Top 8 (20 page)

“So then what?” Lisa asked, leaning across the Stubbs table, eyes wide.

I had just described the date, and was now up to the weirdness of the Ruth sitch. “So then I called her, and she looked at the phone and didn't answer it,” I said. I took a sip of my latte and smiled across the shop at Kevin. He'd given me lots of extra foam, just the way I liked it.

“
Incroyable
,” Lisa murmured. “Well, the only reason she would ignore a call from
you
is if she was having some kind of romantic thing with someone.” Lisa snapped her fingers. “I knew she had a crush on someone. I just knew it!”

“But then why didn't she tell us about it?” I asked, stealing a piece of Lisa's croissant. “She told me the other
night that she'd tell me as soon as she was ready. But if she's on a coffee date with someone, that sounds pretty serious, don't you think?”

“
Je ne sais pas
,” Lisa said. She shrugged, but with both arms.

“Well,” I said, brushing off my hands, “I suppose I'll just have to ask her tonight at Brian's party.”

Lisa sat up very straight. “Party?” she asked, a glint coming into her eyes. “What party?”

 

“So he didn't kiss you?” I groaned. I was having some quality Schuyler time at her hair salon. Her stepmother made her get monthly lowlights, and Schuyler always got bored, so I usually went and hung out with her. Plus, I could usually get one of the stylists to give me a free bang trim.

“No,” Schuyler said loudly above the sound of the dryer that was engulfing her head. “But it was a really great time anyway! Well, except for the movie part. Because it was subtitled, and I couldn't see anything. And Connor couldn't find his contacts or something, so neither of us really knew what was going on. Because neither of us speak Korean.”

“But he didn't kiss you?” I said, looking sorrowfully out from under my overgrown bangs at a passing stylist.

“No,” Schuyler said. “But he brought me Gerbera daisies, Mad! And you know those are my favorites! And we did hug good night.”

“And?”

She sighed happily. “It was really great.”

“Good!” I smiled at her. I was happy to hear her good news. While she'd been having her foils applied I'd filled her in on my semi-disastrous date and the Ruth weirdness. Shy thought that Ruth didn't know it was me who was calling and so had just ignored the call. I then told her that most people who aren't constantly tossing their cell phones out of windows usually take the time to program in their friends' numbers.

“Yeah,” Schuyler said, shifting a little under the dryer. “I don't know when I'm going to see Connor next, though. I mean, aside from school on Monday. I mean
see
him see him —”

“You'll see him tonight, right?” I asked, completely without thinking. “At Brian's party?”

Beneath the dryer, Schuyler's eyes widened. “Party?” she asked hopefully.

 

In the backseat of Dave's BMW, I lowered my window. “God, Lisa was right,” I said, breathing in the scent of the sweet, sweet fresh air. “Dave, please air out your car every now and then.”

“Hey!” Dave said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. “Who's giving you a ride?”

“Who told you about the party in the first place?” I retorted.

“Lisa,” Dave said, pointing to the passenger seat, where Lisa was meticulously applying red lipstick, using the visor's mirror.

“
Oui
,” Lisa said, barely opening her mouth as she concentrated on the task at hand. “
Bien sur
.”

“But who told
you
?” I asked her.

“
Bof
,” Lisa said, waving a hand impatiently and placing the top back on her lipstick.

“I thought you said you put the pies in the trunk,” I said. Dave had brought three cheese pizzas at my suggestion, in the hopes that Brian wouldn't notice I was bringing extra people with me. “It just really smells like garlic back here, Dave.”

“Well, yeah,” Dave said, seeing a yellow light in the distance and speeding up.

Driving with Dave was always interesting; it usually felt like some sort of spiritual experience, as I almost always found myself praying during some part of the ride. The fact that Lisa could apply makeup while he was driving was just a testament to how long they'd been together.

“I mean, I deliver pizzas,” he continued. “And pizza fumes tend to linger.”

“Tell me about it,” Lisa muttered.

