“What?” he challenged. “Everything’s set.”
I glanced down at Dangerous Embraces. “Well, we have to pick the books….” I trailed off, wondering, for one nutty moment, if the group could start off by reading some classic Irene O’Dell.
“Chill, baby,” Scott laughed. “That stresses you? You’re like a walking library. Just don’t assign us anything too smarty-pants, okay? I bet you’re in the middle of War and Peace right now. Or the collected works of James Joyce?”
I snapped Dangerous Embraces shut, feeling a stab of shame. “Close,” I lied. I had to keep my passion for paperback romances separate from my book group. This was, after all, an actual, serious, after-school club. My very own. And I couldn’t allow anything to ruin what could be the most important undertaking of my life.
Well, next to convincing my mom to let me buy that green army jacket I’d been eyeing on eBay.
“Does this look decent up there?” I asked Audre the next afternoon, pinning the final thumbtack into Scott’s flyer, and taking a step back. Scott had handed us a bunch of flyers at school that morning, and Audre and I had gone straight to the Book Nook that afternoon.
Now we studied the flyer’s bright yellow color and bold, block letters, which stood out against the cluttered bulletin board:
SEARCHING FOR SMART NEW FRIENDS … AND SOME JUICY READS? JOIN NORAH BLOOM’S BROOKLYN BOOK GROUP!
THE BOOK NOOK, PARK SLOPE, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 12 P.M. BRING JUST YOURSELF, YOUR IDEAS, AND LOTS OF ENTHUSIASM!
“Better than decent,” Griffin said, swinging by and playfully tugging Audre’s pouffy ponytail. “I’m impressed.”
“Our friend Scott did them,” Audre said, beaming at her love. “You’ll get to meet him next Sunday.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Griffin said, grabbing an extra flyer from the stack at my feet. “I need to tell my friend about this.”
“Right,” Audre said, and shot me an impish grin. When Griffin had walked off, she sidled up to me and murmured, “Watch out, Nors. Between Griffin and his hot friend, we’re so getting ourselves some Book Nook nookie.”
I tried to grin back, but my stomach was in knots. My minor freak-out on the phone last night was slowly mushrooming into a full-on panic attack. What if Griffin’s hot friend brought still another friend? What if, like, five hundred total strangers showed up, all wanting to read different books? I’m not exactly good at meeting new people. I had a nightmarish vision of random teen, adult, and elderly readers gathered around a table at the Book Nook, their faces all turned eagerly toward me. What had I gotten myself into?
“Get a grip,” Audre whispered, grabbing my elbow. I realized I’d been reaching up to remove the flyer from the board.
“Sorry,” I whispered back. “I was just thinking, you know, that maybe this was a mistake.”
“Forget it,” Audre said, steering me away from the flyers. “It’s too late now. Griffin knows about it, and, thanks to Scott, so does half of Millay.”
Audre was right. The book group had been set into motion. There was nothing I could do but wait for that fateful Sunday to arrive.
Three
At noon on Sunday, February twenty-fourth, I walked into the Book Nook with just myself, my ideas, and lots of jangling nerves.
I’d meant to arrive earlier, but the morning had been hectic. I’d spent an hour choosing an outfit, finally settling on shredded jeans, my Belle & Sebastian T-shirt, a fuzzy blue cardigan, chandelier earrings, and blue Pumas. Next, I pulled out my cloth-bound journal and jotted down ideas for different books the group could discuss, like Life of Pi and The Lovely Bones. My first choice was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, which I’d seen on the shelf at the Book Nook—it had a cool orange paperback cover and a potentially good mystery story about an autistic kid. Still, I wasn’t sure if the others in the group would go for it.
I was finishing off my book list when Tuesday Levine called. Her rich exboyfriend had flown her to his parents’ house in Cabo San Lucas for the weekend to win her back, and now that they were together again, she was planning to spend all her free time glued to his side. I made a gagging motion at my mirror as I listened to my friend apologize for having to drop out of the book group. Tuesday has that kind of nauseating love karma, so I wasn’t too surprised. But I also couldn’t help wondering if her pulling out was a bad omen.
What if no one showed up?
Fortunately, at least Audre and Scott were there when I arrived, sitting at a big round table in the sun-bright café. Audre, fussing over a plate of her walnut-and-cranberry scones, was wearing a glittery headband and a sixties-style black-and-white checked dress with white boots. Scott, chatting on his cell, had on his usual uniform of a button-down short-sleeved shirt, slouchy slacks, and multiple wristbands. I was so grateful to see them that I almost burst into tears.
“I have bad news,” Scott said before I could even sit down. He shut his phone and pushed a hand through his light brown curls. “Olivia Ramirez has mono, so she’s gonna be out of school for, like, two months. Oh, and obviously she can’t join the book group.”
“And,” Audre added carefully, watching me as if I might pass out any second, “Ha-Jin and Stephanie can’t make it either. They’re too stressed out by yearbook deadlines.” She went back to arranging her scones, looking apologetic on behalf of all our friends.
“Then I was right!” I cried, plopping down in an empty seat.
