What If... All the Rumors Were True (12 page)

GUEST APPEARANCE

Resolved: if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. Discuss.

“M
itchell, get the door!” Haley called downstairs. Her parents were out, and Mitchell was in the basement, most likely destroying something. Haley was up in her room doing practice SAT math problems. At least, she was supposed to be doing math problems. Her mind was actually more focused on romantic problems—like Reese Highland's recent disappearing act.

“You get it,” Mitchell called back. “I'm busy disassembling the remote.”

Right again,
Haley thought. She put down her pencil and walked downstairs as the doorbell rang a second time. “Coming!” she called. “Mitchell, you'd better be able to put that remote back together before Mom and Dad get home.” Perry could get pretty cranky if he couldn't pause, slow-mo or resee scenes in his favorite films.

“Don't worry,” Mitchell said. “I have complete faith in myself.”

That's for sure,
Haley thought. And it was true that so far Mitchell had been able to reassemble everything he'd meticulously broken down, including her camera, which had stopped sticking between frames and now worked better than it did before.

Haley peeked through the window next to the heavy front door and gasped at the sight of Alex Martin. He stood patiently on her front porch in his belted khakis and a polo shirt, his short chestnut hair neatly combed.

What was
he
doing here? What could he possibly want?

Haley racked her brain for any memory of invitations to her house—study groups, debate team meetings she might have volunteered to host—but came up blank.

There's only one way to find out,
a little voice in Haley's head said.
Open the door, stupid.

“Hi, Alex,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hello, Haley. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by.”

In the neighborhood? Please.

“Um, great,” Haley said. She stood there waiting to hear what he wanted, but he seemed to be ceding the floor to her. Talk about awkward.

“I was wondering if you'd like to go out for some frozen yogurt,” Alex said at last.

Haley stepped out onto the porch. Alex's car, a shiny, expensive-looking black sedan, was parked in the driveway, ready to whisk her off for fro-yo. Meanwhile, the Highlands' house next door, Haley couldn't help noticing, looked completely empty. “Sorry, I can't,” Haley said. “I'm watching my little brother.”

“Oh,” Alex said. She thought he'd leave then, but he didn't. He just seemed to be staring at the polish on his tassled brown loafers.

How arrogant of him to think he can just show up like this,
Haley thought. Arrogant but flattering.

“But—well, if you want to sit on the porch and hang for a little while, that would be cool,” Haley said. “We don't have any frozen yogurt, or even ice cream. My parents are pretty severely antisugar. But we could have some iced tea.”

“Great,” Alex said. “That would be just great.”

Alex sat on the front porch while Haley went into the kitchen to fetch some glasses. She poured the unsweetened hibiscus tea over ice and brought the glasses outside with a plate of cheese and crackers.

“So—no sugar in the house,” Alex said, taking a cracker. “Makes sense, given your other political views. Let me guess, your parents are old hippies. Fits with your geographical roots.”

“My geographical roots?” Haley wasn't sure what he was talking about.

“Annie told me you moved here from Northern California. That explains the progressive stance, the granola nutrition, the obsession with the environment…it all fits.”

“You've got me all figured out, don't you?” Haley said sarcastically. “Reduced to a Marin County stereotype.”

Alex looked at her. “I'm sorry—you're right. People are a lot more complicated than we think. Especially people like you.”

“People like me?” Haley said. “Don't you mean hippie spawn from San Francisco?”

“No. I mean smart people. People who think for themselves, even in the suffocatingly conformist environment of high school.”

Her annoyance at being so neatly summed up now faded. Maybe Alex wasn't as obtuse as she'd thought. “What about you?” she asked. “What are
your
geographical roots?”

“Connecticut born. New Jersey bred,” Alex said. “My father moved his company here when I was three. Cheaper overhead. But I've managed to get out and see a little of the world. I spent last summer building houses for the poor in Costa Rica.”

“You?”
Somehow the idea of helping people in Central America didn't fit with Haley's image of Alex as staunch conservative capitalist pig. A cute capitalist pig, but then she'd always thought piglets were adorable. “I wouldn't have expected that.”

