All-American Girl (17 page)

No Doubt. David was a No Doubt fan.

I should have known, of course. I mean, anybody who likes Reel Big Fish has to like No Doubt. It's, like, a law.

Still, it freaked me out when I realized David had Gwen in the car stereo. Because you know if I had a car, that's who would be in my stereo, too. Gwen, I mean.

And the weirdest part was, my heart did that thing again. Really. That flippy thing, as soon as I heard Gwen's voice. Only not because, you know, of Gwen. No, it was because I realized then that
David
liked Gwen. Was that what Rebecca had been talking about? Was that frisson?

But how could I feel frisson for one person when my heart belonged to someone else? It didn't make any sense. The only reason I had asked David out in the first place was to make Catherine happy. And maybe to make Jack jealous. I mean, I was completely and irrevocably in love with my sister's boyfriend, who would one day realize that I, and not Lucy, am the girl for him.

So what was with the frisson already?

Figuring if I ignored it, maybe it would go away, I commenced to doing so. And you know what? For a while, I thought it did. I mean, not that we didn't have a good time, or anything. Jake's, the place we went to for dinner, was totally my kind of joint…a dive in Foggy Bottom, with sticky tabletops and dim lighting. Nobody
there paid the slightest bit of attention to the fact that I was the girl who saved the president and that David was his son. In fact, I don't think anybody looked at us at all, except the waitress, and of course John and the other Secret Service agents, who sat at a table a little way from ours.

And even though I'd been worried about what to talk about, it turned out I didn't have to fall back on Lucy's rules at all. David started telling me these funny stories about the crazy things that people who come to tour the White House have left behind—like retainers, and one time a pair of corduroy pants—and after that, the conversation just flowed.

And when the burgers came, they were a little burned on the outside, just the way I like them, and no one had put fresh vegetables, like tomatoes or onions or lettuce, on or anywhere near them. The fries were the skinny crispy kind, too, not the fat soggy kind, which taste all gross and potato-y.

Then David told me this story about how when he was a little kid, and his mom and dad would ask him to set the table, as a joke he would set one place with the giant oversized fork and spoon that were supposed to be used to serve salad.

And every single time, he said, his parents would laugh, even though he did it practically every night.

Inspired by this, I told him about the time in Morocco I tried to flush my dad's credit cards down the toilet. Which is actually something I've never told anybody before, except for Catherine. It wasn't as cute as the giant serving spoon and fork story, but it was all I had.

Then David told me about how much he resented having to leave his old friends and move to D.C., and how much he hated Horizon, where everyone was supercompetitive and all the emphasis was on science and not the arts, and people who liked
to draw, like him, were looked down on. I so knew where he was coming from with that one, only of course at Adams Prep it's all about athletics.

So then I told him how I had to go to speech and hearing, and how everyone thought I was in Special Ed. And then for some reason, I told him about the celebrity drawings, too, and how because of them I'd ended up with a C-minus in German and a mandatory trip to Susan Boone's.

It was at some point during this part of the conversation that David's knees accidentally touched mine underneath the table. He apologized and moved them out of the way. Then, about five minutes later, it happened again.

Only this time, he didn't move them. Or apologize. I didn't know what to do. Lucy had not mentioned this on her list of things that could possibly happen.

But I noticed the frisson starting to come back. Like, all of a sudden, I was conscious of the fact that David was a boy. I mean, of course I'd always known he was a boy, and a good-looking one, too. But somehow when his knees touched mine like that beneath the table—and stayed there—I became really, really aware that David was a boy.

And suddenly I felt shy and couldn't think of anything to say—which was weird because like, two minutes before I'd been having no trouble in that department. I couldn't meet his eyes, either. I don't know why, but it was like they were too green, or something. Plus all of a sudden I felt hot, even though it was perfectly comfortable inside the restaurant.

I couldn't figure out what was happening to me. But I knew none of it had been going on before his knees touched mine. So I moved around a little in my seat, thinking maybe if I broke, you know, the contact, things would be better.

