Chapter 21
FIFI
Before I can concentrate on my glam design project, I need to talk to the one person who will help me make sense of my conflicted feelings. My sister Carmela has been through this since she chose to be with Trick’s brother, Connor.
Most of all, I need her help to figure out how I truly feel about Trick. Am I falling for him, or is this all a massive heady crush that will fade away?
Her phone rings three, then four times, and I’m about to disconnect when I hear her rushed voice, like she’s out of breath.
“Sofia? How is everything?”
“Are you busy? Am I interrupting—”
“Never mind that. Tell me if this is a good call or a bad call.”
I laugh and then realize I don’t know the answer to that. “I wish I knew. There’s good and bad, and that’s exactly what’s giving me stomach aches. Seriously, I think I’m losing weight.”
“I get it. Unfortunately, it’s all part of the love game.”
“It’s no game, Carmela.” I tell her about the problems with people on campus finding out about us, then Daniel Jennings finding out, about Vincent sucker-punching Trick, his concussion, the concussion, and then finally about my arrangement with Pammy to pretend she’s Trick’s girlfriend to distract Daniel and his family, and everyone from home discovering my relationship with him.
“That’s a lot,” she says, and I wait for more. “What exactly is your relationship with him?”
Boom. There it is. The exact problem at the bottom of all this heap that makes it so hard to handle everything else.
“I think if I knew for sure, then it would be easier to handle the problems. I think we would be ready to tell the truth to Mom and Dad and the Jennings. But as it is… I think we’re still in the exploratory stage. We need more time to know if what we have is worth blowing up our families.”
“I get it.”
“How will I know? How long will it take?” And how can I get Trick to talk about his feelings? That’s one question I can’t ask her. I’m afraid the answer is that I can’t make him talk any more than I can make him feel.
She doesn’t say anything for a beat, and now I know what they mean when they talk about your heart sinking. I feel like it’s bleeding out through my pink toenails.
“I don’t know how it’ll be for you, but you will know when it hits you. It’ll be obvious, a moment that makes you realize you can’t live without him.”
“I feel like I’m falling, and I’m afraid to land. Maybe I need to let myself go because I don’t have a lot of time.”
“You can buy more time if you keep doing what you’re doing, and it doesn’t feel too icky.”
“I already feel icky about the Pammy situation. She’s been really kind, helping out, but…”
“Don’t worry about that. Don’t say any more about that relationship to anyone. You’ve planted the seeds, and you can let people infer what they will. You—or Trick—don’t have to say any more to his family. You’re on campus doing your thing.”
“Okay. Maybe. I’d feel better not having to flat out lie to anyone, but it’s Pammy and Trick doing most of the lying. I’m the evil puppet-master who set it all up.”
She guffaws. “Trick set it up. You just ran with that ball. As long as family members don’t see you with him, you’ll be fine. Because if they do see you together, they’re going to know it’s genuine.”
“That’s the problem. Vincent has seen us together, and even though Trick brought Pammy in as a decoy, do you think he might still suspect?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think Vincent automatically thinks the worst, especially when it comes to Patrick Jennings. You’ll have to be careful there. But on the positive side, your paths aren’t likely to cross again since B.C. isn’t playing UNH again this season.”
“True. Not until the playoffs, but by then, I think my relationship with Trick should be resolved. One way or another.”
“Don’t worry so much, Sof. I have a good feeling about you two.” Her words spark my confidence, boosting my hope.
“So you think I don’t need to worry about gossip from campus spilling over to home?”
“Hmmm. It could, so I’d minimize being seen together. Or better yet, confuse the gossips by having Trick be seen with Pammy in public—not necessarily on a date, but, you know… Has he ever been seen around campus with Pammy?”
“No.”
“Then maybe they should go somewhere together. At night. No PDAs or anything, but enough for gossips. Maybe post a pic to social media.”
“I suppose. Then if social media gossip hits home, they’ll see what they expect to see.”
“That makes sense.”
“It does?” I laugh, and a wave of nostalgia hits me over all those after-school scheming sessions we had growing up.
“Sort of. In a way, it’s no crazier than having a secret relationship with Dad’s arch enemy’s son.” She pauses and adds, “While you go to school on his dime.”
