B006K5TA1E EBOK (16 page)

I owe our readers an apology. When I suggested Newshound write a romance novel someday, I had no idea she’d inflict it on 9,000 students across six schools so soon.


It would be sad if it weren’t so embarrassing. With all her talk of princes and queens, Newshound has exposed herself as delusional in a way I never could. Take another look at your last column, Newshound, and tell me you don’t want to take a big bite out of Snow White’s proverbial poisoned apple. Scoop will be relieved to have this space to himself.


If you’re still with us, understand that I’m not jealous of your supposedly meaningful relationship, but I am worried enough about your neutered prince to send some knights to the rescue. Is he still dancing around your throne in a golden loincloth?


Fairy tales aren’t always pretty, and that’s one reason Scoop prefers to live in the real world. Still, I dropped some coins into the hand of a psychic at the Dunfield Mystic Fair this week. I’m a skeptic, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get the “scoop” from beyond on my lady. The psychic took one look at me and said: “You’ve found someone very special. She’ll take you to dizzying heights and terrible lows, but you’ll never regret the ride.”


If Scoop had a romantic bone in his body, he’d have become a believer on the spot. But I don’t need fairy tales or spiritual guidance to confirm I’m on the right track with my favorite girl. Why? Because she can’t keep her hands off me. That is the stuff that real fantasies are made of. And if she has any concerns about the size of my commitment, she hasn’t said a word about it. It seems the lady is well satisfied.


I don’t expect to be dumped anytime soon, Newshound, but if it happens, I’ll know where to come for advice. By that time the Literacy Challenge will be over, and you can share some survival tips over coffee in the cafeteria. Something tells me you know all about getting off-loaded. Knowing that helps me understand where you’re coming from with this fairy-tale crap. Your romantic delusions are probably the only thing keeping you going after so much rejection.


Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, and try using that bed for something more than escaping the real world. You’ll be glad you did.


Scientific Method:
a body of techniques for investigating phenomena and acquiring new knowledge.

STEP 1:
Observe Phenomena and Define Questions

There’s probably a point at the beginning of any relationship where everything is absolutely perfect. It feels like being inside a bubble, all sparkle and rainbows.

That’s what it’s like for Joey and me right now. We spend every possible moment together, often in transit between school, work, and home. Sometimes I can’t remember how we got from A to B, although I can recall every word of our conversation, what he wore, what I wore, what we ate, the music we heard, and how I felt when I saw him waiting beside my locker.

It’s beautiful. And it can’t last. Before long, something or someone will burst the bubble. The only reason we’ve escaped so far is that Paz is filling in for another shift lead on straight days, Grace is spending a few days at a friend’s place, and Mariah is too caught up with being Mariah to notice us.

Meanwhile, each day is better than the last. It’s as if neither of us can say or do the wrong thing. Every word Joey says is fascinating to me, and miraculously, he seems to feel the same. And somehow, impossibly, he gets cuter every time I see him. I love his eyes, his hair, and his smile—and especially his hands, with the two crooked fingers caused by an accident at the factory. Oddly, it’s the tiny imperfections that make this feel more solid, as if it can last in the real world after the bubble bursts.

I know that time will tell if we’re meant to be together, but like anyone else in this situation, I’m looking for an easy answer. Is there a sign? A test? How do you know when you’ve found
the one
?

STEP 2:
Gather Information and Resources

I’ve read the books, I’ve seen the movies, and now I’m talking to people who’ve actually been there. Since my own life doesn’t offer many examples of successful relationships, I’ve taken my search for answers to Dan’s Diner, where people are usually willing to open up if I keep pouring the coffee. I put my question to a row of women sitting at the counter.

“Honey, you’ll just know,” says Mrs. Cortez, happily married to the owner of the tile store up the street for ten years. “It took me about a week with Leo.”

“Was there a sign?” I press.

Her smile is half nostalgic, half embarrassed. “I had a strange feeling whenever he kissed me. Something I hadn’t felt with anyone else.”

“Exactly,” says Mrs. Olivera, who works in human resources at Donner’s. “That’s how I knew. It’s chemistry.”

Mrs. Evans, married for twenty-six years, pushes her cup forward for another refill. “You’ll know. Trust us.”

“Dan?” I ask. “How did you know with your ex-wife?”

“Don’t bring me into this,” he says, escaping to the kitchen.

“But I want a guy’s point of view,” I call after him.

He sticks his head into the pass-through. “If you must know, it hit me like a lightning bolt to the boxer shorts.”

STEP 3:
Formulate Hypothesis.

I close Joey’s textbook and slide it back to his side of the table as he arrives at our booth with a tray.

“You can do my homework while you’re at it,” he says, placing a plate of fries in front of me.

