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Authors: Tamara Summers
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me around with so much excitement that even I start laughing. “Jack, Jack, look how amazing it is!” she crows. “We’ll have the ceremony down by the water and then we’ll set up a big tent right here for eating and dancing, and it’ll be so romantic and perfect, oh my goodness!”
“Not to mention affordable,” Carolina adds with a wink. I’m guessing my parents have saidsomething to her—either that they’re not paying for it, or that they’re only willing to spend a small amount on what they consider to be one of Paris’s wild and crazy impulse purchases. One wedding with a side order of husband, please.
The best part of this is that now we can go home, which means I have the whole rest of Saturday for studying. Or so I think.
“Bye, Jack,” Leo says in a low (one might even say “sultry”) voice as he gets out of the car at the Trapelos’. “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! I’d forgotten about the arts and crafts extravaganza for Victoria. I nod and wave as he walks away.
When we get home, I make a dash for the stairs, but Paris seizes my arm and hauls me into the den. “MOOOOOOOM!” she hollers. “DAAAAAAD!”
“Good heavens, Paris,” Mom says, coming into the den. “Our office is right there. You don’t have to shout.”
“We found the most perfect place!” Paris announces. “Right, Jack? Isn’t it perfect?”
“It’s perfect,” I agree.
“It’s completely amazing and so, so, SO me. Don’t you think, Jack? Wasn’t it SO me?”
“It is SO her,” I agree.
“And everyone is going to totally love it. Right, Jack? Won’t everyone totally love it?”
“Everyone will totally love it,” I agree.
This goes on for a really, really long time. Finally I escape upstairs to my room with about an hour to study before dinner.
For some reason, though, I’m having trouble focusing on Gabriel García Márquez in Spanish tonight. The words keep blurring on the page, and instead I keep picturing Leo saying “You’re a keen observer” with his eyes twinkling. I keep imagining his body next to mine in the backseat, his shoulders and arms and hands only inches away from my own, radiating warmth.
It’s probably a bad sign that he manages to distract me this much when he’s not even here. I should really put a stop to the flirting. I mean, my choices are: (a) make a move, find out he doesn’t like me and is just kidding around, andbe horribly humiliated; (b) make a move, find out he likes me, date him, take him to Victoria’s wedding, watch the Wedding Curse strike again, destroy the whole wedding, possibly be crushed by falling masonry or whatever disaster strikes next, and be horribly humiliated and sad in a whole new way, but this time with a guy I really wouldn’t want to lose; or (c) stop everything now, and avoid humiliation (and sadness) (and masonry-crushing) either way.
You might think I’m being dumb, but you didn’t see the look on my very first boyfriend’s face when I caught Alex’s bouquet, or when one of her guests asked him for another slice of cake. And you don’t want to know what happened with Boyfriend #2 at Sydney’s wedding.
Sorry, Leo. Weddings and relationships just don’t mix—at least not for me. Trust me, it’s for your own good.
Chapter Five
It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that Victoria has decided we will be working on favors starting at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.
“That way we’ll be done early,” she says enthusiastically. “And then we’ll have the rest of the day to get other wedding things done!”
Hooray!
Yeah, I’ve tried many times to explain to this family that teenagers need more sleep than other age groups. It’s true. There was a study or something. We need like nine hours of sleep a night, minimum. And when you’re up until two A.M . trying to write a coherent essay about Manifest Destiny while not thinking aboutsparkling green eyes, the last thing you want to see five and a half hours later is your
“Not to mention affordable,” Carolina adds with a wink. I’m guessing my parents have saidsomething to her—either that they’re not paying for it, or that they’re only willing to spend a small amount on what they consider to be one of Paris’s wild and crazy impulse purchases. One wedding with a side order of husband, please.
The best part of this is that now we can go home, which means I have the whole rest of Saturday for studying. Or so I think.
“Bye, Jack,” Leo says in a low (one might even say “sultry”) voice as he gets out of the car at the Trapelos’. “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! I’d forgotten about the arts and crafts extravaganza for Victoria. I nod and wave as he walks away.
When we get home, I make a dash for the stairs, but Paris seizes my arm and hauls me into the den. “MOOOOOOOM!” she hollers. “DAAAAAAD!”
“Good heavens, Paris,” Mom says, coming into the den. “Our office is right there. You don’t have to shout.”
“We found the most perfect place!” Paris announces. “Right, Jack? Isn’t it perfect?”
“It’s perfect,” I agree.
“It’s completely amazing and so, so, SO me. Don’t you think, Jack? Wasn’t it SO me?”
“It is SO her,” I agree.
“And everyone is going to totally love it. Right, Jack? Won’t everyone totally love it?”
“Everyone will totally love it,” I agree.
This goes on for a really, really long time. Finally I escape upstairs to my room with about an hour to study before dinner.
For some reason, though, I’m having trouble focusing on Gabriel García Márquez in Spanish tonight. The words keep blurring on the page, and instead I keep picturing Leo saying “You’re a keen observer” with his eyes twinkling. I keep imagining his body next to mine in the backseat, his shoulders and arms and hands only inches away from my own, radiating warmth.
It’s probably a bad sign that he manages to distract me this much when he’s not even here. I should really put a stop to the flirting. I mean, my choices are: (a) make a move, find out he doesn’t like me and is just kidding around, andbe horribly humiliated; (b) make a move, find out he likes me, date him, take him to Victoria’s wedding, watch the Wedding Curse strike again, destroy the whole wedding, possibly be crushed by falling masonry or whatever disaster strikes next, and be horribly humiliated and sad in a whole new way, but this time with a guy I really wouldn’t want to lose; or (c) stop everything now, and avoid humiliation (and sadness) (and masonry-crushing) either way.
You might think I’m being dumb, but you didn’t see the look on my very first boyfriend’s face when I caught Alex’s bouquet, or when one of her guests asked him for another slice of cake. And you don’t want to know what happened with Boyfriend #2 at Sydney’s wedding.
Sorry, Leo. Weddings and relationships just don’t mix—at least not for me. Trust me, it’s for your own good.
Chapter Five
It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that Victoria has decided we will be working on favors starting at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.
“That way we’ll be done early,” she says enthusiastically. “And then we’ll have the rest of the day to get other wedding things done!”
Hooray!
Yeah, I’ve tried many times to explain to this family that teenagers need more sleep than other age groups. It’s true. There was a study or something. We need like nine hours of sleep a night, minimum. And when you’re up until two A.M . trying to write a coherent essay about Manifest Destiny while not thinking aboutsparkling green eyes, the last thing you want to see five and a half hours later is your
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