Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
When choosing the right person to date, there are many virtues to consider: honesty, respect, and compassion. Be selective! Slow down!! Get to know the person before permitting any intimacy to occur.
Tuesday night Vivien had just finished up her homework and was sprawled out on her bed ready to dive into two of her favorite things: the latest vampire novel and a pint of butter pecan ice cream. A large spoonful of the delicious concoction was inches from her mouth when her cell rang.
“Hi, sweetness,” Miranda chimed.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Literally.” Miranda paused. “Sooooo…did anyone special call you today?”
“No, why?”
“Awww, what’s he waiting for?”
“What are you talking about?” she said, but she knew very well who Miranda was referring to. “He” as in Declan Mieres. But she’d just about given up on him. It’d been four days since their walk at the lake, and she’d heard nothing. Nada. He’d changed his mind. Obviously.
But maybe, just maybe, Miranda had heard something and Declan actually was going to call her. Wouldn’t Miranda be the one to know? She knew everything; spreading (mostly bad) news around the school was her drug of choice. A particularly juicy piece of gossip would almost send her twitching like a heroin addict.
“Spill it,” she said.
Miranda giggled. “I managed to get some good stuff out of Thomas in class today.” She paused, milking the tension on the line. “And he told me Declan thinks you’re pretty cool.”
Vivien’s heart sank. “Those are the words he used?” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, suddenly humiliated by the idea that Miranda had resorted to pumping Declan’s friends for information.
“I guess. What’s it matter?”
It totally matters! she wanted to shout at her. Cool meant nothing, a ubiquitous word used to describe inanimate objects: cars, shoes, jackets, purses—as in, Cool bag, Vivs, where’d you get it?
“Thomas is so frickin’ hot,” Miranda went on, oblivious to Vivien’s concerns. “I heard he hooked up with Mariah Garofoli over the weekend. You know, the really tall one who looks like a Victoria’s Secret supermodel?”
She thought about this. The description fit a number of girls in the senior class. To make matters more confusing, they all hung out together and dressed alike. “No. Not really,” she answered.
Miranda sighed.
“So, what do you really know about Declan?” Vivien found herself asking. “Is he just…?” She didn’t know what she was fishing for…something, anything. She just wanted to know more.
“Excuse me? After centuries of looking down your nose at those guys, you’ve suddenly taken an interest in what Declan Mieres is really like?”
Sufficiently chastised, she muttered a jumbled response.
“All I can say is he’s a nice guy. Like, nice to everyone, not just his own crowd. He was in my health class last year, remember? Anyway, I didn’t get to talk to him that much ’cause that skank Cassie was always trying to monopolize him. Like he’d ever be seen with her! Did you know she smokes pot all the time? During school? And what’s with the hippie/flower child thing she’s got going on all of a sudden? Her hair’s like practically down to her ankles. Do you think those are extensions? I don’t see how her hair could’ve grown a foot in like, one month.” There was a long pause while Miranda seemed to be mulling this over. “So yeah,” she resumed. “He’s nice.”
“Nice can mean a lot of things. Is he sincere? Or does he just act that way so he can…? I mean, some people act a certain way, but underneath they’re really…” Where was she going with this? “I only want to know because I have to work with him at Lakewood, you know?”
There was silence, then Miranda got directly to the point, “Basically what you want to know is if he’s some kind of man-whore or not, am I right?”
She was quiet. No. Yes. Was that it?
“Last year he went out with a couple girls from the Bitch Clique,” Miranda informed her, taking her silence as permission to proceed. “And they partied all the time and stuff. But this year I get the feeling he’s different. He’s been single for ages, and so far I haven’t heard any wild rumors involving him.”
Vivien found herself secretly relieved. “Well, like I said, I’m just working with him. That’s all.”
“Whatever you say, Vivs.”
With a groan, Vivien hung up. Enough was enough. No more of her precious time need be wasted pondering Declan Mieres’s motives behind calling or not calling. She had let herself get all starry-eyed over nothing. And the thought made her angry. Grabbing the pint of ice cream, she settled back down, spoon poised before her lips a second time. But now it was the sound of front buzzer that kept the creamy goodness from her mouth. “What the…?” she grumbled.
