Making Out (2 page)

“Too bad you aren't a guy—maybe they'd give you a discount,” Heather joked.

Lisa Marie squinted at the sign. “Look. It says, ‘Retail Experience Required.'” She kept walking, scanning the windows of stores on the right and left. Then she caught the scent of the only thing in America that invariably made her feel like she was back home: coffee. There was a Starbucks straight ahead—not just a stupid middle-of-the-mall-oasis-among-the-hoards-of-shoppers Starbucks, either. It was a real Starbucks, with tables and leather furniture and a fireplace. And they had a Barista Wanted sign in the window.

“Perfect!” Marianna smiled. “You're the coffee queen—they'll have to give you the job.”

It was true. When it came to roasts, grinds, espressos, macchiatos, lattes, even the best growing temperature for coffee beans, Lisa Marie was an expert. Her uncle in Cuidad Bolivar was part owner of a coffee plantation. She'd grown up with the smell of roasting coffee in her blood.

“Wait here,” she told her friends, marching into the Starbucks.

Luckily, the place was slow, and the assistant manager, a guy name Gary, with outdated spiky bleached hair and a thin leather necklace around his neck, was in the mood to get the interview over with quickly.

“So why are you interested in Starbucks?” he asked.

The first part of the answer was easy. “I love the smell of coffee,” she said.

Gary just stared, waiting for something more.

“And I love the idea of working for a Fortune 500 company, with opportunities to serve people in an environment where they're basically at ease and enjoying themselves,” she added, layering on the bullshit.

Gary smiled.

Thank you, Angela,
Lisa Marie thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Her sister had e-mailed her an article on what to say during a job interview just last week. When it came, Lisa Marie had almost deleted it. Now she was grateful for the help.

“You sound like you know what you're doing,” Gary said after she went on to describe Starbucks' French roast as a blunt, smoky blend with intense richness and robust caramel flavor. “I'll try you out if you can start this afternoon.”

“Seriously?” Lisa Marie's face lit up, but then she almost choked when he told her how much he could pay.

“But you get tips,” Gary explained. He eyed her tight striped knit top and slim jeans. “You'll do okay. Be back here at five, and I'll have Graham train you.”

Gary was definitely a little too interested in her outfit. But at least it was a job.

Quickly, she did some math in her head. Yeah, she'd be able to buy the dress
and
a pair of shoes, if she worked fifteen hours a week and got lucky with the tip jar.

“Thanks,” Lisa Marie beamed.

“Starbucks partners say ‘thank you'—not thanks,” Gary corrected her.

Partners? What was this—a square dance?

The cell phone in her bag started ringing. Gary frowned. “And make sure that's off when you come to work.”

“Sure. Thanks again. I mean
thank you
!” Lisa Marie hurried out to the mall to take her phone call.

It was Todd.

“Can you meet me in half an hour?” Todd asked.

“What's up?” Lisa Marie asked.

“Just some stuff I want to talk about,” he said in his usual unemotional way.

Fine. Whatever. Though . . . it was a little odd for him to be calling and wanting to talk all of a sudden on a Saturday afternoon. They were supposed to study together the next day.

She debated whether to tell him about her new job, but Marianna and Heather were waiting.

“See you at Smooth Moves in half an hour,” she said, naming her favorite smoothie place and smiling privately, happy that she'd be working someplace much cooler than that.

“Did you get the job?” Marianna asked as Lisa Marie clicked her phone closed.

“I did!”

“Coffee queen,” Heather said proudly.

Lisa Marie beamed at her friends. She wondered if Todd would be as happy for her as they were—or whether he'd be pissed because her job would cut into their time together.

“I start later today. But I've got to meet Todd, so . . .”

“You have to work on a Saturday night?” Marianna sounded appalled.

Yeah. Angela never worked a Saturday night in her life. Oh, well. That was then, this was now. No point in turning the whole sibling rivalry thing into a major drama. She was tired of whining about how Angela got all the perks in the family, anyway. It felt better to actually do something about it.

“Call when you get off work,” Heather said. “Maybe you can come over and watch a late movie with us.”

Todd looked different when he found her sitting on their favorite bench at the edge of the food court. What was it . . . his hair? Shorter? Longer, maybe? No—he had untucked his T-shirt and was letting it hang out below his polo shirt for the first time ever. It didn't exactly look stylish on him like it did on most guys. More like sloppy. Or maybe like he just took a whiz and forgot to tuck in. But she appreciated that he was trying harder to loosen up and change his geek-with-a-pocket-protector image.

“Let's get a pretzel and share it,” Lisa Marie said, suddenly famished from the shopping marathon.

Without a word of discussion, Todd went off to buy the smoothies and pretzel while Lisa Marie got the straws and napkins. Then she found a table and sat down to hold their place.

God, we're like an old married couple,
Lisa Marie thought.
Without the sex.
She and Todd fooled around plenty, but she wasn't about to go all the way with someone she didn't really have strong feelings for. Even their make-out sessions were getting pretty boring these days.

But on the other hand, he was really nice to her. Always offering to do things, like install firewall software and defragment her hard drive.

Just what a girl wants.

It's the thought that counts,
Lisa Marie reminded herself.

“So guess what?” she said when he had broken the pretzel in half and let her choose the piece she wanted. “I got a job.”

“You did? How come?”

