What You Always Wanted (19 page)

A wad of paper makes a soft noise when it lands near me. I know better than to pick up a note during a quiz. I smash it with my heel and keep my eyes trained on the first question, which I'll never have an answer to.

Another ball of paper crashes into my leg and falls to the floor. Jesse clears his throat. I glance at Mr. McCaffey, who's scanning the room carefully, presumably for the cougher. Jesse isn't as observant, and he slides the paper closer to me, his foot hitting mine in the process. I swallow and allow myself to look at the point of contact.

“Jesse and Maddie.”

My head snaps up in surprise, more at hearing our names
paired than the negative tone Mr. McCaffey generally reserves for whiners and troublemakers, of which I am neither.

“Turn in your papers, please, and wait for me in the office.”

Office?

“Now, please.”

“But I didn't—”

“I lack patience for excuses today, Miss Brooks.” The corners of his mouth dip down much farther than normal. His voice is tired. “I don't tolerate cheating in any form.”

Jesse finally speaks up, calmer than anyone faced with a zero and an office visit should be. “We weren't cheating—”

“Office,” he repeats, bending down and scooping up the mystery notes from the floor.

I hold my breath as I wait for him to open and read them to the class. I have no idea what could be written in them—what could possibly be so important Jesse had to write it out and throw it at me during a pop quiz. Idiot. Like I wasn't mad at him enough already.

We follow Mr. McCaffey to the front of the classroom, backpacks slung over our shoulders, feeling other students' eyes burning holes in the backs of our heads. In slow motion, our blank quizzes and the two balls of notebook paper float into the trash. It's like my worst nightmare, next to choking an audition—I now have experience with this—or forgetting lines on opening night.

Jesse and I escape to the empty hallway, the door clicking shut with finality. My locker isn't too far, so I exchange books for my next class, assuming I get to go. I'm not exactly well versed in getting accused of cheating, but I'm fairly confident we can explain that it was all a misunderstanding. Mr. McCaffey
clearly just woke up on the side of the bed that makes him irritable and unwilling to listen to students with no priors.

I thought Jesse went ahead without me, so I jump when his voice comes from behind me while I'm digging in my locker.

“You're mad.”

Can I get away with ignoring him when we're the only two people in the hall?

“That I kissed you. You're mad.”

And you're a genius.

“We should talk.”

I grit my teeth and inhale deeply through my nose, eyes closed. Count to three, only make it to one. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly speaking to you right now.”

“That's fine.” He opens my locker door wider and leans a shoulder against it, putting us much too close. “Just listen.”

I'm afraid to look at his face. I know the first place my eyes will go.

“I lack patience for excuses today, Mr. Morales,” I say, copying Mr. McCaffey's words.

He snickers and shoves his hands into his pockets, still leaning against the lockers. I cave and look at him. And there they are, twisted up in a smirk. Now that I know how they feel against my own, I'll never again be able to look at his lips quite the same way.

“I don't have any excuses. I kissed you. The end.”

I raise an eyebrow as my heart sinks. Of course it had nothing to do with his attraction to me. He thought I was throwing myself at him. “Easy money for you, right? How much was the payout?”

“I didn't have anything to do with that childish bet.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He straightens, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Because if you don't, then you're the one being childish. I thought you wanted me to kiss you, so I did. I didn't know you were gonna make such a big thing out of it.”

He thought
I
wanted to kiss him. Nothing about
him
wanting to kiss me. Was he just being a guy, interpreting the situation however he wanted? He might have kissed any girl he'd been next to on that hayride. The tiny flicker of hope inside my chest dies. My first real kiss was just as fake as all my stage kisses.

Shutting my locker with a clang, I turn on the balls of my feet and take off down the hallway.

“Maddie,” Jesse calls after me and I ignore him. “Madison, stop!”

I whip myself around, eyes narrowed. “Don't yell at me with my proper name like you're bossing around a kid.”

“The office is this way,” he says, pointing in the opposite direction.

He catches my arm as I try to breeze past, and I glare at his hand until he lets go.

“Look, I don't know what you're so upset about,” he says. “You could probably even thank me.”

“
Thank
you?” I nearly shout, then lower my voice to a hoarse whisper to keep from getting in further trouble. “You're so full of yourself, I'm shocked there's even room for both of us in this hallway.”

“Stop it, I'm being for real. Those other losers will probably leave you alone now that everyone knows your first kiss was with me.”

My
stolen
first kiss.

I call upon the strength of all classy women before me and bite down a string of curses. “You're such a cad,” I say, shoving past him toward the office to debate my way out of adding “cheater” to my expanding reputation.

Jesse rushes to catch up to me and shifts his backpack from one shoulder to the other. “I don't know what that means,” he says before leaning in so close his cheek brushes against my loose curls. “But you're welcome.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I've decided it doesn't count,” I tell Sarah.

We're sprawled out on the floor of the Moraleses' TV room, sorting the DVDs I brought over, killing time while Angela and Tiffany flirt with the pizza-delivery guy downstairs.