Muttering her way down the hall, she pressed the intercom, ready to give the annoying solicitor a piece of her mind: “Thanks, but we’re not interested!” she nearly shouted. Just how many magazine subscriptions was she supposed to buy? Even if they were desperately needed to fund the local wheelchair basketball team and without her help it looked like the team was going to have to call it quits after fifteen years of high-fiving, self-esteem-boosting good times. Wasn’t there a point when you just had to say no?
A wave of static spat forth from the speaker and then a voice broke through—a disturbingly familiar voice, the sound of which caused her heart to leap up and land with a thud. “Vivien?”
She stood frozen, unable to respond.
“It’s Declan.”
“Oh Geez! Sorry! I thought you were someone else…duh! Just a sec. I can’t talk through this thing. I’ll come down.” Releasing the button, she immediately dashed to the full-length mirror in the hallway for a quick head-to-toe scan. “Crap! So not good!” she muttered as she tousled her hair and checked for any crusty substances that might be hiding in the nooks and crannies of her face. With a resigned shrug, she made her way downstairs to the front entrance.
“Hey,” Declan said as she opened the door. His hands were crammed in his pockets, chin tucked deep beneath his jacket collar. “It feels like ten degrees out here.”
All it took was one quick glance at him and her resolve crumbled. Forgetting about him was about as likely as Miranda minding her own business. “Well, come in, then…I guess,” she said and opened the door a fraction wider.
“Thanks.” As he brushed past her, she caught the smoky scent of nearby fires. They stood staring at each other in silence. Declan rocked back and forth on his heels, apparently unbothered by the lack of conversation, and offered no explanation whatsoever for this impromptu visit.
“So what’s up?” she said at last, the dead air exacerbating her already frayed nerves. Her voice was tight as she reigned in her emotions. She so badly wanted to ask him why he’d never showed up to rake leaves on Saturday, why he’d never called…but then it would look like she actually cared. And it was taking all her strength not to.
“Yeah, um,” he began, a hint of apology in his shrug. He’d picked up on her coolness and his eyes darted around the cramped space as he spoke. “So…I was gonna call you over the weekend, but I—things kept piling up, you know? I had two games and…” He shrugged again, this time managing to look her in the eye.
A smug look crossed her face; he was coming up with excuses already and they weren’t even dating. Out loud she said, “Whatever.”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
She blew a puff of air over her upper lip. Please! Now he was all apologies?
“Listen, I…,” Declan continued, but stopped suddenly, letting her dangle there on the hook.
She waited, but eventually her patience wore out. “What?”
He let her off with a smile. “I really liked hanging out with you at the lake. And I meant what I said about seeing you again. So…here I am.” His smile grew wider. “I thought maybe we could do somethin
g. Hang out.”
Her eyes went wide. “What, now?”
“Why not?” he answered, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary to show up unannounced on a Tuesday night.
Her thoughts turned to her juicy paranormal romance and her pint of butter pecan ice cream, which at this point was most likely a chunky yellow soup. She imagined putting the items on a scale: guilty pleasures (comfort/safety) on one side; Declan Mieres (excitement/risk) on the other. Which way would it tip?
She chanced another look at him. Grinning innocently, he stood awaiting her reply, completely oblivious to the internal struggle that waged within. And as the seconds ticked by, one thing became increasingly clear: he’d already managed to find a chink in her armor. Of this her subconscious was well aware, for whenever her thoughts wandered, they moved with purpose, nose to the ground, seeking out the hidden stash of previously recorded Declan memorabilia: his expressions, his voice, the way he moved. Suddenly she’d come to find an entire page filled with middle-school-esque doodles of Declan’s name encased in squiggly hearts.
Still, the idea of stepping into uncharted territory freaked her out completely. How was she to know when she’d taken one step too far?
“I don’t know,” she stalled, all the while making a point of looking down at her baggy sweats and fuzzy rainbow socks. “I’m not exactly dressed for company.”
“Don’t change on my account.”
She nodded noncommittally, her mind still plagued by indecision. And then an answer formed. “All right. Come up,” she heard herself say, as if eavesdropping from the next room. “I’ll just throw on some jeans. You can wait.”
