“Who is ‘we’?” I ask.
Wren points to the eyes still staring at me through the books. “This is Andrea.”
“Hello, Andrea. And why exactly are you scoping out the guy in the cocktail t-shirt?”
Before either of them can answer, a familiar form lumbers up beside the desk and leans on it in the most uncomfortable version of casual I’ve ever seen. Isaiah waits there for a few seconds, but the guy engrossed in his book doesn’t seem to notice him. Wren’s boyfriend looks over at her, shrugging, and she points at the guy. The muscles along my jaw tighten, my hand clenching the strap of my bag. Isaiah taps the guy on the shoulder, making him jump and nearly push his textbook off the table onto the floor. They exchange a few words, and Cocktail Shirt goes back to his book as Isaiah walks away. He takes a few exaggerated slow strides, then scurries toward Wren. He hops into the aisle with a wide grin on his face.
“Civics,” he whispers.
A thump on the floor in the next aisle accompanies Andrea’s backpack dropping to the floor with her crouching down beside it so she could dig through. She yanks out her own Civics book and fluffs her hair before spreading a wide smile across her face and heading toward the desk.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Andrea has had a crush on Trevor since freshman year. She figures since it’s the last semester of high school, she better hurry her seduction plan along a little bit,” Wren whispers.
“And by seduction plan, you mean stalking him in the library, having someone else find out what subject he’s studying, and then, I presume, her going up to him to ask a completely arbitrary question?” I ask.
“Yes,” Isaiah nods.
He grips Wren’s hand, and I lean close to her.
“You really are a child; you know that?”
I stalk out of the aisle and directly up to the table, where Andrea is now stumbling her way through asking a question she clearly didn’t prepare.
“... but there’s denatured alcohol. Is that like liquor from England that hasn’t been approved for citizens to drink yet?”
He blinks at her a few times. I think I can hear the gears grinding to a halt in his head and attempting to start up backward. I step between Andrea and him.
“Trevor?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Andrea. If you haven’t figured it out yet, she’s trying to let you know you could get in her panties any time you want. I strongly recommend condoms, because no one needs reproduction between the two of you. Have fun.”
Andrea gasps as I walk past her and out of the library, not even bothering to look behind me to see Wren’s reaction.
9
Wren
“You can’t be serious.” I look at my mother imploringly, but she just narrows her eyes at me and continues to set the table.
“Yes, I’m serious. What are you talking about, Wren? I told you we had plans for tonight.”
“You didn’t tell me those plans were having them over for dinner,” I say.
“She’s our next-door neighbor. She’s a very nice woman. You said so yourself. Why shouldn’t we have her over for dinner again?”
“She is our next-door neighbor and very nice, but… him.”
“Now, don’t be like that. He might have had a different upbringing than you, but Bree adores him. That has to mean something,” Mom says.
“Either that she has no idea what type of person he actually is, or has really terrible judgement for character,” I tell her.
“I’m surprised at you, Wren,” my father says. “Usually you aren’t this close-minded about people.”
“I’m not being close-minded. I’m basing this evaluation purely on my interactions with him. Here and at school. He’s rude and condescending. He acts like he thinks he’s the best thing to ever walk the planet.”
“Maybe you just need more opportunity to get to know him. You’ve been around the same people your entire life. It’s bound to be strange having somebody completely new around. But you can be a good influence on him. Starting tonight at dinner.”
This is Mom’s serious voice. It sounds sweet and encouraging, but behind the words is the unspoken fine print that I have no choice in the matter. She invited Bree and Talon over for dinner, and I have no option but to spend my Friday night choking down portobello mushroom ravioli with him.
“Who is the other place setting for?” I ask.
“Anthony. I saw him at the grocery store earlier and invited him to come.”
That comes as a relief. When I saw the extra plate, I worried for a second Mom had gone behind my back and invited Isaiah. It’s going to be awkward enough having dinner with Talon across the table from me. I don’t need to add my boyfriend into the mix.
It bothers me that the thought even goes through my mind. I should want Isaiah here, no matter who else is. But I hate the strange tension between the two and the way Talon looks at him like an inconvenient scuff on his shoe.
We’ve just finished setting the table when the doorbell rings. Mom gestures toward it with her head, and I go to open it. My breath catches in my throat when I see Talon on the other side of the door. He’s changed from his usual black jeans and t-shirt to a sleek black suit. His eyes an even more intense shade of blue as he stares through the glass at me.
“Hi, Wren,” Bree says cheerfully.
It isn’t until that moment that I even notice she’s standing there. She’s wearing a puffy green parka in deference to the temperatures that have refused to rise much above freezing, but the flared skirt of a green floral dress sticks out from beneath. When they step inside and I take her coat, it reveals a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. Holding a pie plate in front of her, she looks for all the world like a housewife from the 1950’s.
“You look nice,” I tell her. “I feel underdressed.”
I look down at the simple blue sweater dress I’ve paired with gold flats.
“Thank you,” Bree smiles. “I think you look very pretty. That color is wonderful for your eyes and hair. Where should I bring the dessert? It’s an apple-pear pie.”
“That sounds delicious. Just bring it into the kitchen.”
She nods and makes her way to the back of the house and into the kitchen. When she disappears through the swinging door, Talon steps up closer to me and leans, so his mouth is almost against my ear.
“I think you look overdressed,” he whispers.
My body goes still, my mouth dry. The door opening behind me startles me so much my heart pounds in my chest, and I have to press my hand to it to hold it steady. My uncle steps into the house and immediately looks concerned.
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“Something sure smells good. Should we go in and see when everything will be ready?”
I nod and let Uncle Anthony step in front of me. I look over my shoulder at Talon. His face hasn’t changed, his expression still quiet and unreadable. Could he possibly have meant what I think he did?
The second we walk into the kitchen, Anthony stops in his tracks. His movement stops, so suddenly I run into the back of him and stumble back slightly. Talon’s hand rests to my back to stand me back up, but I move away from the heat of his touch as fast as I can. By the time I move to stand beside my uncle, I see what stopped him. Bree stands at the counter, carefully moving the pie from the dish onto a serving platter. She pulls her fingers away from the crust and nibbles away a few crumbs that cling to her fingertips. As if she can feel the stares, she looks up and blushes.