Lola and the Boy Next Door
Page 61

I stop.
“While we were together,” he adds.
I turn and look him in the eye. “No. And that’s the truth. We didn’t even kiss.”
“Are you sleeping with him now?”
I blush. “God, Max.”
“Are you?”
“No. And I’m leaving now.” But I don’t move. This is my last chance to know. “Where have you been for the last month? I called. I wanted to talk with you.”
“I was staying with a friend.”
“Where?”
“Santa Monica.” Something about the way he says it. As if he wants me to ask.
“A . . . girl?”
“A woman. And I did sleep with her.” Max slams his door.
Chapter thirty
Max has always known what to say—and when to say it—to make it hurt the worst. His words stung, but it only took a moment for me to realize why. It’s not because I care that he’s been with another woman. It’s because I can’t believe that I ever loved him. I viewed Max in such a willfully blind way. How could I have ignored his vindictive side? How could I have committed myself to someone whose knee-jerk reaction was always anger and cruelty?
I apologized. He reacted in his typical fashion. I went to his apartment for absolution, and I got it.
Good riddance.
Winter break comes to an end, and with it, so does my grounding. School resumes. I’m surprised when three of my classmates—three people I don’t know well—approach me the first day and say that they’re happy to see I’m dressing like myself again.
It makes me feel . . . gratified. Appreciated.
Even Lindsey sits taller and prouder, a combination of Charlie and his friends (who have joined us at lunch) and seeing me colorful again. It’s nice to have more people around. The hard part is waiting for the weekend. I miss that chance of seeing Cricket at any moment. The pale blue glass of my window looks dull without him on the other side.
Friday is the longest school day in the history of time. I watch the clock with eyeballs like Ping-Pong balls, driving Lindsey crazy. “It’ll come,” she says. “Patience, Ned.” But as the last bell rings, my phone does, too. A text from NAKED TIGER WOMAN:Not coming home this weekend. Unexpected project. On the first week! This sucks.
My world caves in. But then a second text appears:I miss you.
And then a third:I hope that’s ok to say now.
My heart is cartwheeling as I text back:Miss you, too. Miss you even more this weekend.
!!!!!!!!! = chirping crickets + ringing bells
We text for my entire walk home, and I’m floating like a pink fluffy cloud. I let him go so that he can work, and he protests for several texts, which makes me even happier. Throughout the night, my phone blinks with new messages—about his roommate Dustin’s hideous friends, about being hungry, about not being able to read his own notes. I fill his phone with messages about Norah repacking her boxes, about Andy’s seasonal clementine pie, about accidently leaving my math book in my locker.
In the morning, my parents are taken aback when I wake up early and materialize downstairs while they’re still eating breakfast. Andy examines the calendar. “I thought your shift didn’t start until four.”
“I’d like to go to Berkeley. Just for a few hours before work.”
My parents trade an unsettled glance as Norah shuffles into the room behind me. “Oh, for God’s sake, let her go. She’ll go anyway.”
They give me permission. Hourly phone-call check-ins, but I gladly accept. I’m bouncing out the door when a split-second decision has me returning for something tiny that I keep stashed away in my sock drawer. I slip it into my purse.
I stop by New Seoul Garden, and Lindsey packs a bag of takeout, which causes the entire car—on both of the trains it takes to get to Berkeley—to smell. Whoops. I decide to be brave this time and call him when I reach his dormitory gates, but someone is leaving as I’m arriving, and it’s not necessary. I pass through the landscaped courtyard and the other doors just as easily.
And then I’m at his door.
I lift my hand to knock as a girl laughs on the other side. My knuckles land against the wood in a tremble. Is that Jessica? Again?
The door pops open, and . . . it’s Anna.
“Hey, space cowgirl!” She’s already taken in the silver fringe dress and my red cowboy boots. For one nightmarish second, I’m consumed by suspicion, but the door swings back and reveals St. Clair. Of course. He and Cricket are sitting against the side of Cricket’s bed. And then Cricket Bell sees me, and the atmosphere lights up.
My soul lights up in response.
“Hi.” He springs to his feet. “Hi,” he says again.
“I was worried that you wouldn’t have time to eat lunch today.” I hold up the takeout as I notice a spread of empty Chinese boxes on the floor. “Oh.”
Anna gives me a gap-toothed grin. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat what you’ve brought, too.”
“His stomach is quite tall,” St. Clair says.
“And yours is so wee,” Anna says. He shoves her legs from his place on the floor, and she shoves his back. They’re like puppies.
Cricket gestures me forward with both arms. “Here, come in, sit down.”
I glance around. Every surface is covered.
“Uh, hold on,” he says. There’s a mound of school papers spread across the surface of his bed, which he bulldozes aside. “Here. Sit here.”
“We should go,” Anna says. “We just stopped by to feed Cricket and grill him about the Olympics. Did you know they’re in France this year?” She sighs. “I’m dying for a visit.”
Her boyfriend bites a pinkie nail. “And I’m trying to convince her that if Calliope makes the team, we should consider it a sign and take the holiday.”
I smile at Anna. “Lucky you.”
St. Clair turns toward Cricket and points an accusing finger. “I’m counting on you to ensure your sister wins at Nationals next weekend, all right?”
My heart selfishly plummets. Next weekend. More time away from Cricket.
“She only has to get one of the top three spots,” Cricket says. “But I’ll take out an opponent’s kneecap if I have to.”
Anna prods St. Clair’s shoulder. “Come on. Weren’t you gonna show me that thing?”