Just who was this new girl?
Upstairs, as she headed toward her bedroom to change, she felt all jittery, like she’d guzzled several giant lattes on an empty stomach. Her limbs were out of control, shooting out at odd angles in a rhythm of their own choosing.
He was here. Declan was here. In her apartment! It was…unbelievable…thrilling… terrifying! A thought occurred, stopping her in her tracks. She doubled back. “I have no manners,” she said, startling him so that he gave a little jump. “I forgot to ask if you’re hungry. Actually, we don’t have much. But if you’re thirsty, I can get you a soda.”
“I’m good,” he said, resuming his careful stroll around the room.
She watched him. Various knickknacks appeared to catch his interest and he would halt before them, fingering the item with care.
“All right,” she said finally, “I’ll just be a few minutes.” But she was hesitant to leave. The idea of having him in such close proximity while she undressed gave her a pang of uneasiness. Maybe he had the wrong idea about why she’d invited him up in the first place. “So…um, don’t come back. My room’s a total mess. It’s so embarrassing.”
He stopped his browsing and gave her a curious look. “And you think I care? After riding in my car?”
She thought about this. “No,” she agreed. “But don’t come back anyway. OK?”
He just stood there, wearing the mischievous grin again. At last he said, “I heard you. I’ll stay where you put me.”
“Fine,” she muttered, relieved and humiliated.
Once in her room, she was at a loss as to what to wear without having any idea where they were going. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a lace camisole, and a casual-looking plaid blouse. After slipping on a pair of ankle boots, she took a moment to attend to her face in her bathroom mirror: mascara, blush, strawberry lip gloss. Adding a finishing touch of her go-to scent, Tahitian Vanilla, she hurried back to see what Declan was up to. Who knew what sort of humiliating things lay hidden amongst the dusty rows of books in the family room? Embarrassing old photographs in “I Love Mommy” frames. One immediately came to mind: five years old, perched on the backyard swing, modeling the new bangs she’d decided to give herself the day before. Or maybe she’d find him puzzling over the parade of pathetic clay creatures—one for each year of elementary school—who resided on the lower-level shelves: unstable four-legged creatures, a smattering of milky glaze across their backs.
With relief, she found him on the sofa thumbing through a book. Her arrival unnoticed, she took the opportunity to admire him sitting there carelessly in his button-down shirt, perfect-fit blue jeans, and Sperry topsider shoes. His lips were moving ever so slightly as he read.
She plopped down next to him and closed the book cover halfway in order to read the title. “Romeo and Juliet? Where’d you find that?”
He gestured toward the bookcase. “Over there. Is it yours?”
She shook her head. It must have been Ashton’s copy from school. “I haven’t read it yet.” She felt a touch of shame. Wasn’t this the best-known love story of all time? “I saw the movie version,” she told him. “With Claire Danes? It was really good.”
This brought a smile. “The movie version, huh? I read it in English Lit last year. I remember thinking I was going to hate it, but it was actually all right.”
“You liked it?” she said.
“Sure. Why?”
She shrugged. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“It’s just, I thought your everyday, average guy would find a love story dumb. You know, girl stuff.” She looked at him closely. “Like, girls are the basically the only ones who swoon for perfect love.”
In fact, those two words caused her much anxiety, for as much as she wanted it, wanted to believe in it, she had serious doubts that it existed at all.
Of course, it seemed to be human nature to yearn for love. How many love stories had been written over time? How many movies, plays, and songs had romantic love as their main theme? Even Ashton’s band had written love songs, collaborative works of art with disturbing titles like, “Strangle Me with Your Love,” “Black and Blue Ecstasy,” and “Parasite.” Had any one of them ever been in love? Or were they just using their artistic license to create emotion?
Uncertainty dogged her. From what she could see, in real life, love never lasted. Instead, it somehow changed form, mutating into a sticky web of negative emotions: lust, jealousy, dishonesty, loathing. In other cases love was capricious and fragile, simply dissolving over time to become nothing more than a convenient arrangement.
“So.” Declan’s voice brought her back to the present. “That’s me, ‘everyday average’?” He cocked his head.