And they sort of were, but I guess not really, since David looked at me—no secret smile on his face at all now—and went, “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” I said, in a voice that was way more high-pitched than my usual one. “Why?”

“I don't know,” he said, those two green eyes searching my face in a manner I found infinitely alarming. “You look kind of…flushed.”

That's when I had the brilliant idea of looking at my mermaid Swatch and going, “Oh, my God, would you look at the time? We better go if we want to get to the party.”

I kind of got the feeling that David would have been happy to skip the party entirely. But not me. I wanted to get there, and get there fast. Because at the party I'd be safe from frisson.

Because at the party would be Jack.

“Oh my
God, you came!”

That's what Kris Parks said when she opened the door and saw David and me standing there on her front porch. She actually didn't say it. She screamed it.

I should have known, of course. I should have known this was going to be how she—and everyone—would react.

In the car on the way over, David had been all, “Now, whose party is this?” and I had tried to explain, but I guess I didn't do a very good job—most likely on account of the frisson, which was not, unfortunately, going away—since he went, “Let me see if I can get this straight. This is a party being given by a person you don't like, at which will be a lot of people you don't know, and we're going…why?”

But when I explained that we had to go on account of how I'd promised my best friend, Catherine, he just shrugged and went, “Okay.”

And even though he showed not the slightest sign of being aware that every single person in Kris's house fell silent when we walked in, then started whispering like crazy, he knew. I knew he knew. And not because of the frisson, either. No, I knew it because that little grin of his came creeping back…like he was trying not to laugh. I think he was trying not to laugh at all the morons from Adams Prep who couldn't seem to stop staring at him.

At least he could laugh about it. The only thing I seemed capable of doing was just blushing more and more deeply. What I couldn't
figure out was why. I mean, it wasn't as if I
liked
him, or anything. As more than just a friend.

“Hi, I'm Kris,” Kris said, thrusting her hand out at David. Kris was wearing a denim minidress. Like it wasn't thirty degrees outside.

“Hi,” David said, shaking the hand of the girl who daily made life for me and so many others a living hell. “I'm David.”

“Hi, David,” Kris said. “I can't thank you enough for coming. It really is an honor to meet you. Your dad is doing such a good job of running this country. I was too young to vote, you know, in the election, but I want you to know that I totally handed out flyers for him.”

“Thanks,” David said, still smiling, only beginning to look like he might want his hand back. “That was nice of you.”

“Sam and I are just the best of friends,” Kris said, still pumping his fingers up and down. “Did she tell you? Since kindergarten, practically.”

I could not believe this bald-faced lie. I would have said something, only I didn't get a chance to, since right then Catherine came rushing up to us.

“Omigosh, am I glad to see you,” she whispered to me after introductions had been made. “You have no idea. Paul and I have just been standing here. No one will talk to us. No one at all! I am so embarrassed! He must think I am a complete social leper!”

I glanced at Paul. He didn't appear to be thinking any such thing. He was gazing adoringly at Catherine, who looked totally cute in the black jeans and silk top she'd borrowed from Lucy.

I turned back to David—who'd finally pried his hand loose from Kris's—and asked, “Want a Coke, or something?”

“What?” he asked, unable to hear me over the music, which was not, needless to say, ska.

“Coke?” I asked.

“Sure,” he yelled back. “I'll get it.”

“No,” I said. “I invited you. I'll get it.” I looked over his shoulder, at John, who was leaning against a wall and trying to blend in. “I'll get one for John, too. You stay here, or we'll lose each other.”

Then I started to fight my way through the crowd in the direction that I suspected the beverages were located, as that was where the throng was thickest. I had to admit, I was relieved to be escaping David's presence. I mean, it was just so weird, this thing that was going on between us. I didn't know what it was, exactly, but I knew one thing:

I didn't like it.

As I waded through the laughing, gyrating crowd, I thought to myself, This is what I've been missing by being part of the unpopular set? Houses bursting at the seams with loud, obnoxious people and head-pounding music you can't even understand the lyrics of? Frankly, I'd have preferred to be home watching Nick at Nite and eating spumoni.

But I guess that was just me.

