Cross My Heart (13 page)

“
Ow
!” He flinches, and
o
ne of the trays slips
from
his hand. A dozen ice cubes fall
to the floor, shattering.

“That didn’t even hurt,” I insist, dodging shards of ice as I back away.

“Phillip!” Mom cries.

“It wasn
’
t me!”

He snatches
the mitt
from my hand, then pulls
his arm back
, ready to hit me with it
. I leap out of reach just as Dad walks
into the kitchen
, kicking an already melting ice cube across the
floor as he steps
between us, send
ing it sliding before it crashes
into the cabinets.

“Phillip! Stop torm
enting your sister,” he bellows
. “I thought you two were past that.”

“She started it,” he says
.

“He sai
d I was a control freak,” I tell
him
, flustered
.
“And a brat.”

“Are you two regressing?
” Dad asks
.
“It’s like
you
’
re eight and
ten
again
, and
believe
me
when I say
that’s not something I want to relive
.
”
In the next room,
I hear Sarah’s low laughter
. “Relax. Both of you.
Phillip? Clean up this mess.
And Jaden? There’s nothing wrong with
being a control freak
.
”

If
you’re desperate for
pizza in
Bedford,
you go
to Guido’s. The restaurant,
located just off Main Street, i
s
a run-down, hole-in-the-wall establishment
that should’ve been condemned
decade
s
ago. Still, it’
s the only pizza place in town, and therefore
a popular hangout. This pleases Papa Guido—whose real name is Don Smith—who has
no qualms about making a complete idiot of himself—even growing a completely unnecessary
,
bushy, black
mustache and adding “oh” and “ah” as suffixes to every other word—Italian or not. For instance, on Friday night, as Blake, Ashley,
Savannah, and Tony and I waltz
inside the alread
y crowded restaurant, he greets
us with a spirited
:

“
B
u
on
gio
rno
!
Welcom
-ah to ah Guido’s! Find-ah yourself an
emp
-ah-
ty
table. Hmm?”

I coerce my lips to turn up in a polite smile
as Blake grasps
my hand and
steers
us
across the restaurant. We weave
our way between tables covered
in red and white checkerboard
cloths, each
topped with a silk
,
red
rose in a
translucent
,
Dollar S
t
ore vase,
step
ping
over crumpled
napkins and pizza crust crumbs.

“I swear,” Ashley mutters
as we slid
e
across the gummy, vinyl seats
of an empty booth in the back
, “Valerie Smith must be so embarrassed. I mean, I remember when Don was a Realtor.”

“You know that’s why you never see
her here, right?” Savannah says
.

I reach
for th
e paper menu
and wipe
down my space with a napkin
. “Come on, guys. The man is harmless. Loo
k, the town loves him.” I nod
toward th
e kitchen area, where “Guido” i
s balancing a salt shaker on its end for a table of customers: his sig
nature (and only) trick. I can
hear him: “You see-ah? It float-ah like magic!” T
he family at the table applauds
warmly
. It’
s pr
obably the hundredth time they’ve
witnessed this mind-blowing display of dexterity.
At least they’re good sports about it.

“
I’m starving,” Ashley s
ays
. “What are we getting
?”

“The usual?” I reply
. “Blake?”

Blake straightens
beside me. “Sure. Two larges
: one
pepperoni
.
You’re cheese only, right Jaden?”

I nod
, smiling.
I tuck his shaggy, dirty blonde hair beh
ind his ear. He smiles
back,
eyes sparklin
g. When
I
first noticed them—
his
eyes, I mean—
they
reminded me of this aquamarine
I saw
on a field trip
at the Natural
History Museum in Hamilton. I
stood there for a while, watching the g
emstone change with every blink: f
rom light blue to clear gray to almost colorless, depending on the light. I
didn’t even know
it
was an aquamarine; at first I
thought it was a diamond. It was beautifu
l, at any rate, and I remember
it
whenever Blake’s eyes shimmer
like this.

We’ve
been dating for months, and w
e’ve
never said “I Love You
”
?
 