“No. That’s not what I meant. I just think guys—when they’re our age—they aren’t exactly capable of love—intense love. You know, they’re not at that level yet—emotionally.”
He let out a low whistle and leaned back on the sofa, staring at her with an incredulous look. “Wow. OK. And have you completed some kind of scientific study to back this up?”
“I just know what I see,” she said.
“But the girls, now they’re different,” he replied. “They’re never interested in just keeping it casual. So tell me why I can think of at least a dozen nasty words for the no-strings-attached kind of girl you claim doesn’t exist?”
“You’re twisting my words! I never said those kinds of girls don’t exist. I’m not even talking about that right now. Haven’t you ever heard of the book Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus? The two genders are wired differently. All I’m sayings is guys prefer just about anything over a good love story.”
He considered this. “OK, fair enough. That could be true in some cases.” He began tapping his finger on the book. “All I’m saying is that I liked the story. So, plug that into your equation.” He was quiet a moment, then went on with renewed strength. “I’m certainly not against love, if that’s what you’re implying. And correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t it require both a girl and a boy to fall in love? It doesn’t work if only one side is capable of an emotion at that level.” He appeared to be enjoying poking holes in her theory. “Not to mention the fact that the main theme of Romeo and Juliet is young love; they’re only teenagers when they fall head over heels for each other.”
 
; She began to reply, but he cut her off. “A love story is only dumb when it’s unrealistic. I can’t stand it when girls get all worked up over some dude who’s totally unbelievable.”
This threw her. “What? Like who?”
“Oh…you know, what’s the name of that gay-looking vampire dude? The one who’s on the cover of all the chick magazines?”
She thought of her novel, Passion’s First Tender Bite, still lying open to page ninety-three on her bed. “I have no idea. I’m not into that.”
“The whole thing’s stupid,” he said, getting more and more worked up. “The dude’s like this predator, who also happens to be the perfect boyfriend. Yeah, right. He wants to love her forever and suck her blood? And that’s hot? Come on! Chicks’ minds are poisoned against us. We don’t stand a chance.”
“It is fiction, you know,” she pointed out. But there it was again. Girls did want perfect love—alongside unbelievable passion. Were they really to blame if they found themselves falling for pale strangers with sharp teeth? Strangers who found the smell of their blood so irresistible they couldn’t stay away, no matter how hard they tried? No. The romance industry had poisoned women’s minds. Now neither sex could win.
Nevertheless. She wanted it. The whole lovesick fairytale, complete with princely handsome stranger who would court her properly, PG-13 style.
Declan suddenly leaned toward her with an earnest look on his face. “So tell me. If you’re such an expert, what’s your theory on attraction?”
She backed away a fraction of an inch. “My theory?”
“I mean, if you’re so into it, what about plain old desire?”
Her mouth dropped.
“Here’s what I think. I think two people can be immediately and intensely attracted to each other. It’s kind of scary, actually. Like having the wind knocked out of you or something.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. Now, desire did throw her for a loop, for it didn’t necessarily agree with her vision of the proper romance. Desire had a feral plan all its own and no concern whatsoever whether she was on board or not. Up to now, she had never truly felt its power. But with the sudden entrance of Christophe—and now Declan—strange feelings and completely foreign urges would temporarily take hold of her mind and body. She wondered if she would have the strength to fend them off indefinitely.
A careful silence permeated the air.
“Hmm,” Declan said finally, tossing Shakespeare on the coffee table. “So…what do you say? What’s the plan?”
Right. What was the plan? She was having trouble concentrating. “We’ve got school in the morning, remember?” she told him, forever the conscientious student. “Maybe we should just stay in. There’s no one here but you and me.”
Declan cleared his throat and readjusted himself on the sofa. “Sure. OK, if that’s what you want.”
With these last words, her body tensed. Oh, crap! What was he thinking she wanted? What kind of things was Declan Mieres used to doing with girls when they found themselves alone? Unsupervised? In a state of intense attraction?
Abruptly she jumped to her feet. “But wait a minute! You’d be bored here. For sure. We should go somewhere. We should go out.”
“What?” he said, rising with her. “I’m not bored. I like your place.”
“Yeah, but…you’re hungry. And like I said, we’ve got nothing good to eat. Nothing.”
