Melissa Jensen

“For two weeks now,we'd been meeting when we could. Which, tragically, had been all of four short times: three at his house, once at mine, for a small amount of French before a lot of kissing. We'd had one furtive little interlude in an empty music room at school, but I'd been too nervous to really get into that one. At home, we were entwined, fingers and lips. At school, we barely spoke.”

“Well, good night," he said cheerfully. "Thanks for dinner.""Oh. Right." I took a half step back toward the house. "You're welcome.""Ella.""Yeah?""You've gotta be kidding."PECo hadn't some yet, so it was pretty dark where we were standing. I don't know how his hand found mine so fast, but one second I was thinking about how much I didn't want to say good night, and the next I was up against his chest, standing on my toes with my feet between his."Is this okay?" he asked, his breath chocolaty and warm against my forehead."Yeah," I answered, my own breath coming in quick little jumps. "Yeah.""Good.I have something I have to tell you."I waited."I hate that Klimt painting," he said. "I really hate it."Then he was folding me into his coat and his face was right above mine, and there was only one kiss that mattered.”

“When I got back to the kitchen, my heart nearly stopped. Dad was leaning across the stainless worktable, over a pile of shrimp, almost right in Alex's face. He was holding a new knife, this one small and very sharp. "You got that,kid, or should I say it again?" he was demanding.Alex looked more nervous than I'd ever seen him. But only for a second. Then his face hardened, and he slapped both palms flat on the table. "I've got it," he said. He shoved up his sleeves and reached for the knife. Moments later, he was deveining shrimp with a lot of enthusiasm and a little skill.Dad turned and caught me gaping. He tilted his head in obvious warning. Raw, icky, slippery: This was the task he'd given the boy I brought into his kitchen, and I was not to interfere.Poor Alex. He was being tested for a position he didn't even want.”

“Dad was still holding the knife. He gave Alex a very long look. Then he set down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron, and extended one. "Ronnie Marino."Alex almost leaped forward to take it. "Alex Bainbridge." He have a tiny wince,and I figured Dad had squeezed.”

“Maybe if he hadn't paused to take an audible breath, we wouldn't have heard it. But as it was, the creak from the floor outside my half-open door came in loud and clear. Alex shot up like he'd been poked with a sharp stick. I crossed the room in a single breath and jerked open the door.Nonna, halwayf past my room and clearly heading for the stairs, looked like something out of a cartoon. Her shoulders were hunched, she had one foot lifted off the floor, and she was cringing. "Oh,Fiorella. I am sorry!"In an alernate universe, another Ella was frantically reassuring her shrieking grandmother that nothing had happened, she had not endangered her immortal soul, and it would be a very good thing, please, if Poppa's revolver went back into its dusty case.In this one,Nonna had a gun forefinger to her own temple. She popped her thumb and rolled her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, I stepped aside. "Um...Nonna, this is Alex Bainbridge. Alex, this is my grandmother..."He was already across the room, hand extended. "Buongiorno, Signora Marino. Piacere di conosceria."She responded with a delighted cackle and a torrent of Italian. I caught "welcome" and "sausage." Of course, I might have been wrong about both. Alex listened attentively, then gave her a crooked smile. "Scusi, signora. I don't speak Italian. Well, much,anyway. I just practiced a couple phrases for...um...practice.""Ah"-Nonna reached up to pinch Alex's cheek, not to hard-"it doesn't matter. You have me at buongiorno. Now, come,come.”

“Not much good has ever been prefaced by variations of "Have a seat." I thought of headmasters' offices and electric chairs.”

“Look, Ella..." He stared down at his hands, opening and closing his fists. I waited.I think we might have a little bit of a misunderstanding here...You're a nice girl and all,but...I really like you,but I don't really like you...The unmistakable notes of "Don't Stop Believin'," electronic version, suddenly filled my room, followed by the audible and visual treat of my phone vibrating its way across my desk toward Alex's hip. I flung myself on it. In a clear-headed moment, I would have just turned it off. As it was, I did manage a "Sorry!" to Alex before flipping it open/"Are you dead?" Frankie demanded from the other end."No." I edged away from Alex, who was very politely pretending to be interested in the biscotti."Are you even sick?""No," I admitted."Of course not. Okay, I'm coming over.""No!" I cringed as Alex jumped a little. I took a breath. "God, no. Don't. It's wedding central here. Sienna will have you trying up birdseed in little purple pouches."There was a long pause. "You okay, Marino?""Yeah," I managed."Truth time.Where were you today?"Could I do it? Could I actually use the word cramps with Alex Bainbridge standing three feet away? I could only imagine how the actual truth would sound. Here, in bed, hiding because I thought I'd made the queen of all fools out of myself e-mailing Alex Bainbridge over the break, and I can't even tell you about it because I promised...But it's okay-or maybe not-because he's here now, in my bedroom. ust about to tell me I made the queen of all fools out of myself. Sure. Come on over.The two of you can bond over my idiocy.”

