She held up both hands, palms out. “No judgment. I’m sure he’s more fun than what’s-his-name—Herr Skeletor.”
“I think we should go back there.”
Lydia turned so that we were both looking at the scene on the bleachers. Will was regaling Terry with what appeared to be a long and involved story. Arden was absorbed in her phone.
“Why?” Lydia asked, pulling out her own phone. “I could just text her, tell her where to meet us.”
“They might need our support. And it’s possible he’s not as bad as he seems. Some people get nervous in unfamiliar settings.” All of these were plausible excuses, and much better than confessing my desire to prove Alex Ritter wrong.
“Fine,” Lydia sighed. I handed her a Snickers, to soften the blow.
As we approached, Will was holding forth about American literature, dropping names and titles as if scattering seeds on virgin soil. From what I could tell, his tastes ran mostly to stories of neurotic white guys lamenting their self-inflicted tragedies while the women and people of color dealt with real problems somewhere off stage.
It never would have worked,I thought, bidding adieu to the last trace of regret at being overlooked in favor of a more beautiful friend. I held my M&M’s out to Terry, so she’d know there weren’t any hard feelings.
“You eat these?” Will’s tone would have made more sense if Terry had started nibbling on her toenails. Lydia’s eyes narrowed.
“You guys!” Arden jumped in. “What a coincidence! We were just talking about books.” Her smile was strained. “Will was, anyway.”
“Mary’s a serious reader,” Terry said. I got the feeling both she and Arden had been trying to interject for some time.
Will glanced at Lydia, sniffing with amusement. “What, the vampire books?”
“I’m Lydia.” She bared her teeth. “That’s Mary.”
He appeared to find this a trifling distinction. “You are such a puritanical culture. Obsessed with sex, but too much like children to call it that, no, it has to be teeth instead.”
“Holy cow,” I said, staring at him.
His lips curved patronizingly. “You never realized what it means when the fangs penetrate and the girl bleeds? Sorry to melt your bubble.”
“Actually, that’s pretty basic. I mean, gothic literature has been around for centuries.” If someone was going to sneer at me, they could at least have the decency to scrape up something better than bargain-basement symbolism.
“Excuse me, but I am German. I think I know more about what is gothic than—” He gestured mutely at me.
“Than what, a girl?”
He shrugged, as if to say,Close enough.
How had I ever found him handsome? Features I’d considered sculpted now struck me as pinched. “‘You’re the sort who can’t know anyone intimately, least of all a woman,’” I quoted. “That’s fromA Room with a View. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t watch your teenager beach house reality shows.”
“It’s a novel,” I corrected. “By the great English writer E. M. Forster.”
“The British!” He made a sound of disgust at the back of his throat. “So repressive, with their manners and their teacups. I prefer something real, not this, ‘Oh, I must wave my handkerchief.’”
I heard a roaring in my ears. Had he just dismissed the entire tradition of English literature? Lydia rubbed her hands together. “Go ahead, Mary. Don’t hold back.”
“I think it’s time for us to go,” I said in my most dignified manner.
“Yes, okay,” he snorted, “keep hiding in your Hollywood chewing gum world, instead of opening your eyes to reality.”
“Right,” said Arden, standing up. “That’s all the reality I can handle. Ready, Terry?”
Will frowned at Terry. “You’re leaving withthem?”
“I—yes,” she said. “I’m going with my friends.”
