The Opposite of Innocent

  with a common interest, hanging out.

  It’s not a date or anything.

  I mean, it’s not like I’ll be cheating on Luke.

  Then I hear three taps on my wall,

  and my tsavorite necklace

  somehow seems to grow a little tighter

  around my throat.

  Saturday Morning

  When Mom asks me

  if I can babysit for Alice today,

  I tell her I’m sorry but I can’t.

  When she asks me why,

  I tell her I’m meeting someone

  at the museum.

  When she asks me who I’m meeting,

  Luke strolls into the room

  and Presley’s name freezes in my mouth.

  “Oh . . . ,” I say. “Just a friend

  from photography class.”

  “A new friend?” Mom says. “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We’re gonna

  check out the Diane Arbus exhibit.”

  “Well,” Mom says. “I’m sure you girls will love it.”

  “Um . . . Yeah,” I say. “It’s supposed to be great.”

  But I can feel Luke’s eyes on me,

  feel them drilling into me,

  searching for my lie.

  Saturday Afternoon

  Presley and I

  are at the museum,

  wandering through

  the galleries.

  “These portraits are awesome,” he whispers.

  “They totally reveal their subjects’ secrets.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper back.

  “Just like Mr. L said.”

  We move on to a picture of twin little girls,

  staring right at us with big creepy eyes.

  “Whoa,” Presley whispers.

  “I don’t think I want to know their secrets.”

  And we’re laughing quietly at this,

  our shoulders almost touching,

  when I happen to glance toward the door—

  and see Luke!

  He’s not even looking in our direction.

  But somehow I know he’s seen me.

  Seen that I’m here with Presley, not with a girl.

  His face grows pale, while mine flames up.

  There may not be a portrait of me

  hanging in this gallery,

  but my secret has definitely

  been revealed.

  A Few Seconds Later

  When I sneak a peek

  in Luke’s direction—he’s gone.

  And so is my carefree mood.

  I don’t

  see him again

  until a few hours later.

  I’m in the front hall,

  waiting for Mom to find her always-lost keys

  so she can drive me to Rose’s for a sleepover.

  I’m passing the time

  snapping photos of Alice, who’s doing

  another one of her “goodbye ballets” for me.

  Suddenly,

  Luke walks in the front door,

  holding hands with a woman.

  Picture

  the most beautiful actress

  you can think of.

  This woman

  is ten times more beautiful

  than that.

  A billion times more beautiful than me.

  Luke Grins at Us

  “Oh, hey,” he says, as casual as anything.

  “Julia, Alice, Lily—this is Amber.

  Amber, meet my three favorite girls.”

  Mom looks as stunned as I am.

  “I thought I was your favorite,” Amber says,

  giggling at her own dumb joke.

  “It’s . . . It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom says.

  “Oh, you too, Julia,” Amber coos.

  She reaches out to pat Alice on the head.

  But she scowls and ducks out of reach.

  “Aren’t you a shy little thing?” Amber says.

  “No,” Alice says. “I’m not.”

  Amber ignores her remark and turns to me.

  “And you must be the wannabe

  photographer Luke mentioned.

  You’re just as cute as he said.”

  “Isn’t she, though?” Luke says.

  Then he leads her right past us and up the stairs,

  murmuring, “Let me show you that thing

  I was telling you about.”

  “I’m off to my sleepover, Alice,”

  I say in a voice that’s almost a shout.

  “I’ll tell Rose and Taylor hello for you.”

  And Luke almost trips on the stairs.

  Rose Swings Open Her Door

  And says, “Oh, Lil. We’re so relieved.”

  “You’re finally over your perv!” Taylor cries.

  “Over my . . . perv?” I say.

  “Oh come on,” Rose says.

  “We know you and Presley are a thing.

  He told me all about your museum date.”

  “So,” Taylor says,

  “give us some juicy details.

  It’s a need-to-know situation.”

  And suddenly I realize

  that if they think I’m with Presley

  they’ll stop bugging me about Luke.

  So I force

  a smirk onto my face,

  and tell them Presley and I had fun.

  Then I make a gesture like I’m zipping my lips.

  Taylor grins and says I am a very wicked girl.

  And I say he is absolutely right.

  Then Rose Gets a Text and Almost Faints

  It’s from Quinn,

  a sophomore she met yesterday.

  He’s throwing a party tonight

  and wants us to come.

  Rose says

  he’s got the most beautiful red hair.

  She says she thinks

  he might actually be “the one.”