“Ouch. Did you need to remind me that I’m financially reliant on Dad? It’s only for one more year, then I swear I’ll be on my own in a career job. As long as I ace my design class and can get a good recommendation from Professor Matami.” I reflexively cross my fingers as I say the words.
“If you say so, I believe you. Hopefully, you can keep your secret for a year.”
Daniel’s deadline pops into my head, but I can’t bring myself to share that tidbit with Carmela. I need to end our talk on a positive note.
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“The way things are going between you and Patrick, I’m sure you will.” She pauses, and I tense up because I know her—there’s a but. “But only if he feels the same way you do. At some point, you’ll need to figure out his feelings too. Maybe talk to him—”
“I know, I know. But does it count that I can tell how he feels without him saying the words?”
“Does he say any words during love-making?” she whispers.
“Kind of.” I remember how sweet he is, the murmurs in my ear, and try to capture them.
Then I hear someone talking in the background on her end. “I have to go, Sofia. Call me again soon, after your talk.”
We sign off, and I heave a sigh. It’s a mighty effort to get Trick and all the complications we have out of my head, but right now I need to concentrate on my glam design project. I go into the kitchen and get myself a cup of coffee, hoping the strong brew will work some magic.
Tomorrow we’re giving presentations in class, showing our patterns and draping a dressmaker’s dummy.
I need to ace this or better. I need to blow the designer socks off my professor, giving her something she won’t forget.
Ideally, I need to make an impression so deep that she’ll give me a glowing recommendation, or my ultimate dream, she’ll take me on as an interns for the summer, even though she already told us she’s not taking summer interns.
I need to change her mind.
A bubble of champagne-like giddiness floats in my belly just thinking about the possibility of working with her in New York this summer. But first things first. I sit down at my desk and get to work on sketching my pattern.
Yawning, I trudge along the snowy path to Design class, cursing the fact that there’s no parking near the building because it’s a bitch carrying my portfolio case and the bag with the materials.
Heaving the bag more securely onto my shoulder, I take a sip of the hot coffee I’m juggling with my pink-gloved hand.
I’m drinking it black this morning for extra zip.
My phone pings loudly from deep inside my coat pocket, and I hesitate. “Shit.” I look around at the other students on the path, and no one pays attention to me, though they’re not on their phones today with their hands mostly shoved in their pockets against the frigid weather.
Dropping my bag, my purse, and my portfolio case on the driest patch of ground I can find, I fish my phone out and slip off my glove to fire it up.
It’s a text from Trick. My annoyance at the cold and the walk and carrying too many things instantly evaporates like he’s the sun and no problem can survive his shine.
Trick: Good luck today. Knock 'em dead. Especially Darcy.
I laugh.
Me: I will. On my way now.
I don’t see any texting dots for a few seconds, but before disappointment takes hold of me, my phone rings.
“Trick?”
“Did you think someone stole my phone?”
“I… erased your number from my contacts.”
“Paranoid much?” He laughs, but it’s less than enthusiastic.
“Where are you?”
“On my way to the rink.”
“As always—I mean good, that’s good.”
“You sure you’re—”
“I’m nervous.”
“You? Not my Fifi. She’s the most talented, confident—and not to mention sexy as hell—young lady in the entire fashion design department at UNH. She’s so extra—”
My grin gets so big it busts into a giggle. “Stop. You had me at sexy as hell.”
“That’s right, baby. Sex sells. Knock 'em dead.” He pauses a blink. “There aren’t any guys in your class, are there?”
“Of course there are. Almost half the class.”
“Shit. Forget what I said about using sex appeal. You’ll have to rely on your raw talent, your magnetic personality, charm, and wit.”
My giggling spreads around until I feel like I must be glowing like a neon sign that says I’m on top of the world and no one can knock me down.
“You have no idea how good you are at cheering a girl up.”
“I do. You can thank me later.”
“I will.” We say good-byes, and I’m grinning as I put my phone in my pocket and gather up my things. The cold turned warm, and I glide down the path like it’s made of fairy dust all the way to the building and Design class.
Darcy is the first person I see when I walk in because she’s hovering near the door.
“I thought you were going to miss class again.”
“Not a chance,” I whisper as I set my things at my designated work station. There are several others already setting up their glam outfits for display. Before I have a chance to assess them, Professor M walks into the classroom from her office, commanding everyone’s attention.
As usual, she’s dressed like she’s on stage and would make a peacock weep with jealousy.