When I got to where I thought the drinks were, all I found was a keg. A keg! Smooth move, Kris. I mean, she had known perfectly well David was coming and that he'd be bringing Secret Service with him. Hmm, she wasn't going to get too busted or anything.

And you know what? Couldn't say I felt too sorry for her, either.

The soda, someone informed me, was in a cooler in a room off the kitchen. So I plunged back into the hordes, until I emerged into the room off the kitchen.

And wouldn't you know it? My sister and Jack were in there, making out.

Lucy let out a squeal, “You came!” she cried. “How's it going? Where's David?”

“Out there, somewhere,” I said. “I'm getting us sodas.”

“Idiot,” Lucy said. “
He
's supposed to get
you
the sodas. God. Stay here a minute. I want to get the girls.”

By girls, of course, she meant the rest of the cheerleading squad.

“Luce,” I said. “Come on. Not tonight.”

“Oh, don't be such a spoilsport,” Lucy said. “Stay here with Jack, I'll be right back. There are some people who are dying to meet the real live son of an actual president….”

And before I could say another word, she'd taken off, leaving me alone with Jack.

Who regarded me thoughtfully over the plastic cup he'd just drained.

“So,” he said. “How's it going?”

“Good,” I said. “Surprisingly good. Thursday, Susan Boone, she made us draw this huge chunk of meat, and it was really cool because I'd never really looked at meat before, you know? I mean, there is a lot going on in meat—”

“That's great,” Jack said, apparently not realizing he was interrupting me, even though the music wasn't nearly as loud in the laundry room. “Did you get my painting?”

I looked up at him, uncomprehending. “What painting?”

“My entry,” he said. “In the From My Window contest.”

“Oh,” I said. “No. I mean, I don't know. I'm sure they got it. I just haven't seen it yet. I haven't seen any of the paintings yet.”

“Well, you're going to love it,” Jack said. “It took me three days. It's the best thing I've ever done.”

Then Jack started describing the painting to me in great detail. He was still going on about it a few minutes later when David showed up in the doorway.

I brightened when I saw him. I couldn't help it. Even though the object of my affections was standing right there beside me, I was glad to see David. I told myself it was only because that story about
the salad serving utensils had been so cute. It had nothing to do with the whole frisson thing. Nothing at all.

“Hey,” David said with the grin I now realized was practically his trademark. “I wondered where'd you'd disappeared to.”

“David,” I said, “this is my sister Lucy's boyfriend, Jack. Jack, this is David.”

David and Jack shook hands. I saw that, actually, standing together, they looked a lot alike. I mean, they were both over six feet tall, and both dark-haired. There I guess the resemblance sort of ended, though, since Jack's hair was shoulder-length, while David's only just hit his collar. And Jack, of course, had the ankh earring, while both of David's lobes were unpierced. And, of course, Jack had on his party clothes, army fatigues with a long black duster, while David was dressed pretty conservatively.

I guess they didn't look that much alike after all.

“David's in my art class,” I said to break the awkward silence that immediately followed their handshake.

Jack crumpled up his plastic cup and said, “Oh, you mean your conformity class?”

David looked confused. And no wonder. Jack is a very intense person who needs some getting used to.

I said hurriedly, “No, Jack, it turns out it's not like that. I was totally wrong about Susan Boone. She just wants me to learn to draw what I see before I go off, you know, and do my own thing. You have to learn what the rules are, you see, before you can go around breaking them.”

Jack, staring at me, went,
“What?”

“No, really,” I said, sensing he wasn't getting what I was saying. “I mean, you know Picasso? David told me that Picasso spent years learning to draw, you know, whatever he saw. It wasn't until he'd totally mastered that that he started experimenting with color and form.”

Only Jack, instead of finding this particular fact endlessly interesting, as I had, looked scornful.

“Sam,” he said, “I can't believe you, of all people, would fall for that pedagogic bull.”

“Excuse me?” David sounded kind of mad.

Jack raised both his eyebrows. “Uh, I don't think I was talking to you, First Boy.”

