How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend (22 page)

“Fine. You take five. I'll go with the number eight.” Jesse handed the billfold to Gary. “Why don't you open it and tell us what the number is.”

Gary chuckled and shook his head. “You've got a lot to learn about gambling. You should have chosen either four or six. Four would have let you win with any number lower than five. Six would make you a winner with any number higher than five. With eight your chances of winning are . . .” his voice trailed off as he opened the billfold. He stared at the check for a moment and let out a grunt.

“What's the number?” I asked.

Gary handed the bill to Jesse. His lips momentarily pursed. “Eight.”

I tried not to smile too widely. “Well, Gary, it was nice meeting you and everything. Have a good drive home.”

Gary let out a sigh, but nodded. “Right, thanks for dinner.” He didn't look at me as he stood up and left the table. I almost felt sorry for him. He looked so sad as he plodded away.

When he was out of earshot, Luke said, “Well, that's how you know you've got a gambling problem. When you lose your girlfriend at dinner, it's time to call that one-eight-hundred number.”

“I wasn't his girlfriend,” I said.

Stacey smirked at me. “Whatever you say, Panther.”

Bridget put both elbows on the table and leaned toward Jesse. “So was it a lucky guess, or did you somehow look at the check to see that the number was an eight?”

“I'm not a cheater,” Jesse said. “But I'm not a gambler either. I just do math.” He took out his wallet and counted out bills to put in with the check. “All the prices on the menu end in the number nine. Giovanna and Gary ordered two items. Two times nine is eighteen. Eighteen ends in eight. If Gary hadn't been so caught up in his gambling methods, he might have realized that.”

Well, that was probably a kinder assessment of Gary than he deserved.

Chapter
16

A
fter the bill was settled, Jesse and I left the restaurant. When we got to the parking lot, Jesse's paced slowed. With a teasing look he took hold of my hand. “I can do this because you're my date now.” He gently squeezed my fingers. “I won you fair and square.”

I let him hold my hand, in fact I squeezed his hand back, even though I knew this was disloyal to Dante. “Thanks for paying for my dinner, and, you know, saving me from Gary.”

“I told you not to let Daphne set you up.”

I hated to admit the truth, so I did it with a sigh. “This date wasn't Daphne's fault. It was all a big mistake and just bad luck. Really bad luck. In fact, I bet one of my ancestors defiled an Egyptian tomb or something.”

Jesse laughed and pulled me a step closer to him. I could smell the familiar scent of his cologne. It felt irresistibly like old times, and I wondered whether he wanted me back, or whether he was just enjoying the victory of winning me in a bet.

I took sly glances at his face but couldn't read anything from his expression. He looked happy and confident, but that might be because this was the punch line to my joke of a date.

“I guess I have a talent for making mistakes,” I told him, and I hoped he understood that I wasn't just talking about Gary.

He took a few steps in silence, considering, then said, “Well, you were right about one thing. Remember when you criticized my friends?”

My heart jumped at his words. Even as the thought came to my mind, I dismissed it, but still I hoped that he'd found out the truth about Wilson. Maybe that was why he'd come over to talk to Dante. Maybe Jesse hadn't done anything to make Dante quit the race after all.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, Stacey and Bridget can get a might catty at times. Actually a lot of the time.”

“And?” I didn't say Wilson's name then, but I thought it.

“And I thought you should know you were right. I guess I never put my finger on it to begin with, but that's what I first liked about you. You weren't that way. You were always nice to everybody.”

“Oh.” Instead of making me feel better, his words stung. Did he still think this about me, even after what I'd done to Wilson? I didn't want to ask, and yet I had to say something. “About Wilson . . .” I didn't know how to say the rest of it, so the sentence drifted off.

He looked away from me, out across the darkness of the parking lot. “You were still wrong about Wilson. I mean, he invited you to sit with us tonight even though you're campaigning for his opponent. That's nice, isn't it?”

