Lipstick Apology (5 page)

“Hi,” I said.

“First day?” he asked.

“What, you mean they don't clap like that every day?” I asked sarcastically.

“Right,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “Obviously.”

I worried that I sounded like a jerk, so I smiled and asked, “What's your first class?”

He leaned over and glanced at my schedule. He smelled oddly sweet. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I have first-period history too. Meyers. He's boring as hell. I'll walk you there. You're in my sixth-period chem class too.”

“Cool,” I said. The bell rang and we walked together toward the door.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Anthony.”

“I'm Emily,” I said as we walked through the crowded hallway.

He nodded. “Right—the clapping.” He smiled.

We rounded a corner. “Emily from Pennsylvania,” Anthony said.

I spun my head around. “How did you know that?” I asked. My heart raced as I recalled the never-ending news broadcasts.

Anthony looked wide-eyed and caught off guard. He held a door open and ushered me into a seat next to him. “They told us,” he whispered.

“What?” I said, a little too loudly, and my new history teacher looked up from his desk. He hobbled over and dumped a book and some photocopied papers onto my desk. “Miss Carson, I presume?” He panted.

I nodded, feeling all eyes turn toward me.

Anthony scribbled something on a piece of paper, then slid a note onto my desk.
I knew you were from PA because they told us about you last week, before you came.

Who's they? I scrawled, and handed it back.

Why?

They wanted us to be
sensitive
to your situation.

I was boiling. Why couldn't everyone just leave me alone? What IS my situation????

I waited to see what he would write.
Your parents died . . . Your face was splashed across the news . . . Your mother's creepy mystery message . . .

He scribbled and passed me the paper.
You have a tremendous body odor situation.

I giggled.

Mr. Meyers looked over at me, surprisingly pleased. “Thank you, Miss Carson, at least someone is paying attention to my jokes.”

Anthony burst out laughing.

Mr. Meyers smirked. “Don't be a kiss-up, Mr. Rucelli.”

My next three classes were uneventful. Then I was forced to face the most crucial element of my new school transition: the lunchroom. One wrong squat toward a seat in a geographically undesirable location could forever land me with an invisible badge of unpopularity. I didn't want to sit in the corner with the unknowns again.

I opened the cafeteria door and walked toward the food line near the mantel, which I discovered was
not
in fact a working fireplace, merely a decorative piece. The choices were overwhelming. No mystery meat and frozen pizza—this was actual
food
. Fresh wraps, sandwiches on rustic focaccia bread with goat cheese oozing out the sides, fruit bowls, croissants, organic-looking pasta salads. Even the potato chips were kettle-cooked. I decided on some good comfort food and got a bowl of clam chowder. I grabbed a Diet Coke and began my seat search. It was difficult to know where to sit because with everyone in the same uniform green shirts, it was impossible to decipher cliques on first viewing.

The lunchroom didn't have long lunchroom tables like I was accustomed to. Instead, there were café-style circular tables made from more of that mahogany wood. It was a much more intimate setting and therefore all the more intimidating. I scanned around hoping to find Anthony, the only person I had really talked to. But I didn't see him.

“Hey,” I heard someone call out.

I turned around and saw two girls sitting at a table, water-falls of shiny hair cascading down their backs. The blond was fair-skinned with ocean blue eyes and invisible blond eyebrows that made her eyes seem exaggerated and wide. Despite her look of perpetual surprise, it was her popping eyes that gave her a unique, alluring look. She had a spray of freckles across her nose and was very petite, almost frail. She waved at me. “Come here.”

I walked over to the table and the two girls motioned for me to sit.

The brunette was taller than the blond, with an angular, sculpted face. She seemed athletic and toned, which next to the daintiness of the blond made her seem almost big. But I guessed she couldn't be more than a size four. She twirled her mini diamond earrings.

“You're new here?” the blond asked.

“I'm Emily,” I said.

They nodded as if this was no surprise.

“I'm Andi,” said the blond.

“I'm Lindsey,” the brunette said. “So how's your first day going?”

“Oh my God!” Andi interrupted, her bright blue eyes widening. “Did they not tell you about the soup?” She grabbed at her chest like she was in pain. “I know soup is supposed to be healthy and all, but it is a total fact that the cream of chowder from this kitchen has twenty-eight grams of fat. TWENTY-EIGHT! Can you believe that? They might as well shove a Whopper in a blender and call it a light snack.”

I stared at my bowl of soup, obviously the wrong choice. I looked over at their salads with small cups of dressing on the side. I was hungry, but I felt strangely obligated not to eat the soup.

Andi held out her tube of hand lotion. “Want some?”

I shook my head no.

“It's weird, but I noticed my hands get so dry after a shoot.” Andi rubbed the lotion over her hands.

“Shoot?” I asked.

Andi looked down at her hands. “Yeah, I did this little Guess shoot over the weekend. I don't model that much anymore, though, too busy.”

I thought I saw Lindsey roll her eyes.

“Andi used to be an American Girl model. Like four years ago,” Lindsey informed me. Andi punched her in the arm. “What? It's true! So how do you like it here so far?” Lindsey asked, turning back to me.

“It's okay,” I said. “It's an adjustment.”

Lindsey leaned in, her dark hair falling around her face. She whispered, “How are you handling everything?”

Andi gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“I know we're not supposed to say anything—” Lindsey said quickly.

Andi cut her off. “It was totally forbidden.”

“That's insane,” I said. “Why is it forbidden to ask me a question? That's so messed up.”

Andi answered with a deep impersonating voice. “You've been badgered enough. Here at Darlington, we will show you the respect you deserve.”