“What kind of pizza was this?” I asked, sticking my head a little farther out the window. “Entirely garlic and salami?”

“You'll never believe it,” he said, “But last night I delivered another onion-anchovy-ham. I thought Ruth was the
only
person who would ever eat that.”

“No,” Lisa said, taking out her bronzer brush while I looked away, fearing for Dave's leather seats, “we delivered one about three weeks ago, remember? I still have the dry-cleaning bill, in case you don't.”

“And you're sure it wasn't to Ruth?” I asked, joking.

“Not unless she moved to some big house on Lower Cross Lane,” Dave said. He pulled onto the side of the road. “That's where both of them went, actually.” He put the car into park. “And we're here.”

We were actually still about half a mile from Brian's house, but since there was no crime in Putnam — except for mass embezzlement from the hedge funds, or whatever — the cops didn't have anything to do on the weekends except break up teenagers' parties. The clear giveaway that a party was going on was a lot of cars parked around one driveway. So by now, it was ingrained party etiquette for us to park a long way off and walk. The truly successful party could be judged by how far back the line of cars stretched.

Dave retrieved the pizzas from the trunk and we began the trek toward Brian's. I looked at him and saw
that today's shirt featured a picture of our thirtieth president, and read
Keep It Coolidge!

“So where is Schuyler?” Dave asked as we walked.

“She got a ride with Connor!” Lisa said excitedly. “
Oh, l'amour
.”

“Brian is going to kill me,” I said. “He told me not to tell anyone, and at least four extra people are going to be showing up at his ‘study group' because of me.”

“If he can't accommodate four extra people, his party is super lame,” Dave said. “Plus, we brought pizza.”

“And it's not like we don't know Brian,” Lisa said, “
n'est-ce pas
, Mad? Mad?”

But I was no longer paying attention to what she was saying; I was transfixed by what I had just seen: a cherry-red, souped-up pickup truck parked along the side of the road.

 

We walked inside to find a typical Brian party going on. There were drinks and mixers in the kitchen, a blender whirring, and the contents of Mr. McMahon's liquor cabinet spread out over the kitchen island. I could see a keg on the deck and a cooler sitting next to it. I just hoped that somewhere in the kitchen, there was enough ice left for the Diet Coke I'd stashed in my purse.

For someone who said he didn't want to throw a raging party, Brian didn't seem to be trying very hard. The only concession he seemed to have made to the fact that he was grounded (and would probably be grounded again for most of the foreseeable future) was that he was insisting everyone take their shoes off at the front door.

When I'd come in with Lisa and Dave, Brian had frowned at me a little, but didn't seem overly mad, so I could relax on that front. I really didn't have much time to think about Brian anyway, as I was scanning the house for signs of Nate.

I didn't see him anywhere, but I did see Justin and Kittson over by the bookshelves in the living room, having what looked like an intense conversation. Kittson was wearing a tank top, and not sporting any hickeys that I could see, so maybe she'd finally gotten Justin to stop.

I saw Liz sitting by herself by the fireplace, staring out toward the patio where Jimmy was standing and looking a little wistful.

Ginger was outside, playing quarters with some people I didn't know, but who looked vaguely familiar from past Brian parties.

Connor and Schuyler were sitting on a couch in the TV room, and were looking incredibly cute together — I'd been right — but were also exuding the “early date and nobody else in the world exists right now” vibe. I
wasn't even sure Schuyler was aware of where she was, as she didn't seem to be taking in any surroundings except for Connor. I'd go over and hang with them later, if I got the all-clear vibe.

When Dave and Lisa began making out on the couch in the living room (Dave and Lisa really couldn't resist couches. There wasn't much point in even trying to talk to them when there was a couch around. This was why I tried to go to coffeehouses with the two of them as infrequently as possible), I went in search of ice.

On my way to the kitchen I passed the study and I saw Turtell and Dell, standing across from each other. There was a weird vibe in the room, like I'd just interrupted an argument or something.