“Just out of curiosity, do they know I'm here?""Yep." My Mother did, anyway. Mention of a French tutor had effectively headed off any possibility of shopping."I take it they trust you not to do anything inappropriate."I couldn't tell if he was being serious. I assumed not. "Absolutely. In fact,my mother would probably pay you to do something to make them trust me a little less." I took a look at his face. He looked a little stunned. "Oh,no. I didn't mean-"Or maybe I did. But Alex was backing away from me, hands raised. "okay.""J'etais stupide."He sat down heavily on the edge of my desk, narrowly missing the biscotti. "I wouldn't say that. But your use of the imperfect is improving.""Just what I always wanted," I said sadly, "to get better at imperfection.”

“I went to stand next to him. He radiated heat. It was distracting.”

“Now,standing under our beautiful monstrosity, I couldn't help thinking that if Alex were to kiss me, it would look like that: me small and blissful and clinging, him so much taller, completely enfolding me.I averted my red dace as I headed down the hall.My room is a quarter the size of his. It felt even smaller with him in it. "Make yourself at-"He'd plunked the snack on my desk, depositied his coat on my chair, and was already roaming the room, looking at the door knockers made to look like hands. "Cool.You are seriously good." He stared for a long time at the single study I'd put up from the Willing Romance Languages Room door: the leering devil. "I would put that on my wall," he said.I hadn't said anything while he browsed, swallowing all the automatic denials of my abilities.He turned and grinned at me, looking exactly like the little demon. No surprise, since it was essentially his face in miniature. "This is the part where you remove that tack and give me the picture.For keeps.""Are you serious?" I wasn't sure."Yes,Ella.I am serious."So I removed the tack and handed him the picture. He rolled it up very gently and put it in his coat pocket.”

“Wow."That was one way of putting it."My mother likes Klimt," I explained. She had this, The Kiss, on coasters, a tote bag, and a tea set she'd bought herself for her twentieth wedding anniversay.It wasn't Klimt the painter she liked, so much as the combination of lots and lots of metallic paint and a red-haired woman in the arms of a dark-haired man. "It's me and your dad," she used to say to our collective distress. Little kids don't want to see their parents canoodling. Older kids really don't want to see it. "Hey. You keep rolling your ryes, Sienna Donatella," she would snap, "and they're gonna stick like that. See then if you can find a guy to kiss you!”

“And just like that, I was officially In Deep:1. Interested in art. (Me, charcoal; him, colored ink).2. Not afraid of love. He's stuck with Cruella de Vil for a long time.3. Or of telling the truth. "Three things it costs a little to tell."4. Hot. Like, smokin'.5. Daring. Sharks. Ocean. He swims where Here Be Monsters.5, subsection a. Daring enough to take a chance on me.Oh,that one,always the glitch in If My Prince Does,In Fact, Come Someday, It Would Be Great If He Could Meet These Five Criteria. But I had one thing when it came to Alex that I'd never had with Edward. Hope. Well, that and a drunk e-mail.”

“Alex was right in front of the mantel now, bent forward, his nose mere inches from a picture of me."Oh,God. Don't look at that!"It was from the year-end recital of my one and only year of ballet class. I was six: twig legs, a huge gap where my two front teeth had recently been, and a bumblebee costume. Nonna had done her best, but there was only so much she could do with yellow and black spandex and a bee butt. Dad had found one of those headbands with springy antennai attached. I'd loved the antennae. The more enthusiastic my jetes, the more they bounced. Of course, I'd also jeted my flat-chested little self out of the top of my costume so many times that, during the actual recital itself,I'd barely moved at all, victim to the overwhelming modesty of the six-year-old. Now, looking at the little girl I'd been, I wished someone had told her not to worry so much, that within a year, that smooth, skinny, little bare shoulder would have turned into the bane of her existence. That she was absolutely perfect."Nice stripes," Alex said casually, straightening up.That stung. It should't have-it was just a photo-but it did. I don't know what I'd expected him to say about the picture. It wasn't that. But then, I didn't expect the wide grin that spread across his face when he got a good look at mine, either."Those," he announced, pointing to a photo of my mulleted dad leaning against the painted hood of his Mustang "are nice stripes. That-" he pointed to the me-bee- "Is seriously cute.""You're insane," I muttered, insanely pleased."Yeah,well, tell me something I don't know." He took the bottle and plate from me. "I like knowing you have a little vanity in there somewhere." He stood, hands full, looking expectant and completely beautiful.The reality of the situation hadn't really been all that real before. Now, as I started up the stairs to my bedroom, Alex Bainbridge in tow, it hit me. I was leading a boy, this boy, into my very personal space.Then he started singing."You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you. You're sooo vain....!" He had a pretty good voice. It was a truly excellent AM radio song.And just like that, I was officially In Deep”

“It's decorated with fig leaves and, for some reason, fish. I never look too closely when raiding it; the fish that makes up the handle always seem to be giving me the serious malocchio.”

