Arthur.
“Hello. This is another message for Mr. Gussman from Alexandra Parrott. I left you my number, but I’ll leave it again. With regard to my taking Leonard Huang to meet you. I’d love to hear back, sir. At your earliest convenience.” She recites her cell number and clicks off.
Stares at the phone.
Her third call this week. She’s putting too much on it. The horror of
Haute
won’t be voided on this victory. But maybe if she can make this happen, she can catch back a glimmer of her old self. When a challenge had winked at her. When it had meant something.
On the subway, Alex turns boneless in her seat. She’s light-headed but she’s empty, and that’s what counts. That’s what guards her against the surge of terror that comes with entrapment.
Closing her eyes, she pitches forward to rest her forehead against the cool support of the pole. She can almost hear herself giving Leonard the news. She imagines his grip on her hand. His red bow tie clipped at the base of his throat as they hurry together through the brass-and-marble lobby at Rockefeller Plaza.
Flashing their IDs and collecting their guest passes. Gliding to the elevator bank, then shot smoothly skyward to the Channel Four newsroom.
Where Gussman awaits with his own peppy bow tie and outstretched hand.
She lets her mind run it in a loop. Over and over.
Her body turns buoyant with unexpected calm.
Friday, after school
THEA
Soon as I saw him, I could have tripped and fallen flat over my feet down the outdoor steps, sitcom style—
cue the scratchy record needle, cue the laugh track
. So I made myself take it extra slow. My legs moving through wet cement as I sent him a wide and looping Chinese ribbon dance of a wave. An oversized signal so other kids would see.
Because what was more platinum than the legendary Joshua Gunner picking me up from school?
Taking my time, I crossed to where he was leaning against the side of his illegally parked Chevy Silverado.
“I don’t need a ride.”
“Yeah, I know all about your fine automobile.” Last week, Joshua had given me and Alex his gospel of the German Car Boycott. Shock-studded with details about how you shouldn’t purchase anything from people who are descended from Nazis. Scrape Joshua’s surface and you’d often find fool’s gold. Mostly in the form of conspiracy theories. Alex said it was the borrowed wisdom of all those “uncles”—his parents’ ever-rotating circle of drifter-windbag pals. Which was a type that tended to roll up to your local bowling alley.
“So … why are you here?” I felt so shy I could hardly look at him. Joshua was knocking the cover off his own hotness today. Black jeans and a black long-sleeve T-shirt, tapered to fit.
“For what we’re doing, we gotta use my flatbed.”
“And what we’re doing is …?” As I hiked up into the passenger side. Kids were calling his name and a whistle cut the air. Joshua had been a god here, even if he’d also been a mystery. In fact, the mystery had helped. Built the myth. And the way he was taking his time, I had a feeling he probably missed it.
“What we’re doing,” he said slowly, unrolling the window and settling in, “is getting something for your sis.”
“You talk to her about the party yet?”
“Nope.”
“Aw, frick.” I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes as we rolled out slow, and then turned brightly west. “You do realize it’s tomorrow, right? I thought this was signed and stamped. You were with her all last night.”
“I said if it felt right. Which it didn’t. She was tired.”
“I’ve already done my key invites and I swear, Joshua, if I have to call it off, I’ll just about kill—”
“She’s not gonna say no, kiddo. But I want her to feel the yes. So now we gotta go get the get.”
Kiddo. I would have to ignore that. “Newsflash. Whatever it is you’re buying her, Alex doesn’t need it. I’d go so far to say she probably doesn’t need any of your dirtbag
“Hello. This is another message for Mr. Gussman from Alexandra Parrott. I left you my number, but I’ll leave it again. With regard to my taking Leonard Huang to meet you. I’d love to hear back, sir. At your earliest convenience.” She recites her cell number and clicks off.
Stares at the phone.
Her third call this week. She’s putting too much on it. The horror of
Haute
won’t be voided on this victory. But maybe if she can make this happen, she can catch back a glimmer of her old self. When a challenge had winked at her. When it had meant something.
On the subway, Alex turns boneless in her seat. She’s light-headed but she’s empty, and that’s what counts. That’s what guards her against the surge of terror that comes with entrapment.
Closing her eyes, she pitches forward to rest her forehead against the cool support of the pole. She can almost hear herself giving Leonard the news. She imagines his grip on her hand. His red bow tie clipped at the base of his throat as they hurry together through the brass-and-marble lobby at Rockefeller Plaza.
Flashing their IDs and collecting their guest passes. Gliding to the elevator bank, then shot smoothly skyward to the Channel Four newsroom.
Where Gussman awaits with his own peppy bow tie and outstretched hand.
She lets her mind run it in a loop. Over and over.
Her body turns buoyant with unexpected calm.
Friday, after school
THEA
Soon as I saw him, I could have tripped and fallen flat over my feet down the outdoor steps, sitcom style—
cue the scratchy record needle, cue the laugh track
. So I made myself take it extra slow. My legs moving through wet cement as I sent him a wide and looping Chinese ribbon dance of a wave. An oversized signal so other kids would see.
Because what was more platinum than the legendary Joshua Gunner picking me up from school?
Taking my time, I crossed to where he was leaning against the side of his illegally parked Chevy Silverado.
“I don’t need a ride.”
“Yeah, I know all about your fine automobile.” Last week, Joshua had given me and Alex his gospel of the German Car Boycott. Shock-studded with details about how you shouldn’t purchase anything from people who are descended from Nazis. Scrape Joshua’s surface and you’d often find fool’s gold. Mostly in the form of conspiracy theories. Alex said it was the borrowed wisdom of all those “uncles”—his parents’ ever-rotating circle of drifter-windbag pals. Which was a type that tended to roll up to your local bowling alley.
“So … why are you here?” I felt so shy I could hardly look at him. Joshua was knocking the cover off his own hotness today. Black jeans and a black long-sleeve T-shirt, tapered to fit.
“For what we’re doing, we gotta use my flatbed.”
“And what we’re doing is …?” As I hiked up into the passenger side. Kids were calling his name and a whistle cut the air. Joshua had been a god here, even if he’d also been a mystery. In fact, the mystery had helped. Built the myth. And the way he was taking his time, I had a feeling he probably missed it.
“What we’re doing,” he said slowly, unrolling the window and settling in, “is getting something for your sis.”
“You talk to her about the party yet?”
“Nope.”
“Aw, frick.” I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes as we rolled out slow, and then turned brightly west. “You do realize it’s tomorrow, right? I thought this was signed and stamped. You were with her all last night.”
“I said if it felt right. Which it didn’t. She was tired.”
“I’ve already done my key invites and I swear, Joshua, if I have to call it off, I’ll just about kill—”
“She’s not gonna say no, kiddo. But I want her to feel the yes. So now we gotta go get the get.”
Kiddo. I would have to ignore that. “Newsflash. Whatever it is you’re buying her, Alex doesn’t need it. I’d go so far to say she probably doesn’t need any of your dirtbag
Similar Books
