The Art of Lainey (25 page)

I watch him slide into the Beast and fire up the engine. I turn around and look blindly for the Civic. Jason is just a few yards away from me, making a big project of putting the
soccer balls and water cooler in his trunk of his Mustang. He must have been watching us. That’s what Micah saw.
That’s
why he kissed me.

Relief surges through me, mingled with fondness for Micah. He’s definitely going all-out to help me win back Jason. Not that kissing me should be torture or anything, but for a second it felt like more than just part of our plan. I shake the idea from my head but I can still feel the blush blooming in my cheeks.

I pass Jason on the way to my car and give him a half wave. “Thanks for inviting me to play, I had fun.”

“Thanks to you we’ll probably make the play-offs.” He shuts his trunk and leans against the back of it. “The whole team wants to know why you’re only an alternate. I had to tell them how stupid I was.”

I pause. This could be enjoyable. “How stupid were you again?”

“So stupid I pushed away one of the only good things that’s ever happened to me.” Jason says it lightly, like he’s teasing, but I can sense the feeling behind it.

“Jay, I—”

Our eyes lock, and just like that, the moment passes. “Forget it, Lainey.” His face brightens. “I think we’ll probably have an open spot in two weeks if you want to fill in again.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.”

“Cool. Talk to you soon.” He lifts himself over the side of his convertible without even bothering to open the door. He
revs the engine. Rap music blares from the speakers. Sliding on his sunglasses, he pulls away from the curb.

“Wait,” I shout. “What about your shirt?” I slip the jersey over my head and make like I’m going to toss it at him.

Jason puts his Mustang in
PARK
right in the middle of the road. He hops out of the car and walks over to where I’m standing on the sidewalk.

I hold the shirt out toward him. “What are you doing, crazy? You’re going to get a ticket.”

“Nah.” He takes the shirt from my hands and lets the folds fall out. Stepping close to me, so close that I can smell the mix of sweat and aftershave, he slides the jersey back over my head, slowly working each of my arms through the sleeves.

“What are you doing?” I repeat, this time slower, my voice trailing off at the end. My heart pounds violently. All I can think about is the feel of Jason’s hands on me, the pressure of his fingers on my back and arms. My breath catches in my throat.

“Something I should have done a while ago.” He leans back and nods at his handiwork. “This is your jersey, Lainey.” His hands linger for a moment on my waist. “It’s always been yours.” Without another word, he spins on his heel and heads back to his car.

All I can do is watch him leave.

The next day at work, Micah doesn’t mention the game, or his blatant violation of our no-kissing rule. I still can’t
believe he kissed me! My brain is playing a strange game of tug-of-war. Micah’s lips. Jay’s hands. Micah’s lips. Jay’s hands. I’m a complete mess.

I’m hanging out in the prep kitchen since there’s no one at the counter. I focus on Micah’s to-do list as if I know the first thing about prepping quiche or mixing bread dough. “You know that band from The Devil’s Doorstep you pretended not to like but secretly liked a lot?” he asks. “The show I made you leave early because I was being a big lame-ass?”

Bottlegrate. They were pretty good, I guess. I don’t really remember much about that night besides fantasizing about kissing him. “Um . . . maybe?”

He pinches the edges of his quiche crust and then begins to ladle filling into the center. “They’re doing a show on Tuesday night, part of Fair St. Louis, this stage right in front of the Arch. You want to go?”

Fair St. Louis is the city’s big Fourth of July celebration. Half the metro area usually turns up. When I was little, I used to watch the fireworks on TV with my family. The last couple of years I’ve spent Fourth of July with Jason.

I can’t believe the summer is almost half over.

“What about Amber?” I ask.

Micah slides the quiche into the oven. Then he consults his list and pulls a mixing bowl out from beneath the long, silver prep table. “Arachne’s Revenge isn’t going to be there.”

“No, I mean, why don’t you ask her to go?” I glance up at
the front counter. No customers.

“Amber is probably already going with some friends. And she already agreed to get together next week. I need to take it slow or I’ll just scare her off again, right? No stupid haste? Don’t attack from an inferior position? The art of this or that?”