  And I’m happy for her.

  Really. I am.

  But I’m so not in the mood

  to go to a party.

  I don’t have any choice, though—

  since I’m even less in the mood to go home

  and listen to Luke and Amber doing

  God knows what through my bedroom wall.

  Which doesn’t even make any sense.

  Because I don’t even like doing that stuff to him.

  So why does the thought

  of her doing it to him

  make me feel like I can’t breathe?

  Rose’s Brother Drives Us Over

  We step through Quinn’s front door.

  It’s sweaty in here—the kind of sweaty

  that happens when there’s too many people

  jammed into way too small a space.

  The music’s blaring, the bass so heavy

  I can feel each beat in the soles of my feet.

  “I’m gonna go find Quinn,” Rose shouts,

  her eyes bright as she heads into the crowd.

  It parts like a curtain, then swallows her up.

  “Text Presley,” Taylor calls over his shoulder,

  as he starts dancing with a guy in a top hat.

  “Tell him to meet you here.”

  But the only person I feel like texting is Luke.

  Suddenly, images of him and that woman,

  and of what they’re probably doing

  right this very minute,

  start churning through my mind

  like poisonous fumes.

  Then a girl pops a beer into my hand.

  I tried beer once. I hated it.

  But that doesn’t stop me

  from chugging this one.

  Or the next one.

  Or the next . . .

  And Pretty Soon

  I’m dancing

  and laughing and dancing

  and bumping into all the other dancers

  and they’re bumping into me

  till we’re just one big

  tangled dancin
g mass

  and I’m spinning in circles,

  spinning all thoughts of Luke

  right out of my head,

  whirling and swirling and twirling

  and getting so dizzy I have to stop

  and flop down onto the couch

  and then there’s a guy sitting next to me

  and his arm’s around my shoulder

  and his grin’s too wide for his face

  and he’s telling me he’s been watching me

  and that I’m a great dancer

  and then he’s leaning in

  like he’s about to kiss me

  and his breath smells like something

  much stronger than beer . . .

  And that smell . . .

  That smell . . .

  It’s like a match

  lighting the fuse on a bomb.

  And that bomb is my stomach.

  And then—I’m leaping off the couch

  and puking my guts out.

  Sunday Morning

  So this

  is what a hangover feels like.

  I shade my eyes

  from the daggers of sunlight

  stabbing into the room

  through the gap in the curtains,

  and run my tongue

  over my parched lips.

  “Girl,” Taylor says,

  “what came over you last night?”

  “Yeah,” Rose says.

  “Since when do you drink?”

  Their words detonate in my ears.

  I groan and clamp my hands over them.

  “Please,” I beg. “Not so loud.”

  “Sorry,” they whisper in unison.

  And even that hurts my head.

  Rose Gets Some Toast and Advil into Me

  Then she and Taylor drag me over to Bella’s.

  By the time we get there,

  I’m only feeling really awful.

  Which is a big improvement.

  Bella raises an eyebrow when she sees me.

  Then she smiles sympathetically and says,

  “Each new experience teaches us

  what we do and do not want to do.”

  “I’ll say,” I mutter, as she wraps me in her arms.

  I inhale her dust-and-books-and-cookies smell.

  Then she pulls back to take a closer look at me.

  And when Taylor and Rose wander out of earshot,

  Bella says, “So tell me, my darling.

  Which hurts more—your head or your heart?”

  I think about Luke and Amber

  and my eyes fill with tears.

  “I guess it’s sort of a tie,” I say.

  Bella gives my hand a little squeeze,

  then leads me over to the self-help section.

  “Browse,” she says.

  But

  I don’t need

  self-help books—

  I just need Luke.

  How He Treats Me Now

  Like nothing

  ever happened between us.

  Like we never kissed or touched

  or said I love you.

  Like I’m not a day older

  than Alice.

  How That Makes Me Feel

  Like a bug

  that’s been splattered

  on a windshield.

  Every Single Night

  Luke goes out.

  And I lie here on my bed,

  staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars,

  my fingers drifting across

  the smooth green stones

  on my necklace.

  I try to fall asleep,

  but I can’t stop thinking about Amber.

  About her blue eyes gazing into Luke’s.

  About her lips on his.

  About her hands touching him

  the way mine used to.

  All of it’s so awful,

  like a love song gone wrong,

  making every hour that passes

  feel

  a million

  minutes

  long.

  And School Is No Better

  In French, we conjugate souffrir:

  You suffer. He suffers. I suffer.