“What, you mean Lindsay Lohan is Satan?” Scott asked, reaching across me for a scone. Audre slapped his hand away.
“No.” I sighed. “I just had a sense of, like, doom this morning. If Tuesday and the other girls can’t come, who does that leave us with?”
Just then, the front door swung open, letting in a blast of icy wind, followed by a tall girl decked out in a pink peacoat, Seven jeans, and spike-heeled black boots. She paused with her hand on her slim hip, as if she were posing, then whipped off her wraparound shades and shook out her chin-length raven hair. One of the store cats—Agatha Christie, I think—crept up to the girl and purred, and she jerked away, shuddering in disgust.
“Plum alert,” Audre whispered, nudging me.
I nodded. There was no way a girl like that would be here for our book group. But when Griffin came out from behind the register and wrapped his arms around the Plum type, I gasped and Audre immediately grabbed my hand.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, glancing up; he’d been text-messaging under the table.
“Everything,” I answered softly, watching in disbelief as Griffin kissed the girl on each cheek.
“You made it!” I heard him exclaim. “They’re in the back.”
Slowly, Audre turned her head to gaze at me, horrified.
“That’s the friend?” she whispered.
“What about the—the sexy guy?” I stammered.
“What sexy guy?” Scott demanded, poking my arm. “You mean him?” He pointed at Griffin just as he was approaching our table, one hand on the glam girl’s elbow.
“Don’t point” Audre hissed, her cheeks going crimson. “That’s the boy I have a crush on, remember?”
Scott had heard me and Audre gossip aplenty about Griffin in school, but he hadn’t yet seen the Book Nook hottie in the flesh. “Oops,” Scott said, ducking his head as Griffin arrived at our table.
“Guys, this is my friend, Francesca Cantone,” Griffin said, all grins as he motioned to the princess at his side. “She’s supersmart, and a big reader, so watch out.”
“Oh, Griffy. I am so not a big reader!” Francesca giggled, and swatted Griffin’s ripped upper arm. Something about her reaction seemed forced, as if she were acting out the role of Ditzy Girl on a WB sitcom. I hated her already. Up close, she was even more perfect—tan skin, carefully plucked eyebrows, pouty lips. And, I couldn’t help but notice as she sat down and took off her peacoat, actual cleavage enhanced by a tight black V-neck sweater. She barely glanced at the rest of us and instantly started e
xamining herself in her Stila compact.
Now the question was, when Griffin said “friend,” did he actually mean “friend with benefits”?
Audre, who must have been wondering the same thing, tightened her kung fu grip on my hand and glared at Francesca with a murderous glint in her eyes.
Griffin, as always, was happily oblivious. “You must be the famous Scott,” he was saying, leaning across the table to shake Scott’s hand. “Dude, nice flyers.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Scott replied, his green eyes sparkling.
I kicked him under the table. Even when he’s taking a break from love, Scott sometimes hits on straight guys, just to see them blush.
But the ever-chill Griffin only laughed. “Why don’t y’all settle in and I’ll make some coffee?” he asked.
“Skim latte for me, sweetie,” Francesca called loudly as Griffin ambled off.
“You’re on a diet, huh?” Audre spoke up, glaring at Francesca. Audre thinks diets are ridiculous. I guess most future pastry chefs do.
For a minute, Francesca looked surprised, but then she seemed to collect herself, rotated a diamond stud in her left ear, and slowly sized Audre up. “What’s it to you?” she snapped.
“Oh, crap,” Scott and I muttered at the same time. Getting bitchy on Audre is never a good idea.
“Well, I’m the vice president of this book group,” Audre retorted, inventing the position for herself on the spot. “And I’m also a friend of Griffins. How do you even know him? Are you also at NYU?”
Scott and I turned our heads from one girl to the next, as if we were watching a Ping-Pong match.
“No. I’m a senior in high school,” Francesca answered shortly.
Oh. I glanced at Audre, knowing she was absorbing this news with interest. Francesca’s being in the group still seemed random, but her being in high school at least made more sense. Now that I thought about it, Griffin probably wouldn’t have recommended a high school book group to his college friends—let alone a hot boy. Audre and I had just been stuck in the land of wishful thinking.
“So where did you meet Griffin?” Audre pressed on, not even attempting to be subtle.
“We met at an exhibit at the Guggenheim this past fall,” Francesca replied snidely. “But you’re from Brooklyn, so you wouldn’t even know what that is, right? I live in Manhattan—”
“You do?” Scott jumped in, clearly trying to play peacemaker. “Where do you go to school?”
Francesca’s face turned stony, and a flicker of something I couldn’t quite read flashed in her gray eyes. “Uptown,” she replied icily. End of discussion.
“For your information, I know exactly what the Guggenheim is,” Audre snapped, still staring Francesca down. “What, you think you’re better than people from Brooklyn?”
Yikes. Scott and I exchanged a worried glance. But before a full-on catfight could explode, an unfamiliar male voice spoke directly behind me:
“Uh, is this the sci-fi group?”