“It's pierogis. From Svichkar's. Probably cold. It seemed...Oh,crap. It was a really stupid thing to bring, wasn't it? My mother just has this thing about never arriving empty-handed."I tugged the bag out of his hands. "It's perfect. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Bainbridge.""Je t'en prie, Mademoiselle Marino."Okay, so it's just the semiformal way to say "You're welcome" in French, but anyone who says Italian is the language of romance is probably Italian.”

“Oh,for God's sake," I scolded myself, channeling Frankie. "It's just a French session.It's just a French session with a cute guy.It's just a French session with a cute guy who no longer has a girlfriend, who drunk e-mailed me about my name, and who makes me feel like I've swallowed a caterpillar." I thought maybe I should sit down.The green hood of Alex's car nosed into view at 5:09. I flung myself out of the room, down the stairs, and then had to lean against the sofa for a second to compose myself. Then I stood right behind the door, counting a slow ten after he knocked before opening it. Wouldn't want to look eager, now, would I?"Hi," he said."Hi." What else could I say?It had turned seriously cold over the break. He was wearing a big black peacoat with Russian symbols on the buttons. I tried to remember if I'd ever known the Russian word for "hi." I didn't think so. He waited patiently for a minute, then asked, "Okay if I come in?"I flushed and stepped back.”

“I went into the hall and looked out the front window for the twentienth time and told myself to relax for the fiftieth. It could not be healthy, this breathless, silly, heart-pounding state I'd been in since I'd called him back and left a message and he'd called me back and I'd been convinced he could hear my heartbeat through the phone. All so I could run around my room like a hamster on crack, tripping over discarded jeans and trying to figure out where I'd dropped yesterday's bra.”

“Alex was late. I was grateful. I was also incredibly nervous and I'd gotten mascara in my eye. I blinked a lot as I did a last check.”

“My closet door wouldn't close. I pushed. I leaned on it. I eventually realized that my bathrobe sleeve was blocking the latch. When I opened the door to deal with the problem, most of the clothing I had tried and rejected tumbled out onto my feet. I shoveled my jeans,two of Sienna's sweaters, and one of her skirts back in.She would have a fit if she saw, but I reasoned she would have more of a fit if I shoved her things under the bed, with its resident dust wombats and lost charcoal pencils.”

“3."Ella,um,it's Alex. I hope this is the right number.I had to get it from a really old phone book. I would have gotten your cell number from Sadie Winslow, but...well, every time I got near her today, Frankie Hobbes showed his teeth. He's a little scary for such a skinny guy...Anyway. You weren't in English today. You weren't anywhere that I could see today.Um...call me. I was thinking I could come over...”

“1."Ahem. I know you hate Mondays, madam, but you picked the absolutely wrong one to play hooky. Or be sick. Yes, I suppose it's vaguely possible that you are actually sick. Anyway, here we are at lunch, Sadie and I, witnessing total social disorder. Your friend Alexander Bainbridge is sitting at the usual table, but facing the room. Amanda Alstead is sitting at Table One. Or, should I say,sitting more or less on a Phillite senior boy, whose name is unimportant, at Table One. A very nice young lady at the next table over-you know, the one who writes about Mr. Darcy-has just informeed us that Amanda dumpled Alex over the break. On Thanksgiving Day,no less. By e-mail. No telling how much truth is there, but a lot more than a kernal, I would say. We have a large, seven-dollar bag o' movie popcorn here. Thought you'd like to know. Call me.”

“Subject: Hey. Just thought I would check and make sure you weren't felled by a rogue turkey bacteria.Subject: A,I really hope I didn'tSubject: Alex,”

“Subject: Some boatAlex,I know Fox Mulder. My mom watched The X-Files. She says it was because she liked the creepy store lines. I think she liked David Duchovny. She tried Californication, but I don't think her heart was in it. I think she was just sticking it to my grandmother, who has decided it's the work of the devil. She says that about most current music,too, but God help anyone who gets between her and American Idol.The fuzzy whale was very nice, it a little hard to identify. The profile of the guy between you and the whale in the third pic was very familiar, if a little fuzzy. I won't ask. No,no. I have to ask.I won't ask.My mother loves his wife's suits.I Googled. There are sharks off the coast of the Vineyard. Great big white ones. I believe you about the turtle. Did I mention that there are sharks there? I go to Surf City for a week every summer with my cousins. I eat too much ice cream. I play miniature golf-badly. I don't complain about sand in my hot dog buns or sheets. I even spend enough time on the beach to get sand in more uncomfortable places. I do not swim. I mean, I could if I wanted to but I figure that if we were meant to share the water with sharks, we would have a few extra rows of teeth, too.I'll save you some cannoli.-EllaSubject: ShhFiorella,Yes,Fiorella. I looked it up. It means Flower. Which, when paired with MArino, means Flower of the Sea. What shark would dare to touch you?I won't touch the uncomfortable sand mention, hard as it is to resist. I also will not think of you in a bikini (Note to self: Do not think of Ella in a bikini under any circumstanes. Note from self: Are you f-ing kidding me?).Okay.Two pieces of info for you. One: Our host has an excellent wine cellar and my mother is European. Meaning she doesn't begrudge me the occasional glass. Or four.Two: Our hostess says to thank yur mother very much. Most people say nasty things about her suits.Three: We have a house kinda near Surf City. Maybe I'll be there when your there.You'd better burn this after reading.-AlexaiSubect: Happy ThanksgivingAlexei,Consider it burned. Don't worry. I'm not showing your e-mails to anybody. Matter of national security, of course.Well,I got to sit at the adult table. In between my great-great-aunt Jo, who is ninety-three and deaf, and her daughter, JoJo, who had to repeat everyone's conversations across me. Loudly. The food was great,even my uncle Ricky's cranberry lasagna. In fact, it would have been a perfectly good TG if the Eagles han't been playing the Jets.My cousin Joey (other side of the family) lives in Hoboken. His sister married a Philly guy. It started out as a lively across-the-table debate: Jets v. Iggles. It ended up with Joey flinging himself across the table at his brother-in-law and my grandmother saying loud prayers to Saint Bridget. At least I think it was Saint Bridget. Hard to tell. She was speaking Italian.She caught me trying to freeze a half-dozen cannoli. She yelled at me. Apparently, the shells get really soggy when they defrost. I guess you'll have to come have a fresh one when you get back.-F/E”