Right. “So is this one of our dates? Are we going to try to find her and her friends? Because I’m thinking that might be tough in the crowd of eleventy million people.”

The shine fades from Micah’s eyes. “I don’t care if we count it or not. I just wanted to make up for being a idiot that night.” I sense him shutting down, wishing he’d never brought it up.

I wish he’d never brought it up either. I’ve been telling Bianca and Leo that they’re wrong, that there’s nothing going on with me and Micah, that he doesn’t like me like that.

But then why is he asking me to hang out? And why do I want to go?
Why did he kiss me?
No, no, no, that was just part of the plan. My “fall like a thunderbolt” moment, like he said. Still, I can see it only too clearly, the two of us kicking back on the handwoven Guatemalan blanket floating around in the trunk of my brother’s car. The sun would go down and the stars would come out. Then wind would blow off the Mississippi. I’d get shivery. Micah would sit close to me. I’d zero in on those barely parted lips as he sang along with the music. Later there’d be fireworks, real ones and . . .

You can’t have them both, Lainey.
I’m scared about messing stuff up with Jason so I’m trying to secure a backup. Micah
is not a consolation prize. He deserves someone who is crazy about him—someone like Amber. “I can’t,” I say. “I think I’m busy.”

His mouth forms into a hard line. “Another soccer game?”

“No.” My voice falters. “I have this thing.”

Shit. So not smooth.

He looks at me hard. “Right,” he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “A thing.”

Cal wanders out of the manager’s office and heads toward the back hallway, no doubt on the way to smoke his eleventh cigarette of the day. “I have a thing too,” he says, grabbing his crotch.

“You’re disgusting,” I say.

“That’s not what you said last night.”

I make a face. “You wish.”

Cal laughs, but he doesn’t deny it. After he’s gone, I shudder. “I bet that beard is a violation of county health codes.”

Micah twitches. “I don’t think he’s shaved in the two years I’ve known him. He’s probably got endangered species living in there.” He pauses. “Or at least half a sandwich stashed for later.”

“Ew.” I smile.

Micah grins back at me. He touches my teal streak. Some of the hairs have broken off and others are beginning to look a bit straggly from being repeatedly washed and flat-ironed. “You should have my sister redo this.”

“Good idea.” Suddenly hanging out with Micah doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Now that he’s talking to Amber again and I’m talking to Jay, it isn’t like we can’t stay friends. “You know what? I changed my mind,” I say. “I haven’t been downtown for the fair in a couple of years. I want to go with you.”

“But what about your thing?” Micah asks with mock seriousness. “I wouldn’t want you to fall behind on your thingage.”

“It can wait,” I say. So what if Micah said I was hot and I also find him a teensy bit attractive? That doesn’t mean we can’t control ourselves. He also said I wasn’t his type. Amber is better for him. I know this. Just like I know that Jason is better for me. Everything is working out perfectly. As long as Micah and I stick to the plan, what could really go wrong?

Well, for one, I could get a zit. It’s after lunch on Fourth of July when I notice a red bump forming on my forehead. It’s probably from all the exfoliating I’ve been doing to try to fade my giant freckle tumor.

I head into the living room and sit cross-legged on the sofa. I flip through our limited selection of basic cable channels, my disgust growing with each click of the remote.
Click
. Reality TV about housewives that spend too much money and get drunk all the time.
Click
. An episode of
Happy Cheetah.
I hover there for a few minutes until the channel cuts to a commercial.
Click
. An ’80s movie with some frizzy-haired
guy as the lead that my mom probably still thinks is hot. Boring. I rub the zit on my forehead again. It feels like it’s doubled in size.

“Don’t pick,” my mom says, floating into the room with a handful of mail. She drops the latest issue of
Celebrity Tattler
magazine on my lap. “I don’t know why you waste your time reading this junk.”

“You read tea leaves,” I say. “You don’t get to judge.”

“Ooh, that reminds me. Have you found any new love yet?”

I totally forgot about Mom’s tea-leaf reading from last week. She
is
usually right about these things. If Jason and I got back together, would that count as new love? I’m thinking yes, but I don’t want to jinx things. I hold up the
Tattler.
There’s a special promo for
Flyboys
on the cover. “I didn’t tell you about me and Caleb Waters?”

