Chapter Twelve Portland, OR 2007
Chapter Twelve
Portland, OR
The first time Scarlett and Chrissie fell in love, it was with the exact same boy.
If Scarlett was honest with herself—really honest with herself, a thing she avoided whenever humanly possible—Chrissie technically had dibs.
She’d been the first to spot him, standing bored and slumped over a book at the frozen yogurt shop where he worked.
In true Chrissie form, she hadn’t said a word to him other than a shy “hey,” but then again, Chrissie only went to Creamy Dreamy to get plain yogurt in a cup with no toppings, so that tracked.
Anyone who stood facing a wall of chocolate chips, cookie dough lumps, and Marshmallow Fluff and then picked none of it was clearly a psychopath.
“You’re a psychopath,” Scarlett said as they slid into the red vinyl booth with their treats.
She dipped her spoon into her yogurt and licked at it in a way she hoped signaled her experience (third base, some heavy petting), but the boy, Grimshaw, wasn’t looking at them. He was busy reading his book, as usual.
“All right, Chrissie,” she announced as she considered the injustice of it all. How were her powers of seduction supposed to work if he never glanced her way? “The time is now. You’ve made us come here every day for a whole month, and you’re dying to know what he’s reading. Go ask him.”
“Scar-lett!” Chrissie’s cheeks flamed. “I can’t do that. Look at him. He’s gorgeous.”
He was, in fact, gorgeous, and in an objective, unarguable way that appealed to teenage girls everywhere.
His hair was a rich, mahogany swoop over his forehead, his dark eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses that made him look a decade older than his sixteen years.
He carried his tall, wide-shouldered frame with an athlete’s grace, and when he spoke, it was with a deep, velvety voice that was designed to haunt dreams.
If Scarlett, who had risen to her maximum height of five foot one years ago and still had to stuff her bra, looked even halfway as gorgeous as Chrissie, she’d have sauntered up there, batted her eyelashes at his brooding perfection, and offered to have his babies right there on the spot.
Only she couldn’t have babies (thanks, cancer treatments) and was pretty sure she didn’t want them anyway. Women who procreated went on to have boring Middle America lives, and Scarlett felt sure she was destined for greatness.
“I bet he’s reading something super literary and deep.” Scarlett angled her body to try and read the cover, but he was holding the book flat against the counter. “Or something dirty, and that’s why he won’t let us see what it is.”
“It doesn’t matter because there’s no way he wants to be friends with us.
” Chrissie slumped low in her seat—or tried to, rather.
All those years of piano lessons had given her posture like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
“He has a job. He can drive. What would he want to do with a couple of freshmen?”
Scarlett snorted. For all that Chrissie was rich and beautiful, she had very little idea how the real world worked.
“We’re not going to try and be his friend, Chrissie. You’d better go up there and ask him what he’s reading, or I’ll do it for you. And I can tell you right now that you won’t like the way I go about it.”
Chrissie heaved a sigh. “For once, can’t you just let me do things my own way?”
“If you insist.” Scarlett gave a casual—and carefully calculated—shrug.
There was more than one method for getting Chrissie to do what she wanted, and as she’d learned the hard way, that method wasn’t brute force.
“I guess we’ll just have to keep pining for him from afar.
How Shakespearean of us. Should one of us carry a vial of poison just in case we end up in a star-crossed tomb together?
I think my grandma has some antifreeze under the sink. ”
“Scarlett, I’m not doing it.”
“I’m not going to make you drink the antifreeze. Just carry it for emergencies.”
“You only want me to humiliate myself in front of him to clear your own path.”
“As if any guy would pick me when you’re offering yourself on a platter.”
Whether because she agreed with this or—as was more likely the case—because she was tired of arguing, Chrissie pushed her half-eaten dessert across the table.
“Fine. I’ll go ask him what he’s reading, but if he laughs me out of the shop, then we’ll have to find a new place to eat frozen yogurt. And you don’t like the toppings from the Golden Spoon nearly as much.”
This was a price Scarlett was willing to pay.
Barely tamping down her squeal of excitement, she plucked a clip from her hair and used it to pin back the shaggy edges of Chrissie’s.
Chrissie had the unfortunate habit of chopping off literal feet of her hair once a year, and then doing nothing to style what was left, so the extra effort was necessary.
“There. Slap your cheeks to get your color up and you’re good to go.”