“Just curious,” I say, pouring a pool of ketchup onto the plate. “I’m thinking of taking chemistry next year.”

He sits down across from me and grins. “Good idea. I can teach you everything I know.”

Dipping a fry into my ketchup, he feeds it to me. Then he leans across the table and kisses the ketchup from my mouth.

Even sitting in the middle of a busy diner, my stomach drops and the wind picks up in my head when Joey’s lips touch mine. That has to mean
something
.

Hypothesis: A kiss can reveal your destiny.

STEP 4:
Experiment and Collect Data

Joey wraps his arm around me as we walk out of the second-run movie theater. It’s a cold night, but I feel a rush of warmth as we stroll down the street analyzing our favorite scenes from
Almost Famous
. We agree on all of them. That happens a lot, but we’re not exactly alike. Joey, for example, always puts his iPod on shuffle, whereas I prefer to play an album straight through. Similarly, he often mixes several foods on his fork, whereas I prefer to savor one thing at a time.

Still, it seems as if we have the important things in common. For example, we both worry about our parents and want to succeed in life so that we can make them proud. We both fight with our sisters a lot, and we generally lose.

Joey points to a copy of
Great Expectations
as we pass a bookstore window. “That’s a great book. Has Sparling assigned it yet?”

“Still stuck on Mount Olympus.” I tell him about Mr. Sparling’s latest class assignment, in which we had to pretend that a god is retiring and write a letter to Zeus explaining why we’d be the perfect replacement.

Joey laughs. “We did that too. Let me guess… You chose Athena.”

“Wrong.” No need to explain that taking over the role of the virgin goddess has lost some appeal. Although Athena has many fine qualities, it’s the gods who get around that seem to have the most fun. “I chose Hephaestus, God of—”

“Fire,” he supplies. “I chose Hephaestus too. Something else we have in common.”

“The list is getting longer every day,” I say.

“Plus we share my new favorite pastime.”

“Which is?”

He leans down to kiss me, and the street noise fades into the background, replaced by the sound of wind whipping through tall buildings.

STEP 5:
Perform Vigorous Field Tests

Joey points to my head and asks, “Can I borrow that?”

He’s referring to his hat, which has been in my possession for over a week. I’ve kept it not because the hat is particularly cool, but because every time I put it on, I get a muted hit of the same feeling I get when he kisses me. “It
is
yours.”

He puts the hat on the little snowman we built from the first snow of the season and frowns. “He still needs a nose.”

“We’ll give him the gift of smell on the way home. Otherwise, we’re going to be late for school.”

“Check your backpack,” Joey says. “I’ll bet there’s something we could use.”

As it happens, I have a churro in my lunch bag that would make a perfect nose, but I love Izzy’s mom’s donuts too much to sacrifice it for a snowman. Clutching my backpack closer, I say, “There isn’t.”

Joey’s eyes narrow. “Luisa’s hiding something, isn’t she? Open up. Or else.”

I turn to run, and a snowball hits me between the shoulders. In seconds, Joey catches up and pushes me over into the snow.

“Who wins?” he asks, hovering over me.

“I do,” I say, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him closer. This time the wind in my head is warm and soothing.

STEP 6:
Repeat Experiment to Ensure Predictable Results

“For the love of Pete, would you pay attention?”

Joey and I pull away from each other and look around the empty bus. “Huh?”

The driver peers over his shoulder at us. “Is the bus moving?”

As a matter of fact, it is not. It is idling at my stop.

“I don’t get paid enough to babysit love-struck puppies,” the driver grumbles as we scurry toward the door. “Any clothes come off and I’m charging you double.”

STEP 7:
Analyze Data

Staring at me through his zoom lens, Joey says, “That hat looks better on you.”

I summon a stiff smile, discovering that it’s much easier to be flattered when both feet are firmly on the ground. At the moment we’re about 150 feet above it at the apex of the Ferris wheel’s climb.

When Joey asked me to come to Navy Pier so that he could take some photographs for his urban development project, I expected to be an observer, not a participant.

He leans to one side to get a different angle, and the car rocks. I scream.

“Afraid of heights?” he asks, a grin appearing under his camera.

I nod silently, my lips too cold to form words.

Joey lowers his camera and slides closer to me—slowly, so as not to rock the car. “I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “You seemed fine at the Hancock Center, so I thought you’d be cool with this. Why didn’t you say something?”

I offer a slight shrug in response. Obviously I’m not going to tell him the truth, which is that I’d say yes to a ride in the space shuttle if he asked me.

“I want us to have the kind of relationship where we can tell each other anything,” Joey says. “Don’t you?”

Relationship?
I love that word! Relationship means exclusive. It’s just the two of us in our little red car, 150 feet above the ordinary citizens of Chicago—the desperate, lonely people who are
not
in a relationship with Joey Carella.