“Easy. We’ll just order a pizza.”
“Yeah, but then what?” Her voice had ridden up an octave. God help her, she was sounding hysterical.
“Who cares? Whatever. I just want to be here. With you.” He shrugged. “That’s why I showed up out of the blue, apparently freaking you out in the process....Hey, is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t let him know he made her crazy nervous. Her body felt taut and liquid all at once.
He reached out for her hand, pulling her in close. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
She tried to smile. “I just want you to…I’m sure you’re used to…”
“Pizza first,” he announced, “and then we can—I don’t know, watch a movie or just sit and stare at the wall. It’ll be great!” He pulled his cell from his pocket. “Who do you order from?”
She had to laugh at his enthusiasm. “Um, Eastside Grill?”
“Eastside Grill? Are you kidding? Their pizza tastes like crap. They don’t even use real cheese.”
She frowned. “Of course they do.”
He shook his head determinedly. “We’re ordering from Gino’s. You’ll see what real pizza actually tastes like.”
“Geez, you’re taking this so seriously,” she observed.
“What can I say? I like to eat.” He grinned.
Apparently, Declan liked Gino’s so much he had the place on speed dial. Leaving him to his business, she went into the kitchen to get some drinks ready.
“Hey, what’s your address again?” she heard him call out from the other room.
“Six East Hollow Ave, apartment 2C.”
She heard this repeated slowly. “Thirty-five minutes,” he told her, breezing into the kitchen.
“Want a Diet Coke?” she asked.
“Later.” He watched as she poured two sodas into ice-filled glasses. These she set carefully on the upper right corner of the placemats. “Why don’t you show me your room? You’re a liar anyway.”
She flinched slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Since when does the neat freak have a messy room?”
“I thought we agreed to leave off the freak part. And why do you want to see it so bad?”
“Because. It’s where you hang out. It’s your own personal space, and I bet I can learn something more about you by seeing it.”
She thought about the melted pint of ice cream on the floor next to her bed. What else would he see? Had she left dirty underwear on the floor? Was her economy-sized container of facial hair bleach sitting out in plain sight? And what about that vampire book she’d claimed she “wasn’t into”?
“Well, maybe I don’t want you to see it,” she told him. “There could be stuff sitting around that’s…private.”
“Private,” he repeated skeptically.
“Yeah, as in none of your business.”
“Let me get this straight. We’ve known each other less than a week, and already you’re keeping secrets from me?”
“Secrets? Who said anything about secrets? Maybe I’ve got a box of tampons sitting on my dresser. Is that really what you want to see?”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s gonna take more than that to send me running.”
“Wow.” She drew out the word slowly. “Who knew you were so mature? You hide it well.”
He laughed, saying, “Is that right? Well, you’re wrong. I hide nothing. What you see is what you get,” he added, puffing his chest proudly.
An intense stare-down ensued. “Fine,” she relented at last. “Let’s just get this over with.” But before she finished speaking, she was off, sprinting down the hallway, successfully managing to toss the vampire novel under the bed as well as chuck the container of ice cream into the bathroom wastebasket. Declan was standing hesitantly in the doorway as she came out.
“There,” she said, eyes scanning the floor. To her great relief, none of her undergarments seemed to be out and about. “So…welcome to my room. What do you think?”
He stepped inside and turned full circle. “Just as I suspected: you’re one hundred percent anal retentive.” He pointed to her shelves. “Are those magazines arranged by date?”
“No,” she lied, stepping in between to prevent any closer inspection.
Skeptical, his gaze roamed, settling on the collage that covered the wall above her bed. “You made that?”
She nodded. “It started small but just kept growing.”
He moved closer. She came up alongs
ide of him and looked too. All her favorite things stared back at her: restaurant menus, ticket stubs, birthday cards, sketches on napkins, magazine cut-outs, concert programs, tons of old photos, and a pressed four-leaf clover that had yet to bring her any luck. Stealing another look at Declan, she was forced to revise that complaint. Perhaps her luck had just changed.
“Is that your brother?” Declan asked, pointing to a picture of a tall, skinny kid playing the guitar.