“People are a lot more complicated than we think,” Alex reminded her.

Haley began to relax, and they fell into a long conversation, oblivious to the time passing by. Haley soon realized it was getting dark out. She and Alex must have talked for over an hour. He was smart, intimidatingly so. Most of the kids Haley knew couldn't see past their little Hillsdale High bubble. She'd be shocked if they thought of anything outside the borders of Bergen County. Even the rich kids like Coco and Whitney shuttled from Hillsdale to the city to the Hamptons, with maybe a stop in Paris or London during breaks. But, even so, all they cared about was Hillsdale. This was their power base.

“I should probably get going,” Alex said, standing up. Haley walked him to his car and saw that the Highlands' wagon was now parked in the driveway. She'd been so wrapped up in conversation with Alex she hadn't noticed anyone pull up.
Had Reese come home?
Haley wondered.
And if he had, had he seen her on the porch with Alex?

What would Reese do if he
had
seen them? Would he come over to say hello? Be jealous that she was talking to another boy? Or not think much of it and leave them alone?

Haley wasn't sure.

“Thanks again for the iced tea,” Alex said. “See you at school.”

“Yeah. See you.” Haley waved absently as he drove off, relieved that her mother wasn't around to see his gas-guzzling luxury car.

 

Later that evening, while working on the third draft of her college application essay, Haley got an Instant Message from Reese.

R: What's up, Red? Feels like it's been ages. Wanna meet me in the library tomorrow?

Without thinking, Haley typed back:

H: Sure. CU then.

She logged off and went back to her essay, but something about Reese's message bothered her. He'd been so busy studying lately, he hardly seemed to notice she was alive. Now all of a sudden he wanted to study with
her
?

Maybe he did see me with Alex,
she thought.
Maybe he sensed that other boys are buzzing around, and he wants to remind me that I'm his.

But if he wanted to stake his claim, this was a lame way of doing it. Going to the library? What kind of date was that?

A sucky date, that's what.

Haley has a lot of options right now. Both Alex and Reese are nice guys—smart, well mannered and let's not forget hot. How to choose between Mr. Best All-around and Mr. Brainiac? Should Haley pick the one who seems more into her? That would have to be Alex—for the moment. But who knows—maybe once she agrees to go out with him he'll start ignoring her too, just like Reese. Boys are mysterious creatures.

If you think Haley should meet Reese at the library as planned, go to
"SOLVING FOR EX"
. If you think she should bust out of her rut, put a little distance between herself and Reese Highland and live a little, go to
"FREEDOM ROCK"
. If you think Haley should stop thinking about boys so much and focus on the college race, go to
"SCATTERBRAINED"
.

Watch out. In the realm of love, you won't get explanations for certain unexpected twists of fate.

FIRE AND ICE

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. And some say it will end in a hail of malicious gossip.

“I
see Mia in something very royal, say, a velvet robe with gold trim,” Coco said as she took her seat at a window table at Bubbies. Whitney sat next to her, with Haley and Cecily and Mia Delgado rounding out the circle. Coco had called the brunch meeting to discuss, among other things, the costumes for the school play, which were being designed by Whitney this year. The production was of Shakespeare's comedy
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Coco, of course, was the assistant director, and Mia the star, though she already looked bored and they had been sitting at the table for only five minutes.

Mia was used to the little cafés and restaurants of Europe. Bubbies was a bistro in the European style, which meant it had rattan outdoor chairs and a Tuscan-Alpine-Provençal mural on the wall leading to the men's and women's restrooms. It was a favorite Hillsdale Heights spot for brunch, and being seen in the window on Sunday afternoon was a status symbol, like being seen on the deck of the country club or getting spotted with an armload of shopping bags near the downtown boutiques.

“I no like blue,” Mia said, pouting. “It is a bad color for me.”

“Mia's character is a fairy,” Whitney said. “I was thinking of something more along the lines of a long, airy chiffon gown belted with gold.”

“This sounds much better,” Mia replied. “The chiffon, it is nice on my”—and here she looked dismissively at the other girls—“curves.”