Chrissie didn’t follow her advice. She merely cast Scarlett a look of patient resignation and slid out of the booth.
From this distance, Scarlett couldn’t hear the conversation unfold or even try to lip-read what Chrissie was saying, but she could see Grimshaw’s reaction.
He looked more surprised than pleased to be interrupted, but after about twenty seconds, he held up the book.
Dante’s Inferno seemed like an incredibly boring choice to Scarlett, but from the way Chrissie’s whole face lit up, she assumed her friend approved—and she approved hard.
Scarlett watched, a feeling of unease taking over as Grimshaw laughed at something Chrissie said, rubbed the side of his nose in an embarrassed way, and then handed Chrissie a used receipt and pen. Scarlett held her breath for the entire following sixty seconds until Chrissie returned to the table.
“Well?” she demanded as Chrissie slid back into her seat and began calmly eating her frozen yogurt again. “What did he say? Did you give him your phone number? Did he quote random book passages at you?”
Chrissie flushed slightly, but she answered the questions in the order in which they were received.
“He said he thinks the two of us eat an unhealthy amount of frozen yogurt. I gave him your number instead of mine because there’s no way I’m letting him call my house. And I don’t know if any of the things he said were a quote, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s read, like, a ton of books.”
Her flush deepened, which was when Scarlett knew that she’d pushed too far this time. Some people’s lives changed when they got into college or lost a loved one. Others reached the point of no return when they were diagnosed with childhood cancer.
For Chrissie, the point of no return was right here, right now, with a boy who looked like a romance hero and read books as fervently as she did.
Why, oh why, did Scarlett let her impulsive nature call the shots? Why was she always testing Chrissie’s boundaries when it was so obvious that life was already planning on putting them up for her?
“What else?” she asked, even though she was sure she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Oh, you know,” Chrissie grinned around a mouthful of yogurt. “Just that I could borrow the book when he’s done so we can chat about it over dinner sometime.”
* * *
“Well, girls. I was hoping to hold this conversation off for a few more years, but it’s high time we discussed the birds and the bees.”
“Grandma, no.” Scarlett looked up from the math homework she was decidedly not doing and slapped her hands over her ears.
She gestured for Chrissie to do the same, but Chrissie was in the middle of calculating the perimeter of a trapezoid and didn’t notice.
“We’re fifteen years old and have access to the internet.
I promise we’ve seen what the bees get up to in their spare time. ”
There was only a 50 percent chance her grandmother would accept this, since she still viewed the internet as a newfangled blip in an otherwise analog world, so Scarlett added, “Besides, we’ve already taken like three human growth and development courses.”
“Yes, but I’ve seen what passes for sex ed these days. The school boards are all so afraid of the PTA moms that they won’t even suggest HPV vaccines.” Her grandma cleared her throat and looked at Chrissie. “Speaking of, dear, I don’t know if your parents have taken you in for one yet, but—”
“Thanks, Nan, but I’m good. Medical checkups are the one thing my parents always remember.”
Chrissie didn’t look up from her page as she spoke, her relationship with Scarlett’s grandmother so natural at this point that Scarlett sometimes felt as if Chrissie belonged more to her grandmother than to her.
She’d never admit it to her friend—and barely even acknowledged it in her own heart—but she sometimes wished that she hadn’t petitioned quite so hard for Chrissie to become her daily tutor/homework buddy.
She loved seeing Chrissie every day, she really did.
And the sleepovers that ended up happening more often than not were the highlight of her life.
It was like she’d gotten the sweet, big-hearted sister that all girls secretly hoped for.
But there were times, like when Grandma bought huge bags of Chrissie’s favorite candy (black licorice, of all horrible things) or stayed up late letting out the hem on Chrissie’s recital dress instead of helping Scarlett with her science project, that she felt like she was being replaced.
Not in Grandma’s heart, obviously, but in a different, secret place Scarlett couldn’t access.
“I just want to make sure you girls are being careful.” Her grandmother cleared her throat and leveled Scarlett with a knowing stare. “Your mother, Scarlett, bless her heart—”
“Nope. Absolutely not. We’re not discussing this.” Scarlett slammed her math book shut before doing the same to Chrissie’s. Chrissie cried out at this—and at her broken pencil—but one look at Scarlett’s face was enough to range her on the side of justice.