I was thinking that maybe that was a decent point when Lindsey said, “It's such a load of crap. I wouldn't be surprised if down the road, we read a big article in the paper about how Darlington handled such a sticky situation with grace and dignity. The administration will use this for publicity, which totally goes against everything they're preaching.”

So I was no longer a national headline, but a “sticky situation.” I stared at my soup and played with the strand of pearls around my neck.

“That's such a pretty necklace,” Lindsey said, releasing her finger from her square diamond earring and pointing to the pearls. “Where did you get it?”

I took a deep breath and willed myself to loosen my grip on the necklace. “These were my mom's.”

Lindsey cocked her head, her brown hair falling over her cheek. “They're beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, looking down again at my soup.

Andi dipped a carrot stick in dressing. “So, have you met any guys of interest?”

“Well,” I said, “there was this really sweet guy I met this morning.”

They leaned in with anticipation.

“His name is Anthony,” I said.

Andi's brow furrowed with confusion. “Do we have an Anthony in our class?” she asked, tucking a blond strand behind her ear.

“Dark, curly hair?” I said.

Lindsey nodded. “Anthony Rucelli.”

Andi crinkled her blond eyebrows like she still wasn't sure. “Wait, is that the guy who eats lunch in the
library
every day?” She nodded to herself. “That's right. I know who you're talking about. Aidan sat next to him in trig and he texts his
mother
like fifty times a day. And he chews his pencils. Whatever.” She sliced her hand through the air as if dismissing the thought of him.

“He seemed nice,” I said. I felt like I made some kind of mistake, like with the soup.

“He may be nice,” Andi said. “But he's never at any parties, and at school he just kind of fades into the background.” She stood up with determination. I noticed her take on the school uniform included a cute khaki skirt rather than pants and that her hunter green top with tiny detail on the cap sleeves was unbuttoned at the bottom like she'd just thrown it on one second ago. She really did look like a Guess model. I felt a little awed just to be in her presence. “Come on, after everything you've been through, you deserve to meet
the real guys
.”

We walked across the room toward a table near the patio doors. As we crossed the cafeteria, Andi's hand flew left and right, like a flight attendant pointing out the exit doors.

“That's Walker Montgomery—his dad works at NBC studios. Travis Martin—his parents are the defense attorney team from that huge murder-dismember-mob case last year. Helena Lender—as in the bagel. Lucas Bailey—his dad runs a hedge fund downtown—incredibly rich.”

We stopped in front of the patio doors. “And these,” Andi did the flight attendant hands again, “are the guys.” She looked around. “Where's Owen?” she asked no one in particular.

Two guys sat at the table, casually joking and eating burgers. Both had perfect faces with shiny white teeth.

The guy with shaggy brown hair jumped up and pecked Andi on the cheek.

Andi turned to me. “Emily, this is my boyfriend, Aidan.”

He nodded. “Hey.” He pushed his hair away from his eyes.

Lindsey put her hand on my shoulder. “This is Emily's first day.”

The lanky guy stood up, reached over for a few napkins, and balled them up. He flexed his wrist and shot the napkin wad halfway across the room into the garbage can.

“Swish,” Aidan said, giving the beanpole a high five.

“That's Ethan,” Andi said. “Our resident basketball star. He's being recruited by every college in the country. Even the NBA has contacted him.”

Ethan did an exaggerated bow before sitting back down.

Then, out of the blue, like flowers stirring in the breeze, all heads in the cafeteria turned. Through the doors walked a guy. And even in this room of flawlessness, he transcended perfection. It wasn't his short, blond hair, or his intense, jade green eyes. It was some imperceptible quality that made all eyes just linger and swoon. As he breezed through the lunchroom toward us, my breath caught.

Andi's flight attendant hand shot out toward Mr. Perfect. “This is Owen.”

O-wen.
Even his name had a singsong quality that made me breathy
.

He smiled at me, and
crash boom
—it was like someone pressed two paddles to my chest and shocked the life back into me.

“Hi,” I squeaked out.

“Hi,” Owen said, holding his gaze a little longer than necessary.

The electricity coursed through my veins with rapid fire. There was no doubt in my mind that if I reached out and touched him, just the slightest contact, there would be a spark.

Owen pulled out a wooden lunchroom chair and motioned for me to sit down. “So,” he said. “Where are you from?”

“Cut the crap,” Lindsey interjected, sitting down next to me. “She knows that we know about her situation.”

“I'm so sorry about your parents,” Owen said, resting his hand lightly on my knee.

Spark, spark, spark.
I looked down for steam coming off my khakis. His forearms were tan and muscular, and I wondered if maybe he played tennis like me.

“So,” Owen continued. “Tell me how, after such a tragedy, do you look so amazing?”

I was still struggling to respond when Aidan released his grip on Andi and made a motion with his hand.

Owen looked at the time on his cell phone. “Gotta go. See ya.” He smiled at me. As he followed Aidan and Ethan, the sun from the big bay windows cast a pale glow on his short golden hair.

The rest of the day, I floated on clouds. Owen thought I looked amazing. Owen, the most perfect, beautiful guy I'd ever met, thought
I
looked amazing. Who cared if everyone was being nice to me just because the principal instructed them to?

For the first time since my move to New York, the constant visions of airplanes and tray tables were replaced by a thirty-second conversation with a hot boy.

“SO, HOW WAS YOUR FIRST DAY?”
Jolie chirped as she came through the apartment door later that night.

“It was,” I looked up from my homework and thought for a minute,“different.”

Jolie nodded as if that was exactly what she expected me to say.

Trent barged in right behind her, juggling several Thai food cartons. He set the boxes down on the oval table on the far side of the kitchen bar.

“Do you live in this building too?” I asked. He always seemed to be two minutes away.