“Basically,” Jena said, “Skye’s mom is forever grateful to me. She gave me a copy of their keys and said I could crash at their apartment during my lunch break if I wanted. But then Skye separately told me I should come here when they’re in Brazil.”
“What are they doing in Brazil again?” I asked. “I thought she was in the middle of a breakdown.”
“Skye’s dad was Brazilian,” Jena said. “He died before she was born. They’re down there meeting his family this week. Skye said it’s part of her healing process.”
Just then, Jena stopped in front of a broad building with a forest-green awning that stretched over the sidewalk. “Here we are,” she sang.
I stared up at the imposing facade, my feet unable to move.
“Coming in?” Jena asked.
“Oh, you know,” I said, my tongue growing drier by the second. “Maybe I’ll stay out for a little while and sleep on one of those benches over there.” I gestured across the street toward Central Park.
Jena laughed. “That’s called homeless, Owen.”
“I’m not the most…” I paused, wiping my palms on my jeans. It felt like every droplet of saliva in my mouth was leaking out through my hands. “I’m not the most, you know, experienced person in the world.”
“Like I am,” Jena said. “I have an idea. How about we agree to leave the lights off when we get upstairs? It’ll be just like Central Park. Except there won’t be fifty thousand people with us.”
“Can we at least invite two or three?”
“Come on.” Jena grabbed my hand and dragged me into the marble lobby. She waved at the doorman, who greeted her back. She stepped into the elevator, pushing the button for the eleventh floor. I shuffled in after her.
It was the longest elevator ride in the history of the universe. Both of us stared up at the display, watching the floors slowly go by.
We finally arrived on eleven. Jena unlocked the door, swung it open, and we stepped into the foyer. It was relatively dark, but I could see the outline of a large painting hanging on the far wall. It was this scary-looking face, frowning and haunted, with a nose protruding from the picture. I shivered briefly and then glanced into the shadowy living room, where there was a grand piano, white sectional couches, and delicate glass vases on every surface.
“People actually live here?” I whispered to Jena.
“Let’s go to Skye’s room,” she said. “It’s a little more normal in there.”
We tiptoed down a hallway and into a room on the left. There were windows overlooking Central Park and the New York skyline. As Jena disappeared into the bathroom, I did a quick visual inventory. Fluffy double bed. Desk. Two wide dressers. Definitely more normal. Then again, Skye lives here, which makes it slightly intimidating. But she’s in Brazil, I told myself, nearly five thousand miles from here.
Jena emerged from the bathroom, slid her feet out of her sandals, and climbed up on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. I wriggled out of my sneakers and sat next to her.
“Can you believe this view?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I want to live in New York City someday. Maybe I’ll apply to college here.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Jena said.
Jena looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back at her, my hands trembling, my teeth chattering. I swear, there must have been a fault line inside my body.
“I’m glad the lights are out,” Jena said.
“It reminds me of this study I once read at the library.”
“Where you work?”
I nodded and told her about how these psychologists studied a bunch of college students who didn’t know each other. They put some of them in a lighted room and some in a dark room, and then watched to see what would happen. The people in the room with the lights on made small talk and acted uptight, but the people in the dark were, basically, all over each other.
“Like how?” Jena asked.
“Everything,” I said. “They were hugging and laying in each other’s laps and some were even, you know, kissing. The researchers concluded that people feel less inhibited in the dark.”
“That’s so amazing,” Jena said.
“What? That I’m a dork who recites studies from old psychology textbooks?”
Jena giggled and shook her head. “No, about the dark. It reminds me of blogging, like how you feel comfortable revealing personal stuff when you don’t have to see the people who are reading it, when it’s more anonymous. That’s definitely how I feel.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said.
“Then again,” Jena said, “with blogging you can’t do this.”
Before I knew what was happening, Jena pulled my face toward her and kissed me. We kept our lips pressed together for the longest time, just breathing each other in.
“Uh, Owen?” Jena finally asked.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we should, uh, take our retainers out?”
I had to smile. “What would your orthodontist say?”
“Definitely not.”
“Mine too.”
