Swoon at Your Own Risk (28 page)

Jane slips the larger jeans over her hips. "Oh, they're so comfortable. Promise not to tell anyone my size!"

"I don't know. I've got my new honesty policy and everything." I smile. "Isn't the important thing that you're comfortable and look good?"

"You sound like your grandma's last column."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should!" She glances over her shoulder at her butt again. "So, where did you find this pair? I'm buying all of them."

"You've got your mom's credit card again?"

"I most certainly do."

After paying and gathering all her shopping bags, Jane stops for a frappuccino at the coffee bar outside Macy's. I order a much cheaper iced tea.

"Where should we shop next?" she asks. "I'm thinking I need a miniskirt and some new tights."

I shrug. "We can go wherever you want. Most of my clothing fund is going toward boat paint. I'm thinking I can streak my legs with a mariner blue so they will look almost like designer jeans."

Jane stops walking. "Did your dad freak?"

I take a long sip of iced tea. I consider making another joke. She waits patiently, not even glancing at the nearby window display. I finally whisper, "Oh yeah."

Jane crumples her lips into a sympathetic frown.

"He yelled so loud that several dogs in the neighborhood lost their hearing."

She just widens her eyes.

"He said so much stuff, as if he'd been holding it in for my entire life. It's like I've been disappointing him for
years
. I felt like I'd gone through his office shredder when he was done."

A tear drips down my cheek, and Jane hands me the napkin wrapped around her frappuccino. I dab my eyes. "It hurts so much. And I'm not even sure how to talk about it. I'm not very good at this feelings stuff."

"Who is?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it just seems so much easier to pretend that things are okay."

"But that leaves you carrying your burdens alone."

"It's not like they're as heavy as your shopping bags." I smirk at her.

"Yeah, well, these come with their own set of expectations—like perfect grades and majoring in prelaw at Stanford. You think I'm going to be allowed to take one single photography elective?" Jane looks down at her shopping bags, and I can tell she feels a little guilty. "We all have our crap to deal with—"

"Some of us are just better dressed for it."

Jane laughs so loud a couple of extremely well-groomed old ladies stare at us. "Yeah, and some of us have petite little figures that make all the boys swoon."

"Well, I'm not going to swoon back. Not anymore." I sip my iced tea.

"Now that you have your tall, mysterious, poetic Xander Cooper."

"X marks the spot." I grin around my straw.

Dear Miss Swoon:
Is it true that clothes make the man? My girlfriend is always nagging me to dress up when we go out with her friends. I say, shouldn't they like me for who I am?
—What's One Little Hole

Dear What's:
You seem to have a hole in your head when it comes to acceptable manners. Just because it's your favorite T-shirt doesn't mean it belongs in her favorite
restaurant. Make her day and let her take you shopping!
—Miss Swoon

Not Shakespeare's Sonnet
HOOK-UPdates:
Polly Martin and Xander Cooper: Finally, guys! Emily Wright and Luther Smith: Cutest s'more-making sophomores ever!
Me: Nothing. But I'm okay with that. (See, Mom? Dad? No need to phone a therapist.)
New Contest: Prom Partner Predictions!!! Let's start the school year by pairing the new seniors into Prom Partners. You predict the breakups, makeups, make-outs, and wanna-be-left-outs. There will be prizes for most accurate, most creative, and most delusional!!!!!

I watch the breeze ruffle through the leaves above me as I lie with my head in Xander's lap. Such a simple thing, a tree. Yet, it takes this complicated process of roots and photosynthesis to make it grow. And I've realized that everything is that way: complex. We've walked down to a small park in our neighborhood. Not too far away Dex and Kyra climb on the playground equipment. Xander twists one of my curls around his finger.

"You sure I can't talk you into joining the academic team? We could use a science geek like you."

"I'm not a geek."

"Just thirty seconds ago you were explaining xylem and phlegm to me."

"Phloem. Just remember the phloem helps the nutrients
flow
throughout the tree."

Xander smiles. "Like I said, we could use a geek like you." He tickles my neck with his fingers. A leaf falls, brushing his hair, falling into mine. "The tree says yes."

"It's just that I don't want to join another club for a boy. You realize that if I do in fact score a college interview, when they ask me about my interests, I'll have to say, 'Oh yes. I joined the Nature Club because, you see, there was this guy.' I don't even need a diary. I've got an academic transcript that details my broken hearts."

He tilts my chin so that I'm looking at him. "I'm not going to break your heart."

