How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend (12 page)

I did my homework for the next few hours, and only emerged from my room long enough to e-mail Charity the message: “Dante's a jerk. You're better off without him.”

Then I went back to my room.

My dad came in after he got home from work. He stood by the door, not looking angry, just old and tired. “It's almost time for dinner.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said.

“Gabby tells me she came home and found you with Jesse.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Dante says Jesse came over to return some tools and was only here because he was waiting for Dante to come home. Is that right?”

“Pretty much.”

Dad sighed, and I wondered if he was disappointed I was innocent. Maybe it would be easier if I was guilty so he could dish out whatever punishment Gabby wanted instead of having to defend me to her. He turned and put his hand on the doorknob. “Are you coming down to dinner?”

“No.”

“All right.” He opened the door and walked out of the room. Well, I shouldn't have expected more from him. I tried to turn my attention back to my Spanish homework but ended up looking at my bedspread instead. It's a pink checkered quilt that I've had for as long as I can remember.

When we were little and shared a room, Dante used to have a matching blue quilt. Every once in a while we would pull all the kitchen chairs in a circle and make a huge tent with our blankets. Inside became a secret, protected place, invisible to the world. At least until Mom peeked in and asked if anyone had seen her missing twins. Sometimes we'd come out, but sometimes she'd let us eat peanut butter sandwiches inside.

I know I wasn't always happy back then, but it seems that way now. My memories of that time are peppered with images of my mother smiling and Dante holding my hand as we climbed on the bus for kindergarten.

I lay down on my bed, listening to the sounds of dinner coming from the kitchen, and tried to soak up all the memories from my quilt.

So Dante had told my father the truth. I was still mad at him. At least for the moment. I never stayed mad at Dante for long. He'd spoken for me, back when I couldn't find my voice. But that wasn't why I forgave him. I forgave him because I knew what no one else did. When our mother lost her battle with cancer, a part of Dante's voice died with her. A part of him no longer spoke. I knew it, had sensed it happen, and I'd been trying to speak for him ever since.

That's why I wanted him to win the stupid election. It wasn't about Wilson or Jesse or any footwear I might have to choke down. Dante cared about something. He wanted to create a memorial for a friend. He was trying to do something good for someone else, and that was a part of him that had remained silent for far too long.

The noises of dinner stopped, and then I heard the clank of the dishes going in the dishwasher. I wondered who did them. Maybe Gabby had made Dante clean the kitchen, since he'd supported my version of the Jesse story.

Finally the noises stopped, and then someone knocked on my door. I didn't want to speak to anyone in my family, but curiosity got the best of me. “Come in,” I called.

Dante opened the door and walked in with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread. He put it in front of me along with a fork and a knife, then sat down on the end of my bed.

It smelled warm and delicious. I have no pride where lasagna is concerned. I picked up the fork and took a bite.

He watched me for a few moments, then said, “You'll have to sneak the dirty dishes back downstairs when Gabby isn't around, or she'll go ballistic at you for eating out of the kitchen.”

Like he had to tell me that. I took another bite and glared at him. “Wouldn't that make you happy? Maybe she'd finally buy you that big-screen TV you've always wanted.”

He pulled one knee up onto my bed and leaned against my wall. “Has anyone ever told you that you're too emotional? Oh yeah—I have, on a daily basis.”

I took another bite. “I can't believe you used my problems as a springboard for getting what you want. I mean, it's . . .” I set my fork down on my plate with a clang. “They let you buy your motorcycle right after I got in trouble for breaking into the biology room.”

“Yeah, and if you ever decide to go on another crime wave, give me some advance notice. I'd like to prep Gabby for a sports car.”

I came close to throwing my lasagna at him. The only thing that stopped me was knowing I'd have to clean tomato sauce off my carpet. And of course Gabby would find out about it, and then Dante would be halfway to winning a trip to Cancún or something.

“You are such a jerk,” I said.

“There you go, getting all emotional again. I've been telling you forever that you handle Gabby wrong. You want some pointers?”

Well, not pointers exactly, but I did want something pointy to throw at him. I didn't say anything but did try to send him some hostile psychic twin messages while I ate.

“If you want to get on Gabby's good side, you've got to let her be your mother. She tries, but you cut her out of your life every opportunity you get.”

“She's not my mother. She's just someone my father married.”

“Exactly, and if you were nice to her your life would be much easier.” He held up one hand as though to ward off my protest. “I know that's asking a lot of you right off, so you'll need to work your way up to it by throwing out little compliments. Tell her you like her outfits. That's something girls say to each other, and she spends enough time primping that it's got to be important to her.”

“Are you through?”

“Lastly, you've got to ask her opinion on things. She considers herself an expert on everything, so it's like acknowledging she's the all-wise, all-seeing Yoda of the family.”

“You're pathetic, Dante.”

“Pathetic? I asked her opinion on the party refreshments, and now she's buying me one of those twelve-foot submarine sandwiches. A few more well-placed questions and she'll hire a band and a guy to do an ice sculpture in my likeness.”

I picked up my fork and started in on my lasagna again. “Yeah, well, don't get too attached to those ice sculptures, because somewhere down in hell the devil has a lounge chair with your name on it.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I'm telling you, you make things harder than they have to be.”

Yeah, probably, but what else was new?

Chapter
9

E
ven though we turned in our petitions to get Dante's name on the ballot, the office didn't let us start campaigning until the Monday of next week. Wilson didn't let up on his flirting at all, though. I even caught him once with Raine. They walked to lunch together, and she actually giggled at something he said. Raine is not the type of girl who giggles. She is not flighty, or flirty, and she never giggles.