“Subect: Sigh.Okay. Since we're on the subject...Q. What is the Tsar of Russia's favorite fish?A. Tsardines, of course.Q. What does the son of a Ukranian newscaster and a U.S. congressman eat for Thanksgiving dinner on an island off the coast of Massachusetts?A.?-EllaSubect: TGA. Republicans.Nah.I'm sure we'll have all the traditional stuff: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. I'm hoping for apple pie. Our hosts have a cook who takes requests, but the island is kinda limited as far as shopping goes. The seven of us will probably spend the morning on a boat, then have a civilized chow-down. I predict Pictionary. I will win.You?-AlexSubect: Re. TGAlex,I will be having my turkey (there ill be one, but it will be somewhat lost among the pumpkin fettuccine, sausage-stuffed artichokes, garlic with green beans, and at least four lasagnas, not to mention the sweet potato cannoli and chocolate ricotta pie) with at least forty members of my close family, most of whom will spend the entire meal screaming at each other. Some will actually be fighting, probably over football.I am hoping to be seated with the adults. It's not a sure thing.What's Martha's Vineyard like? I hear it's gorgeous. I hear it's favored by presidential types, past and present.-EllaSubject: Can I Have TG with You?Please??? There's a 6a.m. flight off the island. I can be back in Philadelphia by noon. I've never had Thanksgiving with more than four or five other people. Only child of two only children. My grandmother usually hosts dinner at the Hunt Club. She doesn't like turkey. Last year we had Scottish salmon. I like salmon,but...The Vineyard is pretty great. The house we're staying in is in Chilmark, which, if you weren't so woefully ignorant of defunct television, is the birthplace of Fox Mulder. I can see the Menemsha fishing fleet out my window. Ever heard of Menemsha Blues? I should bring you a T-shirt. Everyone has Black Dogs; I prefer a good fish on the chest.(Q. What do you call a fish with no eyes? A. Fish.)We went out on a boat this afternoon and actually saw a humpback whale. See pics below. That fuzzy gray lump in the bumpy gray water is a fin. A photographer I am not. Apparently, they're usually gone by now, heading for the Caribbean. It's way too cold to swim, but amazing in the summer. I swear I got bumped by a sea turtle here last July 4, but no one believes me.Any chance of saving me a cannoli?-A”

“From: [email protected]: [email protected]: November 21, 8:25 p.m.Subject: Now I'm SorryAlex,I feel badly.You probably feel worse.My grandmother thinks canned tuna is a disaster waiting to happen. She used to stand in the door of the fridge and make protective hand symbols over my mom's letover tuna casserole. We don't keep Starkist in the house anymore.Have a great TG.-Ella.”

“I ripped the sketch from the wall."Liar."Edward looked more ravaged than usual. "That is a terrible word, coming from you.""Yup.""And not entirely fair.""You had an affair with this...Woman number 6...Were there five others? Seven, eight, and onward?”

“So,I'm curious." Alex dragged me from my pleasant contemplation of cowardice and back in the bathroom. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his feet almost touching mine. "What is it you like so much about this guy? I looked up his stuff. It's good, but nothing out of the ordinary."What a difference a week and a shock to the ideals makes. I felt my defense of Edward sticking a little in my troat. "I like his portraits. He really saw people.It was his great strength, that intensity."Alex tilted his chin toward the picture. "Not to seem crude, but she could be any girl with a nice ass." When I glared at him, he uncrossed his arms quickly and held up his hands in surrender. "Hey,all I mean is that if I were all about really seeing someone, that's not the angle I would choose."He was probably right. No matter how I looked at it, he was probably right. "You're probably right," I told him.He bowed. The small space suddenly got a lot smaller. "Stick with me, Grasshopper. I will never lead you wrong.”