I smile, even as fear prickles through me. He keeps saying things to reassure me, but I've started to focus on
actions
, not words. More than one drunk guy at a party has proclaimed undying love for me—if only I'd join him upstairs in an empty room. I've given up affirmations, snappy advice columns, blog gossip—I've got to find something that fits my scientific mind. Actions = empirical evidence.

"You keep saying that, but isn't it just words?"

Xander puts his finger over his mouth, asking me to hush, and closes his eyes.

"Okay, what little moment are you capturing now?" I've made a game of guessing notebook-worthy moments. "Is it Dex's laughter?"

Xander shakes his head.

"Rustling leaves?" No. "The weight of my enormous head in your lap?" A smile. "My hair wrapped around your finger." Slight head tilt. "My sky blue eyes staring up at the sky—ugh. I sound like Sawyer."

Xander laughs. "It's the way the skin on your forehead crinkles just a little bit when you're thinking of something that scares you."

"Well, that's just great." I push myself up so that I'm sitting at an angle to Xander. "I'm going to need Botox injections by the time I'm nineteen. I've got as many worries as the periodic table has elements."

"Let me be your oxygen." He bumps against me.

"That's the problem with being poetic all the time," I say. "Sometimes you just don't make sense. See, you need more than just oxygen, which happens to be highly combustible—"

He stops me with a kiss. "There. A little carbon monoxide or is it dioxide?" He squiggles a finger across my knee. "My bio notes aren't so great."

I take his hand off my knee. "We're so different. How is this going to work? Shouldn't we have more in common? I bet you're not even signed up for a science class, are you?"

Xander shakes his head, but he's still smiling.

"And, yeah, I'm in AP English because I'm in AP everything, but I don't like it. I'm just good at knowing what the teachers want to hear, and I know how to use proper grammar."

"And don't forget all your big vocabulary words."

"You're teasing me."

He flashes his eyebrows.

"I'm serious! What if you decide, you know, after dating me for a few more weeks that we don't have enough in common?"

"We have enough in common."

"Like what?"

"I like you. You like me. Isn't that enough?"

"But it's not based on anything. It's just all that mushy feelings stuff. What if we hate each other's music? What if we never read the same books? What if—" A butterfly lands a few feet away, resting on a dandelion. "Take that butterfly. I see it as an amazing insect that's transformed from an egg to a caterpillar to a chrysalis and finally a colorful butterfly."

"I see a metaphor."

I roll my eyes.

"I'm going to ignore that," he says.

"See? It
is
a problem!"

He shakes his head. "Let's say we wanted to catch that butterfly. So we get up and run around this field, falling, tripping, never quite reaching the butterfly, the way some people go chasing after love. I won't mention any names."

I whack his arm. "Hey!"

He puts his arm around me to protect himself. He says. I lean my head on his shoulder, and we watch the butterfly flit from flower to flower, landing just briefly.

"Or we can wait, quietly, thinking our own thoughts, being our own selves." The butterfly floats in the air right before us, yellow wings almost transparent.

I sit completely still, watching the butterfly floating. And then it lands. On my shoulder! Out of the corner of my eye I watch the insect resting on my sleeve.

Xander whispers, "And the butterfly will land on your shoulder."

"How did you know?" I whisper back.

"We don't know. We just have to wait and see what happens. We can't capture it, control it. We can only enjoy it."

The butterfly opens and closes its wings, exposing an intricate, almost magical pattern of gray and yellow. A few moments later it flies away from me, but the feeling stays.

I will just wait and see what happens. A butterfly did just land on my shoulder.

Dear Polly:
Help! I think this might be the real thing! I've never felt like this before. Not with four husbands and who knows how many dishwasher repairmen. Why didn't you tell me?
—Miss Swooning

Dear Grandma:
He's a dog. He's a cute dog, but he's a dog. However, I will love him even more if he eats a few more of Grace's stuffed animals. Glad you've found true companionship at last. Now go write your book and let me work on my scholarship applications in peace!
—Polly

Dear Miss Swoon:
I just wrote a book and want to thank all the people who helped me along the way. My clever and insightful editor, Julie Tibbott, my ever-supportive agent, Ted Malawer, my mom, Rondi, and daughter Emma, who read early drafts, my daughter Sophie, who gave me "no talking" coupons, and my wonderful husband, Mike, who cleans the kitchen better than I do. Oh, and so many other friends and family members who simply listened, offered advice, and cheered me on. How do I say a big huge "THANK YOU"?
—Grateful Author

Dear Grateful Author:
I think you just did.