Coco sniffed. “I'm the director—”

“Assistant director,” Cecily reminded her.

Coco ignored her. “—and I say Mia gets dressed in velvet. Royal blue. High neck. Empire waist. Stiff bodice.”

“What about Mr. Lyons?” Whitney whispered. “He told me he wanted Titania in chiffon.”

“I'll handle him,” Coco commanded.

They scanned the menus and kept quiet for a few minutes, until Whitney finally whispered, “Oh my god, girls. Look who it is.”

As if on cue, there was a loud crash, the sound of dishes shattering. Haley looked toward the kitchen and saw that Johnny Lane, Sasha's slick rocker boyfriend, had just dropped a plastic tub full of plates.

“I didn't know he worked here,” Cecily said, which was surprising. Of everyone at the table, Cecily probably spent the most time with Sasha these days, and by extension, Johnny Lane.

Coco shrugged. “What do you expect? He's got to earn his drug money somewhere.”

Whitney frowned. “I thought he earned his drug money selling drugs.”

Just then, the waitress arrived to take their orders. “I'll have the Cobb salad, dressing on the side, and a diet soda,” Coco said.

“I'd like the grilled chicken sandwich,” Haley said. “And iced tea.”

“Western omelet for me, please,” Cecily ordered. “And lemonade.”

“I'd like an omelet too,” Mia said. “And
un café con leche.
”

“I'll have the bacon cheeseburger, medium rare,” Whitney said. “With blue cheese. And fries, and a milk shake.”

Coco shook her head. “No she won't. She'll have the Caesar salad with grilled chicken on top and a diet soda. Right, Whit?”

“I'm starving, Coco,” Whitney said. “I haven't eaten since last night.”

“This is brunch, Whitney,” Coco said. “None of us have eaten since last night.”

“Okay,” Whitney said. “But I'm getting dessert.”

“Whatever,” Coco said, handing the waitress her menu.

A few seconds later Johnny arrived to fill their water glasses. He wasn't used to serving his classmates, so he acted gruff to cover up his embarrassment.

“Hi, Johnny,” Cecily said, trying to act as if he weren't mopping up spilled water on the tablecloth in front of her.

“What's up?” Haley said, also attempting to make this humiliating moment easier on the guy.

“Hellllo,” Mia purred, tracing her finger around the edge of her water glass. She took a sip, then let a piece of ice slip into her mouth.

Johnny looked at her, smirked and sauntered away, still cool even with an apron wrapped over his jeans and Clash T-shirt.

“Ohmigosh, how could Sasha do it with that guy?” Whitney whispered as soon as he was out of earshot.

“What do you mean, ‘do it'?” Mia asked. “And who is Sasha?”

“You haven't met her yet?” Cecily asked. “Just wait.” Haley knew exactly what Cecily meant. Mia squaring off against Sasha in competition for a guy would be about the most evenly matched pairing Mia would come across at Hillsdale High. The sporty golden girl Sasha had all the fun and warmth Mia lacked, while Mia's smoldering, dangerous appeal made even the rebellious Sasha seem safe.

“Johnny and Sasha went camping in Virginia this summer and totally went all the way. In a pup tent,” Whitney dished.

“That's such old news,” Coco said.

“I wouldn't go spreading rumors, Whitney,” Cecily added. “That's not quite how their little camping trip went.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “You Americans are so hung up on sex. What is the big deal? She likes him, he likes her…it's the nature.”

“What about you and Sebastian?” Whitney asked. “Have you…you know…?”

Haley tensed slightly, waiting for the answer, but Mia laughed it off, as if to say,
Of course we have,
amiga.

“You want to know the real story?” Coco said, arching an eyebrow. “Sasha and Johnny almost did it, but Sasha chickened out. I always knew she didn't have as much guts as everyone thinks.”

“What do you mean, she chickened out?” Whitney asked, frowning at the possibility her sources might have given her bad information.

“She cried like a baby and said she wanted to wait,” Coco said. “They broke up over it, from what I hear. It's like I always say, the words
romance
and
camping
do not belong in the same sentence.”