“Something I don't want anyone to know, Alex? I am a dissillusioned former hopeless romantic with larcenous tendencies.But I did kill the verbal part of the PSATs.The way I saw it,I had three options.1.I could take the stuff to Maxine. "Hey,look what I found." Confession of theft optional and probably not smart.2. I could slip them back into the book and pretend they never existed.3. I could destroy them.Option two sounded just marvelous.”

“So,twice a week I have my own tutor," he said shortly. "Who,trust me, makes my father look like a marshmellow. And on that note..." He picked up the sheaf of French lessons again. "We'll start with the imperfect, used to express actions that are-""Incomplete,unfulfilled, or repeated over and over." I slumped back in the weird chair. "That I know."At the end of the very imperfect sessions, Alex gave me a full ten minutes in the downstairs bathroom before showing up.All I'd figured out what that Edward's faceless girl had had wide feet, and the Bainbridge's decorator had a preference for green that might merit an intervention."I could probably give you the stupid thing"-Alex gestured to the picture when he came in- "and my folks would never notice."I winced inwardly. "I can't advocate theft," I told him, "no matter how noble the intent.”

“I don't think anyone outside my family knows that.""Not even Amanda?" It came out before I could stop it."Not even Amanda." He reached for the soda. "Two," he muttered as he poured, "I wish more people knew that Amanda and I are not a single unit and fewer people knew that she dumped me temporarily over the summer for a lifegaurd in Loveladies named Biff." While I processed that,he finished. "Three. I bombed the PSATs.""Oh.Well,isn't the point of preliminary tests to help you learn how to do well on the later ones?""Tell that to my dad. He was decided that I am now on the fast track toward a future of digging ditches.""Come on.I'm sure he sees that it's just a prep test.""What he sees," Alex corrected me, "is that the path of Yale, followed by Powel Law an the family firm, has gotten a little slippery."I had no idea what to say.In my family, whatever we want to do, as long as it involves getting out of bed every morning and satisfying our souls, is considered just splendid.And that coming from multiple generations who've struggled to pay the mortgage.”

“Nous avons ete amies," I added. "There,that's two in French, and using past perfect, no less."I couldn't see his expression clearly. It flet like a long time before he said anything. "Ella..." He paused, then, "What happened? Between you and Anna?""Other than the fact that I'm a fashion-impaired poor kid who draws doorknobs? Haven't a clue."Alex leaned forward. Now I could see his face. He looked annoyed. "Why do you do that? Diminish yourself?""I don't-""Bullshit."I could feel my cheeks flaming, feel my shoulders curving inward. "I don't-""Right.Don't.Just don't, with me, anyway. I like you better feisty."I couldn't help it; that made me smile. "Did you really just say 'feisty'?""I did.It's a good word.""It's am old word, favored by granddads and pirates.""Yar," Alex sighed."Face it.You're just an old-fashioned guy.""Whatever.Three...?""Three," I said, and changed my mind midthought. "I haven't been able to decide if Willing is the second best thing that ever happened to me, or the second worst.""What are the firsts?""Nope.Uh-uh.It is not for you to ask, Alexander Bainbridge, but to reveal."He drained his glass and rolled it back and forth between his hands. "I had all these funny admissions planned, but you've screwed up my plans. Hey. Don't go all wounded-wide-eyed on me. It's cute, that Bambi thing you have going, but beside the point.Now I have to rethink.""You don't-""Quiet.One: My name isn't Alexander." He sat up straight and gave his chest a resounding thump. "Menya zavut Alexei Pavlovich Dillwyn Bainbridge. Not Alexander. I don't think anyone outside my family knows that.”

“Winslow wants you to learn this"- he waved a few sheets of stapled pages- "and that." He pointed to the book in my lap. Fifty French Conversations. It was one of our textbooks. I'd stopped at the seventeenth: Mon hamster a mange trop de fromage. Il a mal au ventre maintenant. "The rest is the Bainbridge Method.""You have a method?""Patented and proven."I waved the book. "Does it include greedy, cheese-guzzling hamsters with stomachaches?"He nodded. "Absolutely.French conversations is nothing without rodents and cheese.Is there something shameful in your past involving either?""Not that I can think of off the top of my head.""Tant pis.""And that means...?""Fuhgeddaboudit," he translated, grinning.I sighed. "Do people make Russian jokes in your presence?""How do you get five Russians to agree on anything?""How?" I asked."Shoot four of them."I thought for a sec. "I'm not sure that's funny.""No," Alex said. "People don't tell many Russian jokes in my presence.""I should start my three things, huh?""Yeah.That would be good."I did some speedy translating in my head. "Je n'ai jamais lu Huckleberry Finn, Beloved, ou Moby-Dick.""Ella,no one has read Moby-Dick. The French was passable, but as far as revelations go,that sucked.""Ah, but there's a part deux. All three of those books were required reading last year in my American lit class. I used SparkNotes.""You're kidding, right?""See?" I daintily brushed Dorito crumbs from my fingertips. "Changes your perception of me, doesn't it?""No,I mean, 'That's a revelation?' You can do better than that.""Maybe," I agreed, "but it's still early in the game.”