“I guess.” Did this mean I was wrong about Jesse saying something on Wilson's behalf that made Dante decide to quit the campaign? Jesse wouldn't stand here defending Wilson if he knew Wilson was forcing Dante to quit, would he?

But there had been something—I was sure Dante wouldn't flake out about this. Not now. The whole thing twirled around in my mind, unraveling into a jumble.

We came to Jesse's bike, but neither of us climbed on. I held onto Jesse's hand, but more loosely now. “After you left our house today, Dante said he didn't want to be president anymore.”

“Did he?” Jesse voice was low and smooth, without any hint of surprise. It was as good as an admission of guilt.

“What did you say to him?”

“We talked about our bikes.”

“Okay, I didn't believe that explanation when Dante gave it to me, and he's a better liar than you are.”

Jesse reached out and slowly ran his finger across the length of my cheek. “You know, sometimes you've got to trust the people you love. You've got to trust that if they're good people, they'll make good decisions.”

I didn't understand exactly what Jesse meant, but this might have been because he was standing so close. He still had his hand on my face, and now he leaned down, looking at my lips. “Do you trust me, Giovanna?”

I couldn't breathe. My heart doubled its pace. I didn't answer. He leaned even closer until his lips nearly brushed against mine. “Do you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I did trust him at that moment—and the next moment. I trusted him until several minutes later when he released me. Then he ran his hand through his hair and said, “I guess I'd better get you home.”

That was it? He wasn't going to offer any explanation?

“Wait,” I said. “What about Dante? What about all of that stuff you said about trust?”

He shrugged. “I meant it.” He climbed onto his bike and slipped his helmet in place as though the conversation was over.

I still didn't move. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means, trust me and trust Dante, and we'll talk about the rest of it later.”

“You mean after the election? We'll talk about it after Dante throws the election?”

“Right,” he said.

I climbed onto the back of Jesse's bike and put on the extra helmet he always carried with him. I wound my arms around his waist to hold on, but my insides went numb. I didn't feel like trusting him anymore, and I didn't want Wilson to win the election. As for Dante, I knew very well I'd betrayed him tonight by getting back together with Jesse. I'd betrayed my brother with a kiss.

 

I called Daphne when I got home and told her the news: the night had ended with Jesse and me embracing in the parking lot. Then I told her the other news: that I had accidentally stood up Buddy and gone out with a stranger.
Stranger
in this instance meaning both definitions of the word.

She said that she'd call Buddy and explain and then told me how happy she was that things had gone well with Jesse. She was probably just happy that she could exit the doomed carnival ride that was my love life, but still, she was happy.

The next morning Gabby fussed over Dante before we left for school. Did he have his speech? Didn't he think he should wear a nicer shirt to stand up in front of the student body? How about the one Grandma Petrizzo had given him last Christmas?

After Dante assured her that he was completely prepared and wouldn't touch Grandma Petrizzo's shirt even if it were lined with ten-dollar bills, she stopped bothering him. Still, as we walked out the door, she called after us, “It doesn't matter if you win or lose, Dante. We're still proud of you for trying your best.”

I looked at Dante to see if he'd wince because he'd already decided to quit, but he smiled at her and waved good-bye.

How was it that no matter what he did, Gabby was always on his side? She never took my side, and despite what Dante said, all of the compliments in the world wouldn't change that.

I tried to talk to Dante on the way to school, which isn't the easiest to do on a motorcycle because they are as noisy as lawnmowers, plus your helmet muffles everything you say.

But at every stop sign I badgered him. “Is Wilson blackmailing you? Is that it?”

And Dante kept saying, “Would you just drop it?”

As soon as we got to school, he took off so he could rewrite his speech. Since I didn't have anything else to do, I stood by Charity's locker, waiting for her and growing more frustrated at Dante for not telling me what was going on. She finally showed up and set her backpack down on the ground with a thud. “Hi, Giovanna.”

“I still don't know what you see in him.”

She flipped through her combination. “Who?”