“That doesn't sound like Sasha,” Cecily observed. “Sasha doesn't cry.”

“No, she just does everything but,” said Coco, snickering as Johnny reappeared to set a basket of bread on their table. The other girls quickly clammed up. He must have sensed the awkward silence, but he certainly didn't try to break it. As Johnny silently walked away, Mia excused herself to go to the restroom.

“I don't see what's so bad about Sasha wanting to wait,” Cecily suddenly began. “Big deal. I think it's sort of admirable. Besides, it's not really anyone's business but theirs.”

“Honey,” said Coco, “if you think that boy with the apron is in the kitchen right now holding out for his precious Sasha, and not downstairs in the restroom making out with the slutty new addition to our junior class, you are sorely mistaken.”

Haley gasped. Could it really be true? Were Johnny and Mia getting it on in front of everyone's noses? Coco seemed to have silenced Cecily's defense of Sasha. The girls finished their brunch without speaking, though Whitney did giggle a little when Mia emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, her face flushed, her hair askew. She ordered an espresso, prompting Whitney to ask for a hot fudge sundae.

“What?” she whined as Coco glared at her. “It's a sundae on Sunday. So it's okay.”

“Rationalize it any way you want to,” Coco warned. “It's still a thousand calories your butt doesn't need.”

“Don't listen,” Mia said, diving her own spoon into the bowl of ice cream when it came. “Your butt is
magnífico.
”

“
Merci,
Mia,” Whitney said, gloating at Coco. “Mia, did you really model in Miami all summer?”

“
Sí, sí,
of course,” Mia said. “I was in magazines, commercials.”

“Really?” Coco said. “Which ones? We'll look for your pictures.”

“Oh, you cannot get them here,” Mia said defensively. “They are special European fashion books, European commercials, very avant-garde.”

Coco still seemed suspicious.

“Uh, I just love whipped cream,” Whitney exclaimed. “It's like my favorite thing on the planet. It's got everything: light, sweet, creamy, fluffy…” A bit of cream landed on her nose. She stuck out her tongue, trying to lick it off, but couldn't quite reach it.

“Here, Whit.” Cecily passed her her napkin.

“Sometimes when I'm kissing a boy, I pretend I'm eating whipped cream,” Whitney said. “It makes the whole thing so much better. Because, you know, some boys' mouths don't taste all that great—”

“
Amiga,
you are crazy,” Mia said.

“Okay, Whipped Cream Queen,” Coco said. “Whenever you're finished making out with your hot fudge sundae, can we get the check? Spencer's picking me up for a drive.” They glanced out the window just as Spencer pulled up in his brand-new sports car.

“But we never finished talking about the costumes,” Whitney said. “For the play? I'm supposed to buy fabric this week.” Whitney was now chasing Coco out the door.

“I'll e-mail you later,” Coco said, climbing into the passenger seat.

“I should be spending more time at Bubbies,” Spencer said, peering over his aviators to get a better look at the hotties spilling out of the restaurant.

“Helllo,” Mia purred, looking back at Spencer seductively.

Uh-oh,
Haley thought, bracing herself. Coco might toy with Mia among the girls, but around Spencer, the younger De Clerq had a no-mercy strategy.

“The car, it's Italian?” Mia asked, her mouth curving into a pout.

Spencer was about to respond when he caught himself, patted Coco on the knee and said, “Later, girls,” before speeding away.

Whitney seems to be in heaven, immersed in gossip, whipped cream and costumes. But wait a second here…did Sasha and Johnny actually “do it” in Virginia, or did Sasha freak out instead? Will Whitney be known as the Whipped Cream Queen from now on, thanks to her bordering-on-fetishistic love of the fluffy stuff? And what about Mia? Did she really model in Miami, or is she exaggerating her credentials?

There is a lot more gossip where that came from. To send Haley to Whitney's house to find out more dirt, go to
"RUMOR MILL"
. If, on the other hand, you think Haley is sick of Coco and the gossip grind, send her running to Sasha on
"FREEDOM ROCK"
.

Sometimes you hear things you wish you hadn't. It's up to you to decide whether you'll fan the flames with more hot air.