She lets out her breath as if she's been holding it for a long time. “Then we'll have to set up a system so that no one will ever suspect.”
“You're carnivaldaze,” I say, because that's how we've gotten messages to each other about meeting at the coffeehouse. “She can e-mail me anytime. No one will ever know.”
Lori smiles, leans forward and kisses me lightly. “Well, right now I'd better drive you home before you miss your curfew.”
I sway forward on my knees, catch her hands in mine. “Dad's stuck in Chicago. He won't be in until really late.”
She studies me. “Truth?”
“I wouldn't lie.”
She stands and so do I. She hugs me and I feel my heart race. “Then no use rushing off, is there? Come back to bed with me.”
She doesn't have to ask me twice.
Honey
Something's up with Ryan. I don't know what, but something is making him different these days. When I say this to Jess, she rolls her eyes and says, “Why do you think that? He's been doing his own thing since school started. How can he be even more different?”
“I'm a dedicated Ryan watcher. I know when changes are made.”
Jess is so into Joel she wouldn't notice if the sun set in the east. We're on our way to go Christmas shopping in one of Atlanta's trendy boutique areas. Taylor's driving, and now she chimes in with “You need to get over him, girlfriend.”
“I am over him.”
“Sure you are,” my friends say in unison.
“In a romantic way,” I clarify. “I still care about him as a friend.”
“So what changes have you noticed?” Taylor asks.
I know she's humoring me, but still I speak up. “He hardly ever returns my IMs or e-mails. It's like he's never home. No more text messages, either. I have to practically trip him in the halls to get him to speak. It's like his head's in another universe.”
“Joel says they don't hang much anymore either,” Jess offers.
“How can they?” Taylor says. “You two are joined at the hip.”
“We haven't joined anything yet,” Jess says. “You know I'd spill my guts to my best friends if our body parts ‘joined.’ ”
Taylor and I laugh. Jess points, saying, “Parking space alert! That SUV is pulling out. Grab the spot.”
We wait patiently for the Mom-mobile to back out of its diagonal space. Just as we're leaving the car, Taylor says, “Oh, oh! I have dirt.” We wait for her to divulge. “The admin crowd is asking Settles to back down on the sexy clothing.”
“That's going to break some male hearts,” Jess remarks.
I ask, “Who says?”
“My mom.” Taylor's mother is a PTO heavyweight and has her fingers in all things McAllister High.
“I like Ms. Settles,” Jess says. “She's nice and cracks jokes in class. Cuts us some slack on assignments, too.”
“Well, the principal told her to tone down the outfits.”
“They're all jealous because she's pretty and wears heels,” Jess says. “That's a totally athletic-shoe crowd in the front office.”
I don't say anything because I don't like Lori Settles. There's something too nice about her. That, and Ryan thinks she's hot.
“It's the stilettos,” Taylor says. “Who can walk in them?”
We've been walking and talking, but suddenly Jess stops. “Let's try some on.”
We're in front of a high-end shoe boutique. “We can't afford anything in there.”
“We're not buying,” Taylor says. “Just shopping.”
We giggle our way inside, where a saleswoman looks us over, then asks, “May I help you?”
“I want to try on those,” Taylor says, pointing to a pair of black sky-high Pradas. “Size seven.”
The woman's gaze flicks over Taylor's sweater and jeans. It's obvious we're not Atlanta belles, but still she disappears into a back room, emerging minutes later with a box.
“I want to try these,” Jess says, holding up an equally high-heeled shoe. “Size six and a half.”
The woman looks at me. “And you?”
My face gets hot, but I grab a strappy evening shoe and hold it toward her. “Size ten.” She stares at me. “Basketball,” I say boldly. “It makes a girl's feet bigger.”
We laugh together the minute she's gone. When she returns, we try on our selections and Taylor takes a few wobbly steps. “It takes practice,” the saleswoman says, watching us from the ankles down, and for a second I think she's going to throw her body over the shoes to protect them from us.
I feel very unsteady, but brave a brief walk to a floor mirror to admire the sparkly crystal-studded shoes and how elegant they make my feet look. I totally get why Lori Settles wears them. They do a lot for a girl's morale.
Once we leave the store, we can't stop laughing. “I have new respect for models,” Taylor says.
“And for Ms. Settles,” Jess adds. “How does she do it?”
We're still laughing when we pass a street vendor with a table full of handmade silver jewelry. “Earring alert,” Taylor says.
“All handmade by me,” a hippie-looking girl tells us.
“Nice,” I say, my eye drawn to a necklace. A loop of silver twisted into a knot dangles from the chain.
“It's a Celtic lovers' knot,” the girl tells me. “Very meaningful for lovers. No one else sells them in Atlanta.”
“Then I'll have to buy these,” I say, picking up a pair of silver dangle earrings with a chip of turquoise. “For my mom. I love her, but…”
The girl laughs and wraps my purchase.
My friends and I shop for a few more hours, then head home. I hide my purchases in a hatbox on my closet shelf, go to my computer and punch up my e-mail program. My heart's beating faster, high on hope that Ryan's sent me an e-card for Thanksgiving because I sent him one—a funny one, naturally. But except for junk mail and a reminder from Coach Mathers about basketball practice starting up on Monday, I have no other messages. I feel let down. Stupid, I tell myself. He doesn't even remember I'm alive.
Ryan
I walk on air for weeks. What happened—what is happening—between me and Lori is like something in a movie, or a dream. My biggest problem is controlling myself. I want to be with her all the time. I want to touch and taste her, have more sex with her. It's all I think about. In the classroom, she treats me the way she does every other student. She never looks me in the eye, though. Too dangerous. As if our feelings will burst out like water from a dam. So I slouch in my chair, put in my time, cut out as soon as I can, go home and stay in my room, sending her explicit e-mails and arranging times to get together.
I never appreciated my dad's work schedule so much. He's gone, and the housekeeper hardly notices me, so I come and go as I please. I usually catch a city bus to Lori's neighborhood and walk to her apartment complex. I forward the home phone to my cell so I'm always available if Dad calls from the road. Lori often serves takeout when I come over, but we don't waste much time eating.
At some point, she tells me, “For the record, I've never gone out with Mathers.”
I wonder why I ever got so worked up about that. “It's a free world,” I say. We're on her sofa, half watching