“Hey,” I said, stopping in the doorway. Both guys looked my way. Neither looked too happy to see me. “What's up?” I asked, a little warily.

“Hello, Madison,” Dell said, while looking at Turtell.

“Hey Mad,” Turtell said. Then he crossed the room to stand next to me. “I need to talk to you,” he added in a lower voice.

“Sure,” I said. “Lay it on me. I'm just going to get a drink first.”

“No,” Turtell said, his voice dropping even lower. “I need to talk to you
alone
.”

Oh
God
. Suddenly, all Turtell's weird, lingering looks made sense to me. When I'd told him to find a nice girl,
had he thought I was talking about myself? I hoped he didn't have a crush on me. But why else would he want to talk to me
alone
? I never should have defended him back in fourth grade. My nine-year-old self's actions were coming back to haunt me. “Sure,” I said, backing away a little. “Just let me get that drink first. Oh, and Dell,” I said, remembering. “I need to talk to you about my laptop. There's been another issue.”

“Oh?” Dell said, in his usual expressionless manner. He probably didn't want to say more than that, for fear I'd want a refund if there was something wrong with it. Which there was, but still.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'll find you later. You too, Glen,” I said, hurrying out of the room with the weird vibes. Hopefully I could avoid Turtell long enough for him to forget he wanted to tell me he had had a crush on me, and possibly for the past seven years.

I headed to the kitchen and grabbed a red plastic cup. I was even able to scrounge a few ice cubes, and I poured my Diet Coke into it.

I didn't really drink that much. After a party Brian had thrown last year — in which I'd discovered the dangerous siren song of Jägermeister, and then spent three straight hours throwing up, hearing snatches of conversation as Ruth and Lisa debated whether or not I needed to go to the emergency room — I'd pretty much put a kibosh on my consumption.

This had made me incredibly popular at parties, as people always wanted me to be their designated driver, so they wouldn't have to sleep on the party-thrower's living-room floor or have to deal with the judgmental looks from the straight-edge kids who ran SafeRides.

While I waited for my bubbles to die down so that I could pour some more, I looked through the kitchen window and saw Ruth standing out on the deck, talking to Jimmy. I looked around for Liz, but she was still by the fireplace. I really hoped the two of them would be able to work it out.

I watched Ruth talking intently to Jimmy, and wondered, again, what was going on with her. Had Jimmy been the one she'd been having coffee with — the one she had a crush on? I hoped not — anyone could see Jimmy wasn't going to be over Liz any time soon. And they belonged together, if only for the sake of the tattoos they'd both gotten over Christmas break.

As I watched Ruth lean in close to speak to him, I felt utterly at a loss. I hadn't talked to her at all today — I didn't know how to broach the ignored call. But I resolved to talk to her before the night was over. After all, this was
Ruth
. We could talk about anything.

“Madison MacDonald,” a low, gravelly voice behind me said, “in the kitchen, with the Diet Coke.”

I turned around and saw Nate there, holding a red cup of his own and smiling at me. He seemed to have
dressed up a little for the occasion, wearing a blazer over his jeans and T-shirt. He looked incredibly handsome. I suddenly found myself wanting to do more than touch his hair — although I really wanted to do that, too.

But mostly, I was filled with the overwhelming desire to kiss him.

“Hey,” I said. “Nate the Great.” I smiled at him, hoped he had not suddenly developed the ability to read minds, and cursed myself for not taking a hint from Lisa and applying some lip gloss back in the car. Or on the 5K walk to the house. “Did you learn that from watching
Clue
, the movie?”

“I did indeed.” He walked around the kitchen island to stand next to me. “Want to hit me with some of that stuff?” He was looking at my Diet Coke bottle.

“I don't know,” I said, peering into his cup. “What was in there before?”

“Regular Coke.”

“But I don't think you're supposed to mix them,” I said gravely. I tapped my fingers on my chin. “I think there's some sort of rhyme….”

Nate placed his cup down on the tabletop. “I said hit me.”