“Yeah. That’s Ashton. Eighth-grade talent show.” She pointed to another picture lower down. “This is the most recent one.” The picture looked as though it had been ripped from the pages of Rolling Stone: Ashton and Max, on stage performing their most popular song, “Suck Me.” They were bending forward in midscream, long hair slick with sweat. Both giving the camera the finger. “Not a super-flattering shot, I suppose.” She let out a short laugh. “They were so out of control.”
“Yeah. I kinda get that feeling,” he said. “So…he was into music, too.”
“Oh, he was super-talented! I wish you could’ve heard him. I don’t know if you’re into heavy metal—it’s not exactly my thing—but he was good. Like, really good.”
“Like you,” Declan insisted.
“Maybe.” She shook her head, brushing his comment away. “I love this one,” she said, pointing to a picture of Ashton and herself perched high up in the branches of a giant oak. “That was our old backyard. We used to spend hours hanging out in that tree. It was so peaceful, so private. But at the same time you had this awesome view of all the other yards. Get this—one time we caught our neighbor peeing in his mom’s vegetable garden. And he was no toddler—he was like twelve or something.”
“Maybe he hated vegetables.”
“No.” She laughed. “He was just…different. I used to play with him when we were little. He always had these crazy ideas. He was obsessed with death. This one time we spent the morning digging up his backyard, looking for bones. He had me convinced all his ancestors were buried along the fence in secret graves and we had to free them because they couldn’t breathe.” She smiled sheepishly as she realized how silly this sounded.
“Why would they need to breathe if they were dead?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know. That didn’t occur to me at the time. Anyway, he could be very persuasive. Unfortunately, his mother caught us and was not pleased with the mess we’d made. She sent him to his room, but he snuck me back in through his window and we ate marshmallows in his closet. They always had marshmallows at his house, the miniature ones that come in different colors.” She stopped, lost in time. “Anyway, I stopped playing with him after he tried to hang himself.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He wanted me to help him do it. He tied a rope around a wooden beam in his garage and then tied it to his neck and stood on a chair. He said he wouldn’t die for long. Just long enough to see what it was like. After five minutes I was supposed to bring him back to life by dumping a bucket of cold water over his head.” She frowned. “Luckily, the knot didn’t hold. After that, he told me I should be the one to do it because I was lighter. But when I saw the rope burn on his neck, I got scared and ran home.”
Declan looked alarmed. “Vivien, what the hell? Who let you hang out with this kid?”
“We were neighbors,” she said. “I guess nobody knew he was so strange.”
He frowned. “Except you.”
She dropped her gaze and said nothing.
“Hope you learned your lesson,” he muttered, settling down on her bed and motioning for her to sit beside him. After a silence he said, “You must miss him—Ashton, I mean. I can’t imagine…”
His voice held such compassion that Vivien was afraid to speak. He was right, such loss was unimaginable for those untouched by death. For those who’d gone through it, it was all they could do to imagine anything else.
His hand floated in her direction but stopped just short. He seemed to want to say something more, but the silence between them had gathered too much weight. Finally, he sighed deeply, turning toward her and saying, “You must be really strong. I mean, you seem it…to me.”
His observation jolted her, so unexpected it was. She had never in her life pictured herself as strong. Everyone around her seemed far stronger, far more daring. In fact, her friends teased her mercilessly about her many fears and hang-ups. But apparently Declan saw something beyond these, and his words warmed her from the inside out.
The sound of the buzzer startled them both.
“Pizza’s here,” she observed.
He opened his mouth as if he had something more to say, but before she could ask, he was hurrying ahead of her, money in hand. “I got this,” he called out.
Declan returned to the kitchen carrying two large boxes. She was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and raised an eyebrow as he placed both boxes on the kitchen table. “Expecting company?”
“Funny.” He grinned. “One for you, one for me.” He opened the top box and removed a gigantic slice.
“You actually think I’m capable of eating an entire pizza?” The thought dismayed her.
He shook his head, waiting to reply until he’d swallowed. “Just in case.” Shoveling more into his mouth, he yanked off a slice and held it out to her. “Here. It’s awesome. From now on, Eastside Grill is history.”
She stared at the drooping, oversized triangle. A trickle of orange grease had begun to run down the side of his hand. “How about some plates, maybe?”