“Okay,three things,and one of them has to be in French."I was back in the weird squashy chair; Alex was flopped on the bed.This time, along with the lemon soda, there were two bags of Doritos on the floor between us. He'd had one waiting. I'd brought one."I don't think this is what Mademoiselle Winslow had in mind," I told him.Truth: Despite all my good intentions to keep Frankie happy and my hopes down, I'd been looking forward to this all week, hoping Alex wouldn't forget. I'd thought up and rethought clever things I could say. Further Truth: I didn't want to sound like I'd been looking forward to it all week and thinking up what I wanted to say.Home truth: Yes, I am that pitiful.”

“There was something about the shopping mall/raw fish combo that just seemed wrong."Sadie," I began, but didn't have the heart.Frankie did. "A hoagie it is." When she protested, he gave her the reptile eye. "Ever hear of salmonella? ANd I don't mean the dish Ella's uncle named in her honor."We think that might have been what killed Ricky's Top Chef chances last year. Too bad. Disastrous name aside, it had actually been pretty good.Frankie bought us an extra order of french fries.”

“Will that be cash or charge?" he asked.I looked down at my hands. I was still holding the stripy turtleneck. "Cash, I guess." Beside me, Frankie gave a smug little grunt. "We can live without you, I know," I told him."Of course you can. But why would you? I am here for youse, Marino, forevah and evah.”

“Forty percent off. Come on, Ella, it's a sign.""Yeah. 'Stop.'" I took the sweater from his hands and holded it neatly into thirds. "Truth or Truth?"He propped a hip on the edge of the display table. "Shoot.""WHo are you dressing me for? I mean, really? The three nonrelated men playing any part whatsoever in my life right now are, and I will use your terms here, the spawn of Society Hell, dead as the spat, and queer as a football bat.""Very poetic.""Bite me.""Wrong man," Frankie drawled. "That would be the inclination of the hell spawn."I bared my teeth. "So,who,Frankie? Who is this for?" I waved the sweater. "I just don't get it.""I know,Grasshopper," he said sadly, "I know."I blinked at him. "Where-" That's as far as I got. Sadie had come out of the dressing room.”

“I Can't Make You Love Me.' Bonnie Raitt.""Oh,Fiorella."I glared at him a little as I climbed down. "Was that delightful list for your benefit or mine?"Frankie grabbed my hand and, when I didn't pull away fast enough, tugged me onto his lap,where he wrapped his arms so tightly around me that I couldn't escape. Sometimes his strength still surprises me.He tickled my cheek with his nose. "Don't hate me just because I'm hateful.""I never do."Here's the thing. Frankie's taken a lot of hits in his life. He never stays down for long."Excuse me!" The mannequin's evil twin was glaring down at us fro her sky-high bootie-heeled heights. Her NM badge told us her name was Victoria. "You cannot do that here!" she snapped."Do what?" Frankie returned, matching lockjaw snooty for lockjaw snooty.She opened and closed her mouth, then hissed, "Canoodle!"I felt Frankie's hiccup of amusement. "Were we canoodling, snookums?" he asked me. "I rather thought we were about to copulate like bunnies."I couldn't help it; I laughed out loud. Victoria's mouth thinned into a pale line. The whole thing might have ended with our being escorted out the store's hallowed doors by security. Sadie, as she so often did, momentarily saved us from ourselves.She stomped out of the dressing room and planted herself in front of us. Ignoring the angry salesgirl completely, she muttered, "I look like a carved pumpkin!"Frankie took in the skirt, layered shirts, and jacket. "You do not, but I might have been having an overly Michael Kors moment. This will not do for a date.Take it off." He nudged me, then added, "Right here.Every last stitch of it."As soon as Sadie was back in her own clothing and coat-which got an unwilling frown of respect from Victoria; apparently even Neiman Maruc doesn't carry that line-we moved on. Sadie did better in Frankie's second choice-a lip-printed sweater dress from Betsey Johnson,but wouldn't buy it."We're just going to a movie!" she protested. "Besides,Jared's not...not..." She gestured down at her lippy hips. "He's practical and sensible and quiet.""Oh,my God!" Frankie slapped both palms to the side of his face,and turned to me. "Sadie has a date with a Prius!"He had to invoke the sanctity of Truth or Dare before he could even get her into Urban Outfitters. "Sometimes I love you less than other times," she grumbled as he filled her arms with his last choices."No,you don't," he said cheerfully, and sent her off to change.”

“I'd given the bare minimum of info-especially after-hypocrite that he is-Frankie made such dramatic gagging motions at my description of the Mustang that a passing shopper had asked if she should call 911.So I braced myself. "Dare."Frankie's brows went up. "Well. All right,then." He scanned the floor. "I dare you to stand up next to that mannequin over there,and list the five best Unrequited Love songs of all time.”

