stairs and ran up to Lily and Raphael, who were waiting with folded arms.
“I told you so,” Lily said to the others. To me, she said, “I can’t believe you walked out of Art without mentioning you were going to ditch.”
“With McCrea .” Jims set me down onto my feet.
“It was just a little ditch,” I said. “What do you care, Jims? You’ve been trying to talk me into cutting class for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Exactly. Yet you have always denied me. Then along comes a boy who crooks his sexy finger at you, and you ditch at the drop of a hat.”
“Leaving me alone in Pre-Calc,” Raphael added.
I winced, but defended myself. “You’re making a big deal over nothing.”
“What if you’d been caught?” Lily demanded.
I told them about the excuse slips. “Conn had a plan.”
“Screw Conn’s plan,” said Lily. “You still could have gotten into trouble.”
Jims fell to his knees and lifted his hands in prayer. “I’m begging you, Darcy: don’t become a cliché.”
“ Which cliché?”
“The one who abandons her friends for some guy,” said Lily.
12
After that day, Conn sought me out at school. He would walk with me in the halls and wait outside my classroom doors as if he had no place else to be except at my side. Meanwhile, Jims inquired when I was moving to Connland. “Are you boning up on your Connish?” he asked. “Because I hear that language is a hard tongue to master.”
Lily went quiet on the whole subject, but her silence had a determined edge to it, as if she’d taken a personal oath Never to Speak His Name. As for Raphael, he looked gloomier and doomier. My friends probably would have liked Conn better if I’d told them about the attack outside the café, but I kept that to myself. They’d pester me to report it to the police, and insist on being my personal bodyguards. The last thing I needed was a fuss over something I wanted to forget.
I knew that my friends were beginning to see Conn as an unhealthy addiction, and that at some point one of them was going to try to stage an intervention. But I didn’t expect it to be Raphael. At least, I didn’t think that Taylor Allen would be with him when it happened.
Taylor sailed ahead of him through the coffeehouse door and zeroed in on the best seat: a paisley sofa that still had most of its stuffing, tucked in a far corner. She dropped a snakeskin purse on the table in front of her, gave Raphael a meaningful look, and got comfy.
Raphael approached the counter with an expression so sheepish that a sheep would be jealous. “Hey, Darcy. Can I have the usual and, um, a mocha latte with extra whipped cream and sprinkled cocoa on top?”
I stared. “Are you on a date with Taylor Allen?”
“Are you on crack?” He pitched his voice low, to match mine. “No, I’m not on a date with her.”
Here’s what I haven’t mentioned about Taylor. She was gorgeous. Not even in a plastic doll kind of way. She was a long-limbed brunette who looked ready to drink down your soul like a shot of tequila, with a bite of lemon and an extra lick of salt.
“We’re studying our lines for the play,” Raphael said. “She’s really serious about giving a good performance.”
“I bet.” I poured beans into the grinder. “Taylor puts on quite the act.”
Raphael gave me a narrow look. “She’s not that bad, actually. And, speaking of putting on acts, how’s Mr. I Wear a Cologne and It’s Called Mysterious ?”
“Mysterious?” I ground the beans into dust. “Jims thinks Conn’s the most boring thing since baked potato chips.”
“I’m not Jims. My head’s not buried in sci-fi craziness where humans grow superpowers and extra robotic limbs. I see things for what they are. I see people for who they are. Have you ever seen McCrea angry? Happy? No. He never shares what he’s thinking. There’s something about him that’s … I don’t know. Calculating.”
“Maybe I know him better than you do.”
“Then
“I told you so,” Lily said to the others. To me, she said, “I can’t believe you walked out of Art without mentioning you were going to ditch.”
“With McCrea .” Jims set me down onto my feet.
“It was just a little ditch,” I said. “What do you care, Jims? You’ve been trying to talk me into cutting class for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Exactly. Yet you have always denied me. Then along comes a boy who crooks his sexy finger at you, and you ditch at the drop of a hat.”
“Leaving me alone in Pre-Calc,” Raphael added.
I winced, but defended myself. “You’re making a big deal over nothing.”
“What if you’d been caught?” Lily demanded.
I told them about the excuse slips. “Conn had a plan.”
“Screw Conn’s plan,” said Lily. “You still could have gotten into trouble.”
Jims fell to his knees and lifted his hands in prayer. “I’m begging you, Darcy: don’t become a cliché.”
“ Which cliché?”
“The one who abandons her friends for some guy,” said Lily.
12
After that day, Conn sought me out at school. He would walk with me in the halls and wait outside my classroom doors as if he had no place else to be except at my side. Meanwhile, Jims inquired when I was moving to Connland. “Are you boning up on your Connish?” he asked. “Because I hear that language is a hard tongue to master.”
Lily went quiet on the whole subject, but her silence had a determined edge to it, as if she’d taken a personal oath Never to Speak His Name. As for Raphael, he looked gloomier and doomier. My friends probably would have liked Conn better if I’d told them about the attack outside the café, but I kept that to myself. They’d pester me to report it to the police, and insist on being my personal bodyguards. The last thing I needed was a fuss over something I wanted to forget.
I knew that my friends were beginning to see Conn as an unhealthy addiction, and that at some point one of them was going to try to stage an intervention. But I didn’t expect it to be Raphael. At least, I didn’t think that Taylor Allen would be with him when it happened.
Taylor sailed ahead of him through the coffeehouse door and zeroed in on the best seat: a paisley sofa that still had most of its stuffing, tucked in a far corner. She dropped a snakeskin purse on the table in front of her, gave Raphael a meaningful look, and got comfy.
Raphael approached the counter with an expression so sheepish that a sheep would be jealous. “Hey, Darcy. Can I have the usual and, um, a mocha latte with extra whipped cream and sprinkled cocoa on top?”
I stared. “Are you on a date with Taylor Allen?”
“Are you on crack?” He pitched his voice low, to match mine. “No, I’m not on a date with her.”
Here’s what I haven’t mentioned about Taylor. She was gorgeous. Not even in a plastic doll kind of way. She was a long-limbed brunette who looked ready to drink down your soul like a shot of tequila, with a bite of lemon and an extra lick of salt.
“We’re studying our lines for the play,” Raphael said. “She’s really serious about giving a good performance.”
“I bet.” I poured beans into the grinder. “Taylor puts on quite the act.”
Raphael gave me a narrow look. “She’s not that bad, actually. And, speaking of putting on acts, how’s Mr. I Wear a Cologne and It’s Called Mysterious ?”
“Mysterious?” I ground the beans into dust. “Jims thinks Conn’s the most boring thing since baked potato chips.”
“I’m not Jims. My head’s not buried in sci-fi craziness where humans grow superpowers and extra robotic limbs. I see things for what they are. I see people for who they are. Have you ever seen McCrea angry? Happy? No. He never shares what he’s thinking. There’s something about him that’s … I don’t know. Calculating.”
“Maybe I know him better than you do.”
“Then
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