Later, they lay back on the family room sofa like a pair of beached whales. Vivien began flipping through the channels, searching for something good to watch. An episode of Full House caught her eye.
“Oh!” she squealed. “I love this show. Look at them! They’re this totally dysfunctional family—the mom’s dead, right?—and they manage to survive just fine. It’s all so funny and cute.”
“It’s a TV show. And a really bad one,” he replied.
“Come on, who doesn’t love this show? You can’t tell me those little girls aren’t adorable.” She pointed to the toddler, Michelle, as she made a goofy face. “Oh! And I know this episode, too. It’s the one where Stephanie accidentally drives the car through the garage into the kitchen. It’s hilarious!”
“Gimme that,” Declan grunted, stealing the remote from her grasp. He cruised through another fifty channels before he found an acceptable alternative. “Now this is a good movie: Halloween. You like horror movies?”
She watched as a terrified Jamie Lee Curtis scrambled to escape a masked intruder holding a large kitchen knife. She covered her eyes. “Ugh! No! I hate this kind of movie! Who wants to see people getting stabbed to death?” She turned her face away, pressing it against his shoulder.
But he went on, undeterred. “This is a classic, 1978. After that, all the horror movies copied its formula: if you want to survive, whatever you do, don’t have sex, do drugs, or investigate mysterious noises when you’re all alone at night—wearing nothing but your bra and panties, of course.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked, looking up into his face. “You actually like horror movies?”
“Sure. My brothers got me started. They’re fun. You can’t take them seriously.”
“Well, they freak me out. I saw parts of Psycho—my brother and his friends were watching it.” A shiver ran through her. “That one guy? Norman Bates, right? He was so disturbing! Killing his mother and dressing up the body. Didn’t he keep her in the basement or something?”
Declan nodded excitedly. “Awesome movie! The first time the killer was just your regular guy next door instead of a monster. Did you know Norman Bates was inspired by a real serial killer, Ed Gein, who secretly stashed his victims’ body parts around his house? Alfred Hitchcock was a genius. The whole movie was a work of art.”
“Hmmm.” She frowned at him. He wasn’t kidding about being into horror movies. “My favorite Jamie Lee Curtis movie is Freaky Friday. You know, with Lindsay Lo
han? My kind of movie—a nice Disney comedy. I don’t want to think about the regular guy next door turning out to be some lunatic serial killer. Can you even imagine knowing someone like that?”
Declan snuggled her in closer. “You’re a funny girl.”
She shook her head, slightly self-conscious.
“That’s OK. We can move into that genre slowly. And I’ll be there to protect you, naturally.”
“Sure you will. In the meantime, could you turn this off?” she said, gesturing toward the TV. “Halloween’s coming for real and I’d like to be able to sleep tonight.”
Declan shut off the movie, then turned and gave her an excited look. “Hey! That reminds me, what are you doing on Friday night for Halloween? A friend of mine, Riley—he went to Eastbrook last year? Played lacrosse? Anyway, he lives on campus now and he’s having a party. We should go.”
She frowned, temporarily at a loss for words. “I don’t know.” The idea sounded dangerous. “Do we have to, like, dress up?”
“Nah.” He studied her face. “I mean, you can if you want to.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “No thanks. I’m not into that. Actually,” she added, straightening and moving away from him, “I’m not exactly a party girl either.”
“I’m fine with that,” he said, leaning toward her, foiling her attempt to create distance. “I’m not saying we’ll go there and get smashed or anything.” He paused. “I just thought it’d be cool for my friends to…meet you. You can’t blame me for wanting to show you off.”
This revelation blindsided her. “Seriously?” she croaked, her cheeks coloring. How had things managed to move so quickly in this direction? Less than a couple of hours ago, she’d vowed she wasn’t going to waste her time on someone like him. But here they were, one sly compliment, one bat of his long, dark lashes and she was caving. Was this what lay in store for her? She was at once thrilled and disappointed with herself.
“That’s right,” he was saying. “Now. Quit trying to resist my charms.”
Hmmn. She stared at him, his lips parted, eyes shining and eager. Maybe, just maybe, she would.
Nine