“Truth or dare.""Not fair. You already had a turn.""Correct me if I'm wrong, but this little excursion was to make me happy."I sighed, knowing I'd already lost. "You're right.""DO I look happy to you?" He visibly deflated in his seat and pulled down the corners of his mouth. He looked like a very pretty scarecrow. "Well?""No,Mr. Hobbes, you do not look happy.""So..."I eyed the racks around us. There seemed to be an awful lot of jungle and orange. "If I say 'dare,' are you going to make me put on leopord print?""I might.""If I take 'truth,' will you promise not to ask any more questions about Alex?""I will not.”

“It is time,my darling.""Oh,Frankie,no-""You chose dare," he reminded her."I did," she agreed sadly, stepping up. "You're right."It hadn't been entirely fair of him, starting the game in the middle of Neiman Marcus. The King of Prussia Mall, a zillion acres of retail-and-food-in-a-box, is many people's idea of perfect therapy. Me? If given the choice, I might opt for swimming with sharks instead. But today was about Frankie."So," he told her, "I pick out three outfits,head to toe. You put them on.""Fine." Sadie pulled her jacket closer around her.This one was a muddy pruple, and had a third sleeve stitched tot he back. "But if you pick anything like that"- she pointed to a tiny tartan dress that seemed to be missing its entire back- "I will cry.""Have faith," he replied with a slightly twisted smile, and dragged her toward women's sportswear. "What our sport is," he said apropos of very little save the sign on the wall, "I have no idea."Ten minutes later, Sadie was heading into the dressing room with an armful of autumn color and a look like she was on her way off a cliff.”

“I am going to end up alone," he moaned."Not in any conceivable universe!" One of Sadie's best qualities is the ability to say "Are you effing insane?" with such sweet conviction and nicer words."I am going to end up alone in a one-room apartment over a dry cleaner.""A dry cleaner?""He could have said a bar," I offered."True," he conceded.Frankie was on a roll. "I am going to end up alone in a one-room apartment over a dry cleaner with a cat. Who bites me.""Oh,Frankie-""I am going to end up alone in a one-room apartment over a dry cleaner with a cat who bites me and pees in my closet full of moth-eaten sweaters.""Well,maybe," Sadie said, reaching around to hug both of us. "But the sweaters will be Dolce & Gabbana." One of her other fabulous qualities is that underneath the sweet conviction, she does have a sense of humor.Frankie did laugh. Then he gave a sigh that I could feel all the way through me. I knew Sadie did,too. "I liked him," he said, very quietly. "I really did. And I thought he felt the same way. I bent and twisted and distorted everything that happened between us to fit my pretty little picture. God, I believed my own hype. How stupid, how incredibly stupid was that?""Not stupid." Sadie squeezed. "Hopeful. And if we're not that, what's the point? El? Help me out here."I wanted to.I really did. But all I could think of was the fact that at home, exactly where I'd put it in my bag, which was still exactly where I'd dumped it on the floor, was the evidence that Edward had let me down. I was keeping that to myself, at least for the moment. Twisted it to fit my pretty little picture. I didn't think I could take Frankie's complete lack of surprise that a guy (even a dead one) had let me down-or Sadie's sympathy. Not on top of my own anger.Because,plain and simple,it wasn't okay to look at another woman like that, not when you met the love of your life and gave a big flipped finger to the people around you so you could be with her. Not okay even if she was dead, because I, Ella, really really want to believe that sometimes love does conquer all, and sometimes some things do last foever.Truth: Yes,I really am that naive."You're perfect," I said to Frankie. And I meant it.”

“Frankie turned back and forth in front of the three-way mirror. "I have absolutely no ass whatsoever."A few feet away,a woman whose designer velour fit her like a sausage casing, gave an amused snort. "Honey," she said over a display of two-hundred-dollar T-shirts. "I have been waiting forty years to say those words."Frankie padded toward her in his socks and Alexander McQuenn pants.He thrust his hands into the pockets, pulling the fabric tighter, and presented her with his outthrust bottom. "Honestly. This is what you want?"She lasted about five seconds before grinning-and sighing at the same time. "No,I guess not."He turned around, leaned in, and informed her conspiratorially, "There is not a T-shirt on earth worth that much."She looked down at the plain blue cotton in her hands. "You are so right." She put it back. "And with that face, sweetie, you could have the ass of a rhino and no one would notice.I'm just saying.""What does she know?" he muttered when she'd gone. "What good has this face done me?"Apparently, Connor hadn't been quite as available as he'd let on. Apparently, along with dancing, juggling was one of his talents."You couldn't have known," Sadie said gently. "Oh,yes,I could.I mean, he's a guy,isn't he?"There's not much you can say to a boy when he makes a statement like that. So we just scooted in until we were up against Frankie's thin shoulders, bookending him.”

“The book was sandwiched firmly between Analytic Keys to the Genera and Species of North American Mosses, and the Complete English-Russian Dictionary by A. Alexandrow, which had me actually speculating on just what terrible crimes I might have committed against love and peace in a former life to have earned myself this one.”

“An hour later, proven absolutely right, I slid the last drawer closed, sat on the dusty floor, and had a good, sorry=for-myself "what now?" moment.”