“It doesn't work like that,” she says, pushing
The Philadelphia Story
toward me. “This one sounds funny.”

I add it to the “maybe” pile for tonight's meeting of Teens for Classic Movies.

“Maybe I wasn't Texan enough for you.” I clear my throat, conjuring my best Southern drawl. “I ain't countin' it.”

Sarah shakes her head and lies on her back with a sigh, folding her hands over her stomach. “You can't just pretend Jesse doesn't exist for a week and magically erase the fact that he kissed you. And you kissed him back,” she adds with a cough. “We all saw it.”

I think back to the disaster of English class on Monday and shudder. Thankfully, all we got was a warning. “He almost got me sent to detention! There's no way I would engage in a relationship with someone I have zero in common with.”

Sarah snorts. “No one said anything about getting engaged to the guy.”

“That's not what—”

“And I'm sure you have
something
in common.” She sighs again. “There's probably some chemical thing inside both of you, pulling you together. Some sparkly, otherworldly particle you both have buried deep in your hearts. Magic particles. Oooh,
magnetic
particles. Hence the pulling together.”

I blink. “Don't get all weird on me.”

“I'm just trying to find a pretty way to say maybe what happened wasn't quite the daydreamy accident you claim it to be. Maybe y'all are being brought together by the fates.” She rolls onto her side, propping her head up. Her bangs fall in front of her eyes but she leaves them. “He was active in theatre once upon a time, after all. I'd say that's a
thing
you have in common that's not too weird and otherworldly for you,” she says with a laugh.

“Doubtful,” I dismiss, though my pulse speeds up. “I can't even get him to talk to me about it. He gets all PMS-y every time I bring it up.”

I add
That Touch of Mink
to the growing pile and put
Send Me No Flowers
back in my tote bag. I love Doris Day in both of these, but it might be a Cary Grant kind of night.

Sarah skims the synopsis of
How to Marry a Millionaire
and tosses it in for consideration. “This one sounds like it could be useful.”

I smile but my mind stays on track. “Was he amazing?”

She doesn't look up from her task of movie-sorting. “I mean, his mom had him in classes all his life. He was bound to be amazing.”

“But he quit and never looked back? For sports? I just don't
get
it. Did he get teased that badly about it? Haven't we come further than that? Don't people watch
Glee
?”

She grunts.

“You know, Gene Kelly wanted to quit dancing all the time,” I say, straightening. “He got teased and beat up, but he stuck it out, and look what happened. He became one of the most influential dancers of his time. He revolutionized the way movies filmed their musical numbers. He played the lead in one of the most beloved musicals next to
The Wizard of Oz
. He'll be remembered and loved for, well,
forever
.”

“Hey, now don't you go gettin' all weird on
me
.” Sarah sits up the rest of the way, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You can't compare Jesse to these old actors, you know.”

Leaning against the front of the couch, I stare at the cover of the
Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly Collection
, touching the smooth surface of the box where the white sailor hats sit crooked on their heads. For one night, Jesse was my sailor. And he's fried everything in my brain.

Sarah moves to sit next to me and takes the box from my hands. “You'll find the right guy for you one day, Maddie. It's not something to get frazzled and depressed about.”

“Says the girl with the perfect boyfriend who happens to be the lead in the next school play,” I huff. “I, on the other hand, don't think I'll ever find a guy to fit my list of standards.”

She huffs back. “You probably won't. The guy on my list has giant calf muscles because mine are huge and I'm self-conscious, black hair that's long in the front and super short on the sides, plays the guitar, drives a sports car, and would be happy eating Chinese takeout every night for the rest of his life.”

I picture Ryan in his preppy clothes and clean-cut hairstyle. He drives a truck, like most every other guy at our school, and if I remember correctly, he isn't very musically talented.

“That doesn't sound like Ryan,” I say. “At all.”

“Right? He's not anything close to what I thought I wanted.” She hugs her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. “But he's wonderful.”

We sit in silence as I let her declaration sink in. I mean, it's great and I'm happy for her, but I don't
think
I know what I want, I
know
what I want. And I don't understand how I can be happy with less.

Only two other girls from school come to our first night as an advertised club. I guess I shouldn't say
only
. It's a miracle anyone comes who doesn't have to be bribed.
An Affair to Remember
wins the vote, so it's a Cary Grant kind of night after all. Following pizza, ice cream, and the movie, I lead a discussion comparing modern actors with their predecessors, but I get a bunch of blank stares and one request to watch
The Princess Bride
at a future meeting. Rather than argue that's not exactly the type of classic movie I ever intend on highlighting, I give them the ole smile-and-nod and call it a night.

After Sarah and the two other girls leave, Angela and Tiffany pick out another movie. A new release with action like guns and explosions and guys without shirts spitting out one cheesy line after another. Total snoozefest.

I last about twenty minutes before I excuse myself for a bathroom break and peek in on Elise, who's passed out hugging the plush elephant Jesse gave her on her first day of kindergarten a few months ago. And I see a flash of my own future as an older sibling.