into.”
“I’ll risk it,” I said dryly. “So who should I talk to?”
She thought a moment. “Mrs. Augustus, at the library. And my father.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Friday night, I called Lillith to give her the blow-by-blow of my lack of relationship with Jack. She said that Sara Fife fell under the Sorority Queen Exception to Girl Power Rule #1, and I should go for it. But between pride and ethics, I couldn’t. And I didn’t.
Saturday morning, I called Mrs. Augustus and asked if I could interview her for a writing project. She said yes, but she and her husband were going down to Tuscaloosa to visit family, so could we set it up when she returned? Then I took Portia to the CoolSprings Galleria. As she tried on clothes that Madison the Cool would deem acceptable, I wondered: What is Jack doing right now? When we stopped to buy earrings, I thought: Is he with Sara right now? I’d catch a glimpse of broad shoulders and golden hair and think: It’s him. Or I’d see red hair tossed saucily down a slender back: It’s her.
And then, as if thinking about something awful could actually make it happen, it really
was
them, walking toward me.
Screw him. I went directly to Sara, opening my purse as I did. “Hi.” I took out one of Nikki’s petitions and offered it to her. “Would you like to sign the petition to vote on the school emblem?”
“I don’t think so,” Sara drawled. She gave me a friendly smile and snuggled against Jack.
“What about you, Jack?” I challenged.
“Please,” Sara scoffed on his behalf.
“I can answer for myself, Sara,” Jack said. There was a tic in his jaw.
She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just that I’ve got a big ol’ list of stuff we need to get done for the Crimson Maidens car wash tomorrow.”
“Gee, sorry I interrupted with my silly civil rights thingie,” I said.
She sighed. “Can we just go, Jackson?”
“I need to talk to Kate for a minute.”
“Fine.” A one-syllable icicle. She told Jack she’d meet him at the food court and left.
“Kate—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You’ve got exactly the girl you deserve.”
“Can’t we just—”
“Better go. She’s got
a list,”
I sneered. “You might want to add
backbone
to yours.” I backed away from him and into TCBY just as Portia turned away from the counter with two cones. She handed me one. I took it and checked as nonchalantly as I could to see if Jack was still outside. He was gone.
Sunday. I couldn’t think of a reason to get out of bed. My room was a mess, clothes everywhere. It was pathetic.
I
was pathetic, mourning a relationship that never was. The hell with Jack Redford, I told myself. What kind of guy stays with a girl he doesn’t love? What kind of guy can’t tellhis own mother what he wants to do with his life? And what kind of a weenie was I turning into, lying around my room, mooning over him instead of spending time with someone I actually respected, like Nikki? Or working on my play? Or—
Pound-pound-pound
on my door, followed by Portia bursting into my room and catapulting herself onto the bed. “The cutest boy is downstairs waiting for you,” she announced breathlessly.
Possibly I was dreaming. Caution was key. “What color hair?”
“Goldish, kinda. Blue eyes. He told me to give you this.” She handed me a piece of folded notebook paper. I unfolded a really bad drawing of something long and thin and bumpy. The caption: JACK’S BACKBONE.
“Porsche, I
love
you!” I hugged her so hard she squeaked, then begged her to go downstairs and distract him while I dressed. I was a whirlwind. Five minutes later, teeth brushed, face washed, jeaned and T-shirted, I ran downstairs. There he was, chatting easily on the couch with my starstruck little sister. He stood when I walked in. Portia looked from me to him and back to me again.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
“Can I come?” Portia piped up.
“Another
“I’ll risk it,” I said dryly. “So who should I talk to?”
She thought a moment. “Mrs. Augustus, at the library. And my father.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Friday night, I called Lillith to give her the blow-by-blow of my lack of relationship with Jack. She said that Sara Fife fell under the Sorority Queen Exception to Girl Power Rule #1, and I should go for it. But between pride and ethics, I couldn’t. And I didn’t.
Saturday morning, I called Mrs. Augustus and asked if I could interview her for a writing project. She said yes, but she and her husband were going down to Tuscaloosa to visit family, so could we set it up when she returned? Then I took Portia to the CoolSprings Galleria. As she tried on clothes that Madison the Cool would deem acceptable, I wondered: What is Jack doing right now? When we stopped to buy earrings, I thought: Is he with Sara right now? I’d catch a glimpse of broad shoulders and golden hair and think: It’s him. Or I’d see red hair tossed saucily down a slender back: It’s her.
And then, as if thinking about something awful could actually make it happen, it really
was
them, walking toward me.
Screw him. I went directly to Sara, opening my purse as I did. “Hi.” I took out one of Nikki’s petitions and offered it to her. “Would you like to sign the petition to vote on the school emblem?”
“I don’t think so,” Sara drawled. She gave me a friendly smile and snuggled against Jack.
“What about you, Jack?” I challenged.
“Please,” Sara scoffed on his behalf.
“I can answer for myself, Sara,” Jack said. There was a tic in his jaw.
She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just that I’ve got a big ol’ list of stuff we need to get done for the Crimson Maidens car wash tomorrow.”
“Gee, sorry I interrupted with my silly civil rights thingie,” I said.
She sighed. “Can we just go, Jackson?”
“I need to talk to Kate for a minute.”
“Fine.” A one-syllable icicle. She told Jack she’d meet him at the food court and left.
“Kate—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You’ve got exactly the girl you deserve.”
“Can’t we just—”
“Better go. She’s got
a list,”
I sneered. “You might want to add
backbone
to yours.” I backed away from him and into TCBY just as Portia turned away from the counter with two cones. She handed me one. I took it and checked as nonchalantly as I could to see if Jack was still outside. He was gone.
Sunday. I couldn’t think of a reason to get out of bed. My room was a mess, clothes everywhere. It was pathetic.
I
was pathetic, mourning a relationship that never was. The hell with Jack Redford, I told myself. What kind of guy stays with a girl he doesn’t love? What kind of guy can’t tellhis own mother what he wants to do with his life? And what kind of a weenie was I turning into, lying around my room, mooning over him instead of spending time with someone I actually respected, like Nikki? Or working on my play? Or—
Pound-pound-pound
on my door, followed by Portia bursting into my room and catapulting herself onto the bed. “The cutest boy is downstairs waiting for you,” she announced breathlessly.
Possibly I was dreaming. Caution was key. “What color hair?”
“Goldish, kinda. Blue eyes. He told me to give you this.” She handed me a piece of folded notebook paper. I unfolded a really bad drawing of something long and thin and bumpy. The caption: JACK’S BACKBONE.
“Porsche, I
love
you!” I hugged her so hard she squeaked, then begged her to go downstairs and distract him while I dressed. I was a whirlwind. Five minutes later, teeth brushed, face washed, jeaned and T-shirted, I ran downstairs. There he was, chatting easily on the couch with my starstruck little sister. He stood when I walked in. Portia looked from me to him and back to me again.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
“Can I come?” Portia piped up.
“Another
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