“He is dreamy,” she says. “When you two get married, can your father and I live in the servants’ cottage?”

Dreamy.
My mom is so old it’s hilarious. “Um, no,” I say with fake disdain, “because then where will the servants live?”

“Speaking of servants,” Mom says with a sparkle in her eyes, “I’m sure your father could find something for you to do around the shop. You look a little bored.”

“Extra work? On a holiday? Thanks, Mom, but I’ll never be that bored,” I say. Right on cue my phone buzzes.

It’s Jason.

I
slip into my room with the phone. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Jason asks incredulously. “It’s Fourth of July—that’s what’s up. What are you doing tonight?”

I flop down on my zebra-print comforter. “I’m going to the fair.”

“Downtown? It’s too hot for that. I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A pool party. Why sweat your ass off with two million strangers when you can kick back in the Chase pool?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Come on, Lainey. Mom is out of town. The house is all mine. You love my parties.”

I used to anyway. Back when they all ended with me and Jason in bed together. Watching him drool all over Alexandra might not be quite as fun. But she wasn’t at the soccer
game, so maybe she won’t be there. Still, my first instinct is to blow him off. Then I think about
The Art of War
again, about seizing opportunities and rushing forth like floodwater and how no one benefits from prolonged warfare. Drawing things out just makes everyone tired. And weak.

I hate feeling weak.

“You can bring that Micah guy if you want.” Jason pauses. “Not going to lie, though. I’m hoping you don’t.”

Micah. I’m technically supposed to go to the Bottlegrate concert with him tonight. But if I’m going to get back together with Jason, this party would be the place to do it. He’ll be drinking. I can wear something sexy. He just saw another guy kiss me. It will capitalize on all of his weaknesses. And who knows what happened for him to invite me to a party? Maybe he and Alexandra are fighting. I shouldn’t let that opportunity pass me by.

“I’ll try and stop by,” I hedge.

“Whatever. Cancel your plans and get your ass over here around eight,” Jason says. “Because I know you love surprises and I have a surprise for you.”

Okay, so now I’m dying of curiosity. Jason was never the kind of boyfriend who surprised me. Sure, he bought me presents, but he always let me pick out stuff so he didn’t have to risk disappointing me. I can’t think of a single thing he ever surprised me with. Well, except for our breakup.

“I’ll try to make it, but no promises.” I smile to myself. Let him wonder.

“Okay. See you later, I hope.”

I hang up with Jason and bury my face in my pillow. “What now?” I mumble. I need help. I call Bianca. As usual, she picks up right away.

“What are you doing today?” I ask.

“I’m at a church picnic,” she says. “They’ve got thirty different types of chili here. You should come check it out.”

“No way. That makes me sweaty just thinking about it.” I pause. “Hey, I need to ask you a question.” I tell her about sort of having plans with both Jason and Micah. “What should I do?”

“Well, it’s simple. Who would you rather spend Fourth of July with?” she asks.

I think about Fair St. Louis and the Bottlegrate concert: Stars. Music. Fireworks. Micah. Then I think about Jason’s party: the chance to finally achieve what I’ve been after for the past month.

“The fact that it’s taking you this long to answer is interesting,” Bee says. “Did something happen with you and Micah?”

I blush. “He sort of kissed me at the soccer game,” I say. “But not seriously. It was part of the plan, you know? He was just trying to help me make Jason jealous.”

Silence.

“Bianca? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you were gone all weekend with your family and—”

“No. It’s fine. I’m just processing,” she says. “Was this unserious kiss so amazing that you’re having second thoughts about Jason?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, it was nice, but just kind of a quick peck.” Okay, two. Whatever.

“So then what are you thinking?”

I let it all spill out. “I feel like I should go to Jason’s,” I say. “Jay and I make sense. Micah and Amber make sense. This is what we’ve been working toward all summer. Why screw it up now?”

“Because you and Micah like each other.” She continues before I can protest. “If he kissed you, he
likes
you. And I can tell you like him back. So why are you trying to avoid him?”