Should I tell him about the dress?
she wondered. Or was this sort of like a wedding dress? Bad luck for him to know about it in advance? Oh, what the hell. She'd have to explain to him sometime why she wouldn't be able to hang out as much for the next few weeks.

“We went shopping for prom dresses, and I found the most amazing—”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” Todd interrupted.

“What?”

“Prom. I mean, not just prom, but . . .”

He wasn't looking at her. He just kept stirring his smoothie around and around.

Don't tell me he doesn't want to go to the prom,
Lisa Marie thought. Not that she'd be surprised if he was freaked about the expense. Something she'd read online the other day said that with the tux, corsage, limo, dinner, prom tickets, photographs, and maybe splitting a hotel suite for the after-party, guys regularly spent close to a thousand dollars on prom night.

So what was it? Maybe he needed to forget the limo?

“Just say it,” Lisa Marie said.

Todd let go of his straw and met her eyes. “I think I want to try dating other people.”

Lisa Marie couldn't quite process that information. Did he mean
now
? Before the prom? Take a break from her, and then get back together in time for the prom?

Or did he mean . . . was he . . . actually . . . breaking up with her?

It was so out of left field!

Or as Todd always said when he was spouting high-level math concepts, “We've crossed the line into chaos theory.”

“Why?”

“I just . . . do.” Mr. Mathematical Mind. He wasn't going to try to soften it for her. He was too logical for that.

“But . . .” Lisa Marie felt her face getting hot and her throat closing up.
I am not going to cry in the food court,
she silently swore to herself. She pressed a finger into the corner of one eye, but it didn't help. Tears slipped down both cheeks.

Her head swirled with a million emotions. How could he just dump her like that? And in a public place.
That
part was unforgivable and totally humiliating. For an instant, she wondered who was watching and glanced around at the clusters of weary shoppers. But the scene was a blur—her eyes were full of tears.

“Don't cry,” Todd said softly, as if he still cared about her.

“Bullshit.” Lisa Marie stood up and pushed away from the table. She wasn't going to sit there and listen to him try to make her feel better about it. He was dumping her. It hurt.

She walked away, trying to choke back the feelings of rejection, trying to put this whole thing in perspective. Okay, sure—she was tired of him, and she'd been planning to dump him after graduation. But it still hurt to be the dumpee.

He hadn't even given her a hint. Not a clue.

Damn! I wish I'd dumped him first,
Lisa Marie thought bitterly.

And what about the prom? What about the dress? What about working her ass off for seven weeks so she'd look like a princess? Was she really supposed to give up her Saturday nights to buy a ridiculously overpriced dress when she didn't even have a date?

Princesses don't say “ass,”
she thought, as she rubbed a scratchy napkin over her nose, dabbed her puffy eyes, and made her way to Starbucks.

 

 

 

 

“Sorry I can't stay to watch. Early business meeting.” Marianna's father steered his Lexus SUV into the deserted parking lot behind the St. Claire's Academy athletic field and flicked off the headlights. Through the early morning fog, Marianna could see the small group of her teammates on the cross-country team warming up and stretching, getting ready for their interval training.

Her eyes immediately settled on Luke Perchik, the cutest guy on the team.

“Not a problem.” Marianna tried not to let her relief show in her voice. Was her dad actually going to leave her alone during practice for a change? That would be a first. Usually he hung around being obnoxious, acting like he was some kind of an expert, giving Coach Robinson pointers on running style.

“Are you doing fartlek today?” her dad asked. “Robinson doesn't emphasize that enough, if you ask me.”

Fartlek was a training regimen that Marianna especially liked—running fast, then slow, changing pace with quick bursts of speed. But having her dad push about it took all the fun away.

“I've gotta go, Dad.” She jumped out of the car.

“Marianna, tell Robinson to make sure those boys aren't staring at your chest when you run,” her father called out the window.

God. Her eyes darted toward the team, hoping they hadn't overheard. No one seemed to be paying any attention.
Par for the course,
she thought, wishing that Luke would at least look up to acknowledge her once in a while. She'd had a crush on him all year, but he didn't seem to notice.

But then again, why should he? When she was around him, she barely made eye contact. She didn't dare—not with her father hovering over her every second like he was Secret Service or something.

She jogged off toward the locker room to change out of her sweats and baggy T-shirt (her father-approved training uniform) and into a pair of short shorts and a tank top that let her midriff show.

By now, she was so used to maneuvering around her father's strict rules and oppressive control of her life, she didn't even think twice about it. She had all the strategies down pat: (1) take a change of clothes to school; (2) never discuss boys at the dinner table (her father could ruin any meal with his endless lectures about how all guys wanted was to get in your pants); (3) never discuss guys in her e-mails (which her father was obviously reading while she was at school); (4) pretend to be grossed out by any music video with raunchy lyrics, revealing outfits, or sexy dancing (which her father termed “borderline obscene”); and (5) behave at all times like the phrase
nice Armenian girl
didn't make her want to gag.

Translation: Act like she planned to stay a virgin for the rest of her life.

Highly likely, Marianna thought, given that she could barely even get a date. Not that she'd be allowed to go out if anyone ever asked her.

She tied her thick, black, wavy hair into a messy bun on top of her head and glanced at her reflection in the scratched locker-room mirror. Even without makeup, she had to admit that her friends were right: she looked pretty good. Her skin was flawless, and her almond eyes had a dark intensity that made total strangers stare at her.