“Jack,” I said, a little shocked. I mean, Jack is an amazingly artistic person, and having that kind of, you know, creative energy bouncing around inside can be exhausting (as I well know). But that's no reason to call anybody names. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with
me
?” Jack laughed, but not like he actually thought anything was very funny. “That's not the question. The question is, what is wrong with
you
? I mean, you used to think for yourself, Sam. But now all of a sudden you're falling for all this ‘draw what you see' crap like it's been handed down from the gods on a freaking stone tablet. What happened to questioning authority? What happened to making up your own mind about the creative process and how it functions?”

“Jack,” I said. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I mean, Jack had always said it was imperative for artists to be open to all new things, so that they could soak in knowledge like a sponge. Only, Jack certainly wasn't acting very spongelike. “I did make up my own mind. I—”

“Hey, you guys.” Lucy suddenly reappeared, a posse of cheerleaders, each one wearing more body glitter and Lycra than the last, trailing along behind her. “Oh, hey, David, I've got some friends who want to meet—”

But I was still trying to make Jack understand.

“I looked it up, Jack,” I said. “David's right. Picasso was a technical virtuoso before he began experimenting with line and—”

“David,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Oh, yes, I am sure
David
knows all about art. Because I'm sure he's had paintings publicly exhibited before.”

Lucy looked from Jack to David to me, as if trying to figure out what was going on. When she spoke, it was to Jack. “Like you have?” she asked, with one raised eyebrow.

Lucy really is the most unsupportive girlfriend I have ever seen.

“Yes,” Jack said. “As a matter of fact, I have had my paintings exhibited—”

“In the
mall
,” Lucy pointed out.

Jack didn't even look at Lucy, though. He was looking at me. I could feel his pale blue eyes boring into me.

“If I didn't know better, Sam,” he said, “I'd think it wasn't your arm you broke that day you saved this guy's dad, but your brain.”

“Okay,” David said. There was no trace of that secretive little smile on his face now. “Look, dude, I don't know what your problem is, but—”

“
My
problem?” Jack jabbed a finger at himself. “
I'm
not the one with the problem,
dude
. You're the one who seems so perfectly willing to let your individuality be sapped by a—”

“Okay,” Lucy said in a bored voice, slipping between Jack and David and laying both hands on the front of Jack's long black coat. “That's it. Outside, Jack.”

Jack looked down at her as if noticing her for the first time. “But…” he said. “Luce, this guy started it.”

“Right,” Lucy said, pushing Jack backward, toward a door that seemed to lead into the backyard. “Sure he did. Let's just step outside and get some air. How many beers have you had, anyway?”

Then they were gone, leaving David and me alone. With Lucy's cheerleading squad.

David looked down at me and went, “What's with that guy, anyway?”

Still looking after Jack—whom I could see through the screen door, gesturing wildly to Lucy as he explained his side of the story—I murmured, “He's not so bad. He just, you know, has the soul of an artist.”

“Yeah,” David said. “And the brains of an orangutan.”

I glanced back at him sharply. I mean, that was my soul mate he was talking about.

“Jack Ryder,” I said, “happens to be very, very talented. Not only that, but he is a rebel. A radical. Jack's paintings don't just reflect the plight of the urban youth of today. They make a powerful statement about our generation's apathy and lack of moral rectitude.”

The look David gave me was a strange one. It seemed equal parts disbelief and confusion.

“What?” he said. “Do you
like
that guy, or something, Sam?”

Lucy's friends, who were listening—and watching—closely, tittered. I could feel color rush into my cheeks. I was hotter now than I'd been back in the restaurant.

But it was weird. I couldn't tell whether I was blushing because of David's question or because of the way he was looking at me. Really. Not for the first time that night, I was having trouble meeting those green eyes of his. Something about them…I don't know…was making me feel really uncomfortable.

I couldn't tell him the truth, of course. Not with the entire Adams Prep varsity cheerleading team standing there, staring at us. I mean, the last thing I needed was the whole school knowing that I was in love with my sister's boyfriend.

So I went, “Duh. He's Lucy's boyfriend, not mine.”