Raine and Wilson went their separate ways in the cafeteria, and she walked the rest of the way to our table alone. She plopped down in her chair, blushing, and wouldn't look at me.

I tapped my fingers against the table. “Raine,” I said.

Her head bobbed up in exasperation. “What? I only walked with him because I knew if he was with me, then he wouldn't be using his campaigning techniques on anyone else.”

“You giggled,” I said.

She took her sandwich out of her lunch sack. “Well, he's six three and gorgeous. Excuse me for having hormones.”

Another one under his spell—and this time one of my friends. “Raine,” I complained, “how could you?”

“I'm not going to marry him or anything.” She took a bite of her sandwich, and her smile grew dreamy. “Although if he asked me to prom . . .”

“You'd still vote for Dante,” Charity finished for her.

“Right,” Raine said and hurriedly took another bite of her sandwich.

Daphne leaned toward Raine, excitement in her voice. “Did he actually mention the P word to you?”

Raine turned toward Daphne and lowered her voice. “He asked if I'd been asked yet. He seemed really interested, and when I told him I hadn't, he gave me this big smile—”

“That he uses on anyone who can vote,” I added.

Daphne sent a glare in my direction.

“Well, it's true,” I said.

Raine let out a sigh, fiddling with the straw to her milk. “I'm just glad he spoke to me. Have you all noticed that the popular kids are giving us the cold shoulder?”

Charity nodded. “Some of the girls at church told me I was committing social suicide.” She glanced over at me. I must have looked startled, because her gaze turned consoling. “It didn't change my mind. I'll still campaign for Dante.”

Raine nodded. “Dante has to win. That's all there is to it. The popular kids won't be able to snub us if he wins.”

“They can still snub us,” Charity said, “but they'll know that the masses support us instead of them—well, that is if the masses support us instead of them.”

No one said anything for a moment. My stomach clenched, and I wondered if I'd be able to finish my lunch.

Daphne leaned back in her chair with a puzzled expression. “No one has criticized me about campaigning for Dante. In fact, Luke Talbot asked me to prom.”

Which figured. Once again, Daphne's world was not our own. In her world it was perfectly logical that Wilson's best friend would want to be with her even though she was campaigning for his rival.

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“I told him yes.”

“But . . .” I didn't finish. How could I point out that this was offering aid and comfort to the enemy? She'd already said yes, and was halfway through a description of the prom dress she wanted.

She must have noticed I didn't say anything else, because after the prom dress description, she reached over and patted my arm. “Don't worry, Gi, we'll find a prom date for you. I think you'll really like Nathan.”

 

In English class Mrs. Pembroke started the class by holding up every rejection letter she'd ever been sent. I couldn't believe anyone would keep them, let alone bring them to school and show them off, but she did.

She read a couple to us, then stapled all the letters to the bulletin board. She smacked the stapler against the paper with a lot of force, used way more staples than were needed, and muttered things under her breath we couldn't fully understand, like, “So how's my pacing now!” I was afraid this might be the beginning of a nervous breakdown, and next she'd start eating pencils, but she seemed fine after that, and class went on.

Over the rest of the week I looked at the bulletin board a lot. I know it's strange, but I felt an odd kinship with those letters. As though they had been written to me about my life, and I could make them all go away if Dante won the election.

Well, I told you it was strange.

 

I was all set to go to my grandma's house on Friday so Nathan could pick me up from there, but as it turned out, Dad and Gabby had plans with some of her friends that night. They weren't even coming home after work and told us they'd probably be out late. Since no one would be home to catch me acting ungrounded—except for Dante and Skipper, both of whom I could bribe into secrecy using Snickers bars—there was no point in going to Grandma's house.

After the last two dates, I'd realized Grandma was a dangerous woman. I should have known this already, because when she met Jesse, she saw his motorcycle and asked if he belonged to a gang. Of course he said no, but you could tell she didn't believe him. She kept recounting episodes of
Law and Order
where gang members killed each other in shoot-outs.

Probably I shouldn't introduce her to any more of my love interests until sometime after my first wedding anniversary.

As I put on my makeup, Dante leaned against the bathroom door and examined the ceiling thoughtfully. “PlayStation or Xbox?” he asked me.

I rubbed a patch of smoky topaz eye shadow across one eyelid and then the other. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm wondering what I should ask for when Gabby finds out you went on a date.”

“You'd better not tell her,” I said.

“You'd better get back in before she comes home.”

I ran my hands through my hair, fluffing it. “We're just going out to dinner. We'll be back in plenty of time. But if not, cover for me. Tell her I went to Charity's house to make posters for you.”

“You can't drag Charity into this.”

I blinked, then opened my eyes wide to put on a coat of mascara. I didn't say anything else.

“Sheesh, Giovanna, she's a minister's daughter. It has to be a double sin to make a minister's daughter lie for you.”

This from the guy who teased her mercilessly that his motorcycle's name was the Demonmobile and was going to get her. I smiled, then turned each cheek to apply blush. “Don't worry. I won't get caught.”

He shook his head. Sometimes Dante uses his six-minute head start into the world to pretend he's older and wiser than I am. “Just once. All you'd have to say is, ‘Hey Gabby, that outfit looks stunning on you,' just once, and she'd probably lift your grounding.”

“Well, maybe someday she'll wear a stunning outfit and I'll be in luck.”

Dante did more head shaking and went downstairs.

Nathan picked me up at six o'clock. He had the build of a football player, but he didn't say he was one, and after my last blind date, I was afraid to ask. We made small talk for a few minutes in the living room, discussing where we should go to dinner, and then he said, “If you're up for an adventure, I know a great place.”