And then Parke
r i
s there, at the
table with us, voice echoing
in my head:
declaring that Blake and I
are only together because it’s convenient—because I’m
too scared of the unknown to break up with him.
I’m
thankfu
l for our waitress, who returns
with our drinks—happy
for the
interruption
.

“Honestly
,
Jaden,” Ashley begins
, “I don’t know how you drink water with pizza.”

“Wa
ter is good for you,” I remind
her. “You don’t
wanna
know how many empty calories are in your soda.”

“Good. Because it’s the weekend, and tonight I’m indulging.”

“Girl, when are you
not
indulging?” Tony asks Ashley. She thro
w
s
him a dirty look.

“Jaden has attitu
de about sodas,” Blake explains
, to no one in particular.

“Water is the better choice. And forgive me if I believe that artificially-colo
red, fizzy drinks aren’t good for your body
,” I tell them
, pulling the paper away from my straw and sticking it into my cup.

“Bu
t they’re good
to
my body
,” Tony says
.

I roll
my eyes. “They can take ru
st off a car battery.
That can’t be a good thing. B
esides, you’re supposed to be athletes.”

“Th
at’s just an urban legend,” says
Blake.

“What? That you guy
s
are athletes?” Ashley asks
innocently
.

A chorus of “ooh’s” eru
pt. I laugh, and high-five
Ashley across the table.

Blake sha
k
es
his head. “You know, that doesn’t make me feel bad, because this is the best season we’
ve ever had.
”

“That doesn’t m
ake you any good,” Ashley teases
.

“
All right, you guys. Blake? Tony? You
’
re awesome. Headed straight for
Regionals
. Maybe even State,
” I sa
y
, dis
rupting their little battle.
“Anyway. You
will be thrilled to know we’ve raised five hundred dollars with our raffle so far.”

“Th
at’s awesome, Jaden,
” Blake
says
.
His knee knocks against mine beneath the table.

“I know! I was think
ing maybe we could set up at your
last home basketball game. . . . You know. Get
some of the parents involved.”

“Are you sure you don’t have some outstanding arrang
ement
with Parker Whalen?” Tony asks
.

My cheeks fill
with heat
.
Why did he even go there?
I
pinch
my face,
tr
ying
to act
repulsed
.
“
No.
”

“So
,
what’s he like?” Ashley
ask
s
.

“What?”

“Parker
. I mean, is he as strange in person as he seems from a distance? Because you know, I don’t th
ink I’ve ever heard the boy speak
, and we had like
, two classes together last semester
.”

“I
bet he stutters,” Savannah says
.

“No . . .
I mean, he’s nice,” I stammer
. “Minus the whole not wanting to be my partner thing.
And he doesn’t stutter.
”

“
Well, h
e better not cause any problems,” Blake
mutters
, ha
lf under his breath
,
as he reache
s
for
his soda.

My shoulders square
, blood running cold
.
“What’s that
supposed to mean?” I c
hallenge
.

“You’re just working on this En
glish project, right?”

“Yes
,” I reply
.

“Good.”

“I’m
not following,” I say
, after a moment of
heavy quiet
.

“What I’m saying is if the boy tries anything st
upid he’s mine,” Blake explains
.

I can’t quite put my finger on it—what’s wrong with h
is smile. It’s not right
: it’s
harsh, and it makes my skin prickle.

“Half the school
would have your back, man,” says
Tony
.

Blake snickers
, running his finger around the edge of his glass, wiping away the condensation
. “What are you talking about? I won’t need half the school. The gu
y is a pansy.
”

I
glower
between them
, grappling for some kind of understanding
. “Why would you need anyone to back you up? Parker h
asn’t done anything,” I remind
him.

“It’s the reputation th
at precedes him,” Tony clarifies
.

My h
eart squeezes out an extra beat,
temper sparking.
I
flash a scowl in his direction
. “What do
you
kno
w about his reputation?” I ask
,
voice
escalating
. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Tony leans
back in his seat
, casual,
collected
,
eyes trained on mine.
“I know what I’ve heard, and that’s eno
ugh for me to stay away
.”

My pulse quickens
, fury coursing through my veins
.
“Unless what? You’re
jumping
him?”