally found Jared's place, Leonard whistled. “Wow.” It was at least three times the size of our house. There was a semicircular driveway out front and a three-car garage. It was all brick and ivy, and the yard was huge.

I was worried that Len might try to walk me to the door, so I leapt out of the car. “Thanks!”

“I'll pick you up at curfew!” he shouted out the window.

I walked up to the house. I felt really nervous all of a sudden, and my stomach started to burble in an embarrassing way. I rang the bell.

Jared answered, looking adorable in dark gray pants and a fitted black T-shirt with a thin white cardigan over top. I'd worn my favorite skirt, a short, flouncy purple number with a simple yet elegant black cotton top and tights to keep my legs warm. Jared waved at Leonard, who was still sitting in his car. Leonard waved back and drove away. “C'mon in,” he said.

“Are your parents home?”

“God, no. I wouldn't have invited you over if they were.”

“Why? Do I embarrass you?”

“No.
They
embarrass me. They're nothing like your folks—trust me.” He grabbed my hand. “Let me give you a tour.”

So he walked me through the house. There were dark hardwood floors and dark-painted walls and lots of dark furniture, which made it all, well, very dark. There was—honest to God—a billiard room. Also a library. I started giggling.

“What's so funny?”

“I keep expecting Colonel Mustard to appear, holding a bloody candlestick.”

“Oh. Ha-ha,” he said. Then he took me to the basement to see the indoor lap pool. Yes, that's right, an
indoor lap pool
!

We returned to the kitchen, which had gleaming countertops and fancy appliances and beautiful copper pots and pans hanging everywhere. “Your parents must love to cook.”

Jared laughed. “Hardly. We have a cook who comes in twice a week and preps a bunch of meals. This stuff is all for show. My parents are all about appearances.” He opened the fridge. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

“Beer? Wine? Rum and Coke?”

“Um. Maybe just the Coke.”

“C'mon. Relax. I'm having a beer.”

“Won't your parents mind?”

“They'll never know. They have an epic supply of booze.”

I didn't want to seem like a prude, so I said, “How about a white wine spritzer?” because that's what Anastasia is always drinking on one of my soaps.

Jared opened a bottle of white wine that was in the fridge and poured me a very big glass, leaving hardly any room for sparkling water. He got himself a beer and said, “Let me show you around upstairs.”

So I took my glass and followed him, having a few sips along the way. I felt quite sophisticated, even if I didn't love the taste.

“This is my parents' bedroom,” he said, showing me the master suite. It was as big as our entire second floor. Everything was white: the duvet cover, the pillows, the carpet,
and the curtains. It was the only un-dark room in the house. “And here's my room,” he said when we reached the other end of the long hallway.

Jared's bedroom wasn't as big as his parents', but it was still twice the size of mine. The color scheme was lots of browns and navy blues, and his curtains and even his bedspread had little sailboats on them.

“Do you sail?”

He nodded. “We belong to the Yacht Club. Mom decorated my room in a nautical theme about five years ago. Guess I'm due for a change, huh.”

“I don't know…. I think it's kind of cute.” I couldn't help it; I was imagining a future where Jared and I would belong to the Yacht Club together. We would look so good in navy-and-white stripes and matching boat shoes!

Jared sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot beside him. “Sit.”

I smiled flirtatiously. “I'm not a dog.”

He grinned. “You definitely are not. C'mon, sit beside me. Please.”

So I did. We were facing two shelves full of sports trophies, all from his old school. “You must be a really good athlete.”

“Yeah, we had great sports teams at St. Pat's. Borden's teams are so lame.”

“Do you wish you still went there?”

“For some stuff, yeah. But the principal's a total jerk.”

“What happened?” I asked, stroking his hand in a caring way. In my head I was picturing our wedding day; it would be a very expensive yet elegant affair.

“Told you already.”

“You told me you dealt with someone who needed to be dealt with. But you never told me details.”

He sighed and took a swig of beer. “This guy on our football team—turns out he's a homo. But he didn't tell us till the end of the season, after we'd been naked around him a million times. A lot of the guys were pissed, me included. Then I saw him looking at my junk after our final game, so I punched him. Any of the other guys would've done it, too.
He's
the one who practically committed sexual assault, and I'm the one who got kicked out. Stupid faggot.”