We chucked our retainers onto the bedside table and began kissing again, with our tongues this time. Jena moved closer to me. As I felt her breasts against my chest, I immediately started getting a boner. I wondered if I should do geometry equations or whether I should just let things happen. I traced my hand down Jena’s body, feeling her amazing curves, and thought, Screw the Pythagorean theorem.
After a few minutes, Jena whispered, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m just really liking this.”
“Me too.” Jena paused before adding, “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Is it okay if we take things slow? Maybe save some stuff for next time?”
“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”
“Good.”
Jena rested her head on my shoulder and I put my arm around her.
“Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming. It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I squeezed her even closer. I wanted to thank her also, but I could barely speak. My eyes were stinging because all I could think about was that Jena said she wanted to save stuff for next time. Next time. She’d met me. She’d spent a whole evening with me. And she still wanted a next time.
nine
When I woke up the next morning, my left arm was tingling. I could barely feel my fingers. Jena was asleep next to me, her cheeks flushed, her lips turned up in a sleepy smile. The sun was coming over the buildings, a fresh golden light glinting across Central Park.
I slid my arm out from under Jena’s neck. As I shook my hand around, I thought about how you haven’t really lived until you’ve woken up in a strange bed at sunrise with your arm around a beautiful girl. In a few hours, this bubble will inevitably burst. I will take a cab to Port Authority and suck on my inhaler as I wait for the bus to Rochester. Jena will go to the Children’s Museum and stack blocks and hand out tissues and try to find peace among the chaos. I’ll call Dakota from the bus station. Maybe he’ll tell me that my mom got wind of my wanderings and is flying back from Florida ready to chew me to shreds. Maybe I want that to happen. Maybe it’s time for me to stand up to my mom, for her to see me as something other than her premature baby who needs to be protected, needs to be saved.
Maybe when I board the bus, I’ll decide not to put my duffel on the neighboring seat. Maybe I’ll tuck it up above instead so that someone can sit next to me. When the person begins telling me their life story, maybe I won’t reach for my iPod. Maybe I’ll decide I have a life story, too, and I’ll reveal some of it.
But for now, nothing has to happen. For now, I can just be here in this strange bed at sunrise. And so I slipped my arm under Jena’s neck again and fell back to sleep.
acknowledgments
Thank you to:
My editor, Tara Weikum, for plunging into these character
s with me.
The whole team at HarperTeen for their enthusiasm for
Tangled, and that great butterfly display.
Jocelyn Davies, for always being so helpful.
Deborah Noyes Wayshak, who was there at the beginning.
Rachel Vail, Megan McCafferty, and Wendy Mass, for knowing just what it’s like.
My research helpers, Kathy Jaccarino, Tom Manjarres, and every teenager who ever shared a bit of their life with me.
My mom’s group, Sarah Torretta Klock, Melissa van Twest, and Jhoanna Robledo, whose support sustains me.
Magda Lendzion, for taking such loving care of my little guy.
My parents, Anne Dalton and Ian Mackler, for still answering the phone at any hour.
And Jonas and Miles Rideout, who I love with everything I’ve got.
About the Author
CAROLYN MACKLER is the author of the award-winning teen novels THE EARTH, MY BUTT, AND OTHER BIG ROUND THINGS (a Michael L. Printz Honor Book), VEGAN VIRGIN VALENTINE, LOVE AND OTHER FOUR-LETTER WORDS, and GUYAHOLIC. She lives in New York City with her husband and young son. Visit Carolyn online at www.carolynmackler.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Credits
Jacket art © 2010 by Howard Huang
Jacket design by Ray Shappell
Copyright
TANGLED. Copyright © 2010 by Carolyn Mackler. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mackler, Carolyn.
Tangled / Carolyn Mackler.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: The lives of four very different teenagers become entangled in ways that none of them could have imagined after a short stay at a Caribbean resort.
ISBN 978-0-06-173104-4
[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Emotional problems—Fiction. 3. Family problems—Fiction. 4. Self-confidence—Fiction. 5. Conduct of life—Fiction. 6. New York (State)—Fiction.]
PZ7.M2178 Tan2010 2009007286
[Fic]—dc22 CIP
AC
EPub Edition © November 2009 ISBN: 978-0-06-199206-3
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Carolyn Mackler, Tangled
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