“Like an ambush,” Lydia said.
“No, like an iconic experience for Mary,” Arden corrected. “Flirting with guys at the mall. Only better, because they wouldn’t be total strangers.”
“You still wouldn’t want to get into a car with them,” Terry said. “Never let them take you to a secondary location.”
“Sure,” Arden agreed with an abstracted air. “Also, you know they’re capable of dressing up. If there ever happens to be an occasion where that might come in handy.”
“Yeah, if we ever need a bunch of guys who look like they’re cosplaying their golfer grandpappies we’re all set.” Lydia pretended to tighten an invisible tie.
“Mary happens to like the conservative look. You saw the way she was scoping out the guy upstairs, with the fancy shoes!” Arden cocked her head to one side. “Maybe he’s still here?”
“Dude.” Lydia put a hand on her arm. “Relax. We had fun. I’m sorry it didn’t end up with a group wedding or whatever, but it’s all good. Right?”
Terry and I made noises of assent.
Somehow, Arden managed to smile and sigh at the same time. “So is this like something from a book? We can add it to the list of warning signs.”
It took me a moment to look beyond the immediate environs of the food court—loud, greasy, and artificially bright—to the deeper issue. “There is a book where a girl accidentally goes to the wrong church on their wedding day, and her fiancé thinks he’s been stood up, so he takes up with another woman, only the one he was supposed to marry was pregnant and ends up dropping dead.”
“What’s the lesson?” Terry asked.
“Don’t freak out if your plans get messed up?” Lydia suggested. “All they had to do was try again the next day. Maybe get a better map. Work on their communication.”
“Thereareother places we can go to practice our social skills,” Arden allowed.
Lydia tapped the back of her hand. “I bet you have six or seven of them on your list.”
“At least.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lydia shouldered her bag. “Now let’s get out of here before this lighting gives me a stroke.”
Dear Diary,
If I ever become a writer like George Sand, with or without a nom de plume, I hope people remember me for my books, and not because I had an affair with a sickly pianist.
Although it is romantic imagining Chopin trying to impress her with his beautiful playing while she concentrates on her novels. That’s what Arden would call a power couple.
M.P.M.
Chapter 12
The next item on Arden’s listwas destined to remain shrouded in mystery a little while longer. A merry-go-round of afterschool commitments kept my friends busy the rest of that week and well into the next, which was how I ended up walking home alone on a windy September afternoon, hefting both my backpack and Cam’s, since my sister had an away game that evening. At least the heat had abated, the first hints of yellow appearing on the trees like a promise of fall.
“They have these things called e-readers,” someone said from behind me as I stepped from the school parking lot onto the sidewalk. I froze, which had the unintended consequence of allowing Alex Ritter to draw even with me. “That way you don’t have to carry the whole library with you.” He reached for the strap of Cam’s bag.
“What are you doing?” I meant,Why are you stealing my sister’s backpack?but he blithely ignored my protest, slinging it over his own shoulder.
“Taking a walk. What areyoudoing?”
“I’m going home.” Mentally I kicked myself for falling into the Little Red Riding Hood trap. But that was silly. It wasn’t as though he had any intention of following me through the woods. Or neighborhood, in this case.
“Great,” he said, falling into step at my side. “Aren’t you going to ask how I did on my test?”
I bit my lip. The jig was up. He knew I’d invented an action-hero finale forJane Eyre.
“A ninety-six.” He paused, watching me for a reaction. “Also, ‘Excellent, exclamation point.’ Ms. Milano even read some of it to the class. She particularly liked my revisionist slant.”
Was I a tiny bit impressed? Perhaps. But I had no intention of telling him that. “Imagine how well you could have done if you’d read the whole book.”