I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. How could such an ugly word come out of such a beautiful mouth? I thought about my dad, and I wanted to say something. But I don't know. I didn't want to get into an argument. It was just a word. As for the punch, maybe the guy had kind of deserved it. I mean, I wasn't there, right? Maybe he'd been creepy and inappropriate. So all I said was “Oh.”

We were quiet for a moment. He polished off his beer, and I had another sip of my wine “So. What do you want to do?” he asked.

“We could go watch something on TV.” I'd seen their enormous entertainment room in the basement. I started to get up, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back down.

“Sure,” he said. “In a while.” He started stroking my arm. “You're so hot, Ashley.” He leaned in and kissed me with his beautiful, soft mouth, which I liked. He's a good kisser.

Then he pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me.

He started pulling my shirt up. I wasn't totally against
this in theory, but I didn't like the way he was doing it. I grabbed his hand, but he kept yanking.

“C'mon, Ash, I'm dying here.” I could feel what he was talking about; it was pressing into my leg.

“Jared, stop it.”

I tried to move, but he pinned my arms down. When I looked at his face, it was as if he'd gone somewhere else. It was like I wasn't even there.

“Please, Jared,” I said, and it came out as a whimper. “Let me up.”

But he wasn't listening. He was pulling at my shirt and my skirt at the same time. “Jared, stop!”

I was starting to truly freak out when suddenly I heard
“¿Qué pasa?”

I turned my head. Standing in the doorway was a short woman with long black hair. Jared rolled off me, and I jumped up from the bed. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“I live here, Mr. Man. And your mother say no company,” the woman said, hands on her hips. She saw my wineglass and Jared's beer and picked them up. “I tell your parents you drink their booze.” She turned her steely gaze on me. “You go now,” she said. Then she turned back to Jared. “I give you five minutes, Mr. Man. I wait downstairs.” She walked away.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Consuela. Our housekeeper. God, I hate her.”

I didn't hate her. In fact, right now I kind of loved her. I tucked my shirt back into my skirt. “Well, I'd better go—” I stopped midsentence. Because suddenly I saw, sitting on his desk in the corner, two figurines.

Dopey and Bunnykins.

“What are those doing there?”

Jared shrugged. “I took them as a joke. To see if he'd notice.”

“Oh, he noticed. He thinks
I
took them.”

“Oops.” He smirked.

“It's not funny, Jared. Those were his mom's. His
dead
mom's.”

“It's no big deal. I was going to put them back next time I came over.”

“Why don't I save you the trouble?” I grabbed the figurines off his desk and put them into my bag. Then I hurried down the stairs. Consuela was waiting in the foyer, her arms crossed over her broad chest. She glared at both of us as she opened the door.

“I'll walk you to the bus stop,” Jared started.

“No, I'm fine.” To Consuela, I blurted,
“Gracias,”
the only Spanish word I know. Then I hurried out the door and bolted down the driveway.

It took me a while to find a bus stop. I didn't want to call Leonard. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

I think it was the cold that made me shake the whole way back.

Leonard was surprised to see me home so early. Stewart was, too. He had his little friend over, Alabaster or whatever his name is, and they were working on Stewart's electric bike in the basement, laughing and having a grand old nerdy time.

The family room was empty, so I slipped the figurines back onto the mantelpiece. Then I went upstairs and got into my jammies.

“Ashley?” I looked up. Leonard was standing in my doorway. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn't it be?”

He didn't look convinced. “Well. If you need anything, I'm downstairs.” He started to close my door.

“Can you leave it open?”

“Oh. Sure thing.”

A few minutes later, Shoe Horn wandered in, and for the first time ever, he leapt onto my bed. Even though he is spectacularly ugly, I was happy to see him, so happy I almost started to cry. He curled up in my lap, and I petted him and petted him and he purred and purred, and finally I did let myself cry a little bit because I wasn't one hundred percent totally absolutely positive that I wanted to be Ashley Anderson-Mitchell after all.