“Too racy?" I asked.She snorted. "Too asinine. For being such a brilliant woman in all other respects, apparently, she was completely flummoxed by sex. When she wrote about it, it was either all buttoned up or completely, pardon the expression,screwy. Between you and me, the letters to Willing are just sloppy and boring. The spicy bits read like old Cosmopolitans now. The rest is just simpering and scolding him for not writing in kind.""Of course he didn't. He loved Diana."Maxine swept a shred of paper from her desk with a quick backhand. "Oh, for heavens sake." She huffed out a breath. "The heart of a teenager.”

“I figured Maxine probably had bathroom trips preplanned and efficiently choreographed.”

“I figured anything Maxine Rothaus called rough was, in fact, vicious and lawless and inclined to eat its own young.”

“So I went to history, where I paid a little attention,French, where I paid none, and then to art.I convinced Ms. Evers that I (a) would benefit from outside time, and (b) should be excused from all further classes because I was running out of time at the archive and I needed to be there ASAP. I have no idea if she believed me. She wrote me a note anyway.”

“Oh,Ella. I wish you'd had a better time at the ball.""Fuhgeddaboudit," I muttered. Greaseball. Freddy. Freak. "It's not like she and I were ever going to be BFFs.""I wasn't just referring to Amanda."Of course he wasn't."I'll try," I moaned into the crook of my elbow. "Oh, Lord.I'll try to carry on.""That sounds rather dramatic, even for you.""It's Styx," I told him. "After your time, before mine. I don't know all the words,but those work for the moment. And for the record, I'm being ironic, not dramatic.""If you say so."I ignored him. "I have had my last flutter over Alex Bainbridge. I mean it. Frankie was right.How many signs do I need that we are never, ever going to have...anything...before I get it? Obviously, it doesn't matter that we realte to the same schizo seventies songs. Or that we can discuss antique Japanese woodblock prints. Or that when he sits next to me, he kinda takes my breath away. You would think that would count for a lot,wouldn't you?"Edward gets the concept of rhetorical questions, so I went on. "I wouldn't even want to hazard a guess about what makes Amanda's pulse go all skittery, but I would bet anything it's not Alex. And he's still with her. He doesn't belong with her, but apparently he feels he belongs to her. Explain that,please.""Oh,Ella.We men are not always the best at looking beyond the...er...""Boobs,Edward. You can say it. Amanda Alstead has boobs and blonda hair. Beyond that, I can't see a single thing that's special about her.""Because there isn't a single thing. Beyond the...er, obvious. You,on the other hand,are a creature of infinite charms. Shall I list them alphabetically or from the top down?"I scowled up at him. "Y'know, you are beginning to sound a little too much like Frankie and Sadie,my deluded Greek chorus.""yes,well,I rather thought that's what friends are for.""You're not supposed to be my friend," I muttered. "You're supposed to be my Prince Charming.""Ahem." Edward's sculpted lips compressed into a grim line. "Have you looked at me lately? I am supposed to be startling and even a bit scary.""Nope.Neither." I rested my chin on my forearm. "To me,you are perfect. You are loyal and reliable and completely lacking in surprises.""That is a good thing?""Absolutely," I said. "It's an excellent thing.I don't want any more surprises, over.""Hardly an admirable goal,that.""Maybe not," I agreed, "but pleasant. Among all the other bizarreness tonight, I found something new to be afraid of. Evil girlfriends.""Now,Ella. You can't go on being afraid forever.""Oh,yes,I can. As far as Amanda Alstead is concerned, I can."Edward tilted his head and studied me for a moment. He looked annoyed. "Why do you insist on having these conversations with me when you ignore everything I have to say?"It was a pretty good question. "Fine." I sat up straight and folded my hands in my lap. Home Truth time. "Go ahead. On this night when we celebrate the mysteries of life and death..Say something profound, something startling."There was a long silence. Then, "Boo," Edward said."Thank you,Mr. Willing.""Don't mention it, Miss Marino. I am yours to command.”

“Look,Freddy Krueger, if I thought there was a chance in a gazillion that Alex would even feature you in a nightmare, I might not be saying this so nicely. But I feel sorry for you, so I'm going to give you a tip." The p was sharp,harsh. She leaned in,close enough that I could see the pale,shimmery lipstick caked in the corners of her mouth. "This thing you have for him just makes you look like the world's most pitiful loser. Did you really think you had even the smallest chance with him? Did you?"I didn't answer.Maybe a no would have satisfied her. Maybe not."You are a skank and a freak," she snapped, the hard sounds making me flinch. "You don't belong here. Go back to your greaseball 'hood. The sight of you makes me sick!"Any girl who has ever been face-to-face with another angry girl, especially one with infinitely more spite and social standing knows to run.It's innate, from bunnies to baboons. Don't mess with the alpha female. She'll tear your throat out. So I ran,but not before I got a glimpse of Anna's face.In the second before she turned away, she looked like someone had slapped her. Funny, seeing that didn't make me feel any better.”