  Vous souffrez. Il souffre. Je souffre.

  Je souffre

  et je souffre

  et je souffre.

  At lunch, Taylor and Rose

  ask me why I’m so miserable.

  I just shrug and say,

  “I’m a teenager. I’m allowed to be moody.”

  “Point well taken,” says Taylor.

  But neither of them looks any less worried.

  In creative writing, I work on micro fiction:

  She loved him. She lived for him. He left her.

  She lived on. But she was dead.

  In geometry, we study parallel lines.

  But I sit in class,

  dreaming of a parallel universe—

  a universe

  in which Luke and I

  are still together.

  And Presley’s Been a Problem Too

  Lately, he seems to be everywhere at once.

  It’s like there’s multiple Presleys roaming around.

  I’m constantly bumping into them.

  And he won’t stop smiling at me

  and shoving his adorable too-long bangs

  out of his eyes.

  It’s like having a puppy you’re allergic to—

  you really want to pat him,

  but you know it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  I wish he’d quit acting

  like our trip to the museum

  was our first date or something.

  Because it really wasn’t supposed to be.

  And a second ago, when I finally worked up

  the courage to tell him I just wanna be friends,

  I could actually see

  the light leave his eyes.

  Like I’d switched off a lamp.

  Now, I’m just standing here watching him—

  realizing that he looks exactly like I feel.

  And knowing that I’ve made him feel like that?

  Well it’s making me feel even worse.

  Then

  After seven endless days—

  there’s a miracle.

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table

  when it happens.

  Mom’s at the sink peeling carrots.

  I’m staring at my chemistry book,

  trying to make sense of the words

  as they swim across the page like minnows.

  But I’m distracted by Luke’s gentle voice,

  reading to Alice in the next room.

  It fills me with such longing,

  my chest feels like it’s splitting apart.

  I groan and put my head down on the table.

  Mom asks me what’s the matter.

  And when I tell her I hate my life,

  and that I especially hate chemistry,

  Luke saunters into the room

  and offers to tutor me.

  Just like that.

  The Next Day, He’s Waiting for Me After School

  My heart swells as I hop into his car

  and we zoom away.

  He glances over at me and smiles.

  I smile back.

  “Ready for our first tutoring session?” he says.

  “Uh-huh,” I manage to croak.

  He doesn’t say anything else.

  So I don’t either.

  But as I sit here, watching his hands

  guiding the steering wheel,

  I notice the scar the leopard left on his arm

  and a shiver races through me.

  I want to tell him

  how much I’ve missed him.

  I want to tell him that Presley’s just a friend.

  And that Taylor is too.

  I want to tell him

  how hideous it’s been

  picturing him with Amber every night.

  But that’d make m
e sound

  like a lovesick little teenager.

  He Drives Us Over to the Research Library

  It’s at the university where he got his doctorate.

  He takes me into a private study room

  with a big glass door.

  There’s no lock on the door,

  but there is a venetian blind.

  Luke tugs it closed.

  Then he sits down on a wooden chair

  and motions for me

  to take the seat next to his.

  Suddenly everything

  I’ve been trying so hard not to say

  comes gushing out of me.

  And then

  he’s telling me

  that he missed me too

  and that Amber meant nothing to him

  and that he only started seeing her

  to make me feel jealous.

  “Well, it worked,” I say.

  And then we’re both laughing,

  and he’s covering my lips

  with his.

  He’s Kissing Me

  Kissing me

  so softly, so sweetly,

  just like he used to,

  way back in the beginning.

  “When you were a kid,” he whispers.

  “I promised I’d wait for you.”

  Then he kisses me again and says,

  “You were so worth the wait.”

  And it’s lucky we’re not outside,

  or I’d float right up out of my seat

  into the sky.

  When We Finally Come Up for Air

  I ask, in my flirtiest voice,

  “Aren’t you supposed to be tutoring me?”

  “There is an awful lot

  I want to teach you,” he says.

  And as he unzips his fly,

  a smile spreads across his face—

  a smile that somehow reminds me

  of the Big Bad Wolf.

  “But today,” he says, taking hold of my hand,

  “we’ll just review what you already know.”

  And as he presses my fingers

  down onto him,

  this weird combination

  of relief and revulsion washes over me.

  I haven’t lost him to Amber after all.

  He’s still mine.

  And if this is what it takes

  to keep him,

  then this is what I’ll do.

  When It’s Over

  He zips up his fly