“Don’t you?” Joey repeats. “Want to share everything, I mean?”

I nod. That’s exactly what I want. I’ve told him so much about myself already, even some things I’ve never shared with Izzy and Rachel. For example, I told him about my one and only memory of my father, who swung me so high in our basement apartment that I cracked a Styrofoam ceiling tile with my head. Although it didn’t hurt that much, I cried, and Grace made fun of me, and our father got mad at us both. It’s not a story I’d feel comfortable telling my friends, because their families are normal; but Joey understands. He has worse memories about his family than I have, and he’s told me about some of them.

Squeezing me tighter, Joey says, “Close your eyes and try to forget about where you are. The ride will be over in five minutes. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t do something about those blue lips of yours.”

The moment I feel the warmth of his lips on mine, the fear retreats. The wind still rocks the Ferris wheel car, but it’s familiar now, more exhilarating than terrifying.

STEP 8:
Draw Conclusions

I follow Joey to the river, marveling over the size of the crowd. “I can’t believe you come here every year.”

“I can’t believe you don’t,” he counters. “The Magnificent Mile Lights Festival is one of Chicago’s great traditions.”

“But it’s so… touristy.”

“Because it’s so…
fun
,” he says.

As the firework display begins, Joey pulls a thermos out of his backpack.

“What, no whip?” I joke as he hands me a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Patience, my lady.” He gropes in his bag and produces a can of whipping cream. A few people turn and smile at the squelching sound as he fills my mug. He points the nozzle at the first explosion of color and light in the sky. “I figured this was a pretty good way to celebrate.”

I stare at him, puzzled. “Celebrate what?”

“You forgot our three-week anniversary?” He pretends to be hurt.

“No, I thought we weren’t counting because you ignored weeks one and two.”

He shakes his head with mock sadness. “We’re arguing already. What’s going to happen when we’re counting in years?”

He said
years
! I pull Joey to me and kiss him. I don’t even care if two dozen people are watching us instead of the sky.

We sip our drinks in silence for a few moments and then I ask, “Would you mind trying that again? I’m testing a theory.”

Joey obligingly kisses me. “Did you get what you need?”

I nod happily. It turns out the answer was there all along, but I couldn’t hear it until the wind subsided.

Conclusion: Luisa and Joey are meant to be together.

STEP 9:
Report Findings

“He’s my soul mate,” I proclaim, leading my friends into Bebe.

Rachel smiles. “So you’ve said.”

We’ve been shopping for several hours at Water Tower Place, and it’s fair to say that I’m boring them with my tales of Joey.

“Well he is,” I insist. “Don’t you believe in soul mates?”

“Sure,” Rachel says. “The Yiddish word for it is
beshert
.”

“Well, Joey’s my shirt. I’m telling you, there were fireworks.”

“You were at the lights festival,” Izzy says. “The fireworks were real.”

I start to comb through the racks. “I put my theory through rigorous testing.”

“Which explains why we’ve barely heard from you,” Rachel says.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But now that I know where I stand with Joey, I can relax and get back to business as usual.”

It isn’t quite business as usual, though, because there’s a boyfriend in the equation now. Not a Future Boyfriend but a Current Boyfriend and hopefully a Forever Boyfriend. Still, I’m not the type to neglect my friends for a guy for long. Joey may be my soul mate, but he isn’t going to help me shop for something to wear to the Literacy Gala. It’s only two weeks away, and Mom gave me a hundred dollars last night to buy something special. I felt a little sick about taking it, knowing it amounts to almost a day’s wages, but she insisted, and I succumbed. This is a big event, and if I choose wisely I’ll be able to wear my new outfit again and again. Now that I am both a girlfriend and a columnist, there could be lots of events in my future.

Choosing wisely turns out to be the challenge. I’m trying to find an outfit that’s hip and sexy, classy and professional—and a reasonable price. Everything we’ve seen so far has either been insanely expensive or skanky.

“What’s your
beshert
wearing to the gala?” Rachel asks, heading to the discount rack.

“Actually, I haven’t invited him,” I say, holding up a flimsy dress. “I can bring only four guests, and that’s my mom, Grace, and you two.”

“I thought Buzzkill said you could bring Dan too,” Izzy says.

“Okay, five. But I figure I’ve used up my favors.”

Rachel stops picking over the sales rack to stare at me. “I’m sure she’d want you to bring your soul mate, Newshound. All you have to do is ask.”

I drop the flimsy dress on the floor, but Rachel is still staring at me after I retrieve it.

“You haven’t told him,” she says.

“You haven’t told him?” Izzy echoes. “But you’ve been welded to his side for weeks.”

I throw out my only defense, knowing I’m going down. “It’s a secret column.”