As if she didn't know. “You've got to talk to him. He's resigning from the race.”

Her hand stopped on her lock. “Why?”

“I don't know. He says he doesn't want to be president anymore, but I think Wilson blackmailed him.”

She resumed turning her combination, this time more slowly. “What has Dante ever done that someone could blackmail him?”

“Who knows? Maybe he did something bad once.”

Charity shook her head and opened her locker door. “If he had, he'd be the first one to announce it. He's so into that whole rebel image. The only thing he'd hide is season tickets to the symphony or a membership in the Audubon Society.”

I hugged my books to my chest. “Well, it must have been something. Jesse came over to talk to him, and then suddenly Dante wanted to quit.”

“Jesse?” Charity arranged books in her locker, putting some from her backpack in and taking others out for class. “Jesse isn't the type who'd help Wilson blackmail somebody.”

“Yeah, but Jesse also isn't the type who'd turn his back on Dante and work for Wilson in the first place, and yet he did. It's like Wilson has some secret power that's turned them all into election zombies.”

Charity didn't answer, but Raine walked up to the two of us. “Who's a zombie?”

“Dante,” Charity said.

Raine nodded. “I knew there was something wrong with him. Have either of you noticed that he doesn't finish his sentences anymore—and he always thinks he's supposed to be somewhere else? Every time I see him, he's darting off someplace.”

Charity took out the last of her books and shut her locker. “He decided he didn't want to be president after all, so he's quitting.”

Raine's mouth actually dropped open. “No sir,” she said.

“Giovanna thinks I should talk to him, but I don't know what good that would do. He's never listened to me in his life.”

“I'll talk to him,” Raine said, her mouth set in a hard line. “He can't quit and make everyone who supported him look stupid. I went to his party. I told a roomful of guys I was dating someone from Swain named Thor. I bet that's why no one from our school has asked me to prom, and now he doesn't want to be president? I don't think so. He owes me a better explanation.” She took several steps down the hall. “And he owes me a prom date too.”

Charity and I both watched her go. We looked at each other, and then at Raine's back tromping down the hallway.

“Well, that should be an interesting conversation,” I said.

“If she can find him,” Charity said. “He does a pretty good job of avoiding her.”

The two of us walked toward our first period classes, weaving in and out of other students. I fingered the books in my hand. “Maybe we should tell her the truth.”

“No. And don't you dare tell Dante that I like him. I don't want him to start speaking to me in half sentences and telling me he has to be somewhere else.”

We walked a few more steps in silence. “If you never find a way to tell him how you feel, he'll never know.”

“That is the point,” she said.

“Maybe he secretly likes you back.”

“It's not meant to be. And when something isn't meant to be, you leave it alone.”

Which didn't seem like an answer to me. I mean, how could she just decide it wasn't meant to be? I didn't press the issue, though, because I'd learned an important lesson from Daphne. Matchmaking is a lot harder than it looks.

 

During my morning classes I tried to use our twin bond to send Dante psychic messages not to resign. Whatever control Wilson had on him, he could fight it. Or better yet, he could outsmart Wilson. Wasn't that the way it always worked on TV? When the hero is presented with some awful choice—like the villain is going to blow up an orphanage if the hero doesn't give himself up to the villain's evil clutches—instead of turning himself in, the hero finds a way to save both the orphans and himself, plus he gets a really hot girlfriend by the time the ending credits roll by.

Dante had watched a lot of TV. He should know this.

At fourth period, the freshman, sophomore, and junior classes went into the auditorium to hear the candidates speak. I saw my friends sitting in the middle section of the bleachers. Dante and the rest of the candidates sat on folding chairs on the floor of the auditorium. They were lined up by position, with the people running for secretary closest to the podium. The presidential candidates sat the farthest away. Dante was at the very end of the line, the last to give his speech. He stared up into the crowd and looked so alone. For a minute I stood by the door watching him while the masses flowed past me on their way to the bleachers.