Almost afraid to look, I turned around to find two boys I’d never seen before. They both seemed to be about sixteen. The one who’d spoken shrugged at me; he was Indian-American, with wavy brown hair, wire-frame glasses, and a hooded sweatshirt that said Hart Crane Weather Club. Hart Crane is this high school in Park Slope, where Audre and I almost went before our parents decided on Millay. And the boys there, I decided in that moment, are not any better than what Millay has to offer. The other boy was a few inches taller, and thin; he had messy dark hair and wore jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, the sleeves crookedly rolled up. He was staring at the floor.
“Sci-fi group?” I repeated. What the hell? I glanced around the cafe to see if any people wearing Star Trek costumes had gathered, but besides us, there was only a young mom with her baby, and a couple doing a crossword puzzle.
“Noon? The twenty-fourth? At the Book Nook?” Weather Club boy asked, reaching into his bookbag. “I got this flyer—”
Francesca cut him off with a loud jangle of her Tiffany charm bracelet. “Whatever. You can join us if you want.” She rolled her eyes, as if she were doing the world a huge favor by being nice to a dork.
Weather Club boy shrugged, then gamely plunked down at the table. “I’m Neil Singh,” he announced, and then gestured to his silent friend, who was taking the seat beside him. “And that’s my buddy James Roth.”
I gazed in wonder at the new arrivals. How had this little ragtag group come together?
Audre and Francesca were busy baring their teeth, and Griffin had returned to serve the coffee, so Scott hurriedly did the introductions, making sure to call me “our fearless leader”—which made me want to kick him again.
“Haven’t we met before?” Neil asked Francesca, and I cringed. Had Weather Club boy really just used the most predictable line in pick-up history? Francesca didn’t respond; she just twisted the fauxemerald ring on her finger. I glanced at James to see if he, too, was drooling over Francesca, but he was bent over, his hair in his eyes, scribbling something on a napkin.
Um, freak?
“Okay!” I said, trying to get it together. If this bizarre mix of kids was the book group, then I had to make us work somehow. Otherwise, I might as well go crawling back into Ms. Bliss’s perfumed office with a giant FAILURE sign attached to my forehead. My hands were trembling a little, so I covered them with my cloth-bound journal, hoping no one would notice. “What books would people like to read?” I asked, chewing my bottom lip.
After a minute of heart-pounding silence, Neil cleared this throat.
“I, Robot” he said flatly. When nobody responded, he added, “I guess I’d settle for Eragon, but it’s kinda over by now, huh?”
“Well,” I replied shakily, thinking I’d rather go through Chinese water torture than read Eragon for fun.
James looked up from his napkin, directly at me. “This isn’t a sci-fi book club, is it?” he asked, and there seemed to be relief in his voice. He had blue eyes, I noticed. Light blue. I shook my head in response, and he promptly returned to his mysterious scribbles.
“Kitchen Confidential?” Audre suggested, in between shooting death looks at Francesca.
“Uh …” Francesca herself had her chin in her hands and seemed to be deep in concentration, as if wrestling with a deep philosophical problem. Finally, she straightened up, and looking hopeful, said, “Gossip Girl?”
“Boy Meets Boy?” Scott offered, fiddling with his wristbands.
All the suggestions were good, but the problem was, I’d read all those books. I wanted something new. I opened my cloth-bound book and glanced at my first choice. There was no harm in suggesting it, right?
I coughed into my fist. “What about—”
“The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time?” James spoke, stealing the words off my tongue.
I glanced up at him, startled, and he laughed. His smile was crooked, I thought, in an almost-charming way. With his slim build and dark hair, he looked kind of like the lead singer of Maroon 5. Only not hot.
“Sorry,” he said. “Was that what you—?”
“Um, yeah, I guess,” I shut my notebook, weirded out by the coincidence.
“I think two people agreeing is the best we’re gonna get,” Audre declared “Curious Whatever-Whatever it is.” She lifted up her plate of pastries. “Now, who wants scones?”
Everybody did, even Francesca. It seemed we were all mildly freaked by the randomness of the group. And sugar is always helpful in times of crisis.
“Okay, how much did that suck?” I asked Audre fifteen minutes later as we huddled on a bench in Prospect Park for postmeeting gossip.
After exchanging e-mail addresses and phone numbers, the group had scattered; Scott returned to Manhattan for an art class, Neil and James disappeared to God knows where, and Francesca—to Audre’s chagrin—stayed to chat with Griffin, who’d urged us all to return to the Book Nook for our next session, in March.
If there ever was a next sess
ion. I was surprised we’d made it through the first.
“Do you think she’s prettier than me?” was Audre’s response. She was chewing her fingernails, looking—for possibly the first time in her life—insecure.
“Francesca? Give me a break.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, there’s something … off about her, don’t you think?” I thought back to how she hadn’t told us where she went to school. “Like she’s hiding something.”
Audre shook her head. “Nors, you’re paranoid. You always think people are hiding things.”
“That’s because, most of the time, they are.”
Audre wrapped her hand-knit yellow scarf around her neck. “All she’s hiding is the fact she and Griffin are hooking up.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Nors, should we throw in the towel and join a convent?”