Max smells the lie, though he doesn’t dare approach it in front of my parents. But I feel the wall build between us.
“Hey, I have an idea,” I say. “Let’s talk about Norah.”
“Lola,” Andy says.
She snaps her head toward me as if coming out of a trance. “What?” And then she blinks. “What are you wearing?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is that? What are you supposed to be?”
I’m in a dress with rainbow tulle poking out from underneath, and my hair is in two long braids that I’ve gelled with glitter. I glare at her. “Me. I’m me.”
Norah frowns her disapproval, and Nathan turns to her. “Enough. Back off.”
“Of course she has the right to complain about my wardrobe.” I gesture to her saggy sweater, the one she’s had forever that’s the color of oatmeal left in the sink. “She’s clearly on the cutting edge of fashion.”
Max smirks.
“O-kaaaay!” Andy jumps up. “Who wants pie?”
“Wait until you see my dress for the winter formal,” I tell Norah. “It’s big and it’s lavish and it’s beautiful, and you’re just going to love it.”
Norah jerks her face back toward the window. Like she has any right to feel hurt after attacking me. Max stiffens again, and Nathan can’t resist pouncing upon it. “What will you wear to the dance, Max?”
“He’ll wear a tux,” I snap. “I wouldn’t make him wear a matching costume.”
Max stands. “I gotta go.”
I burst into tears. Nathan looks shamed. Max takes my hand and walks me to the front door. We step outside. I don’t care that I’m grounded. “I’m s-sorry.”
This time he doesn’t tell me not to apologize. “That was messed up, Lola.”
“I know.”
“So tell me, did Nathan approve of Norah’s ‘career choice’ as a fortune-teller?”
I feel sick. “It won’t be that bad on Sunday.”
“Sunday.” Max lifts a dark brow. “Brunch. Right.” He drops my hand and puts his own in his pockets. “So are you serious about that dance?”
I’m startled. I’ve talked about my dress a hundred times before. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, wishing I had something other than my fingers. “What?”
“Lola. I’m twenty-two.” Max reacts quickly to my crushed expression. He reaches for both of my hands this time, and he draws me into and against his body. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll do it. If I can survive these stupid meals, I can survive one stupid dance.”
I hate that it sounds like a punishment.
chapter seventeen
Ta-da!” St. Clair bursts into the lobby with the flourish of a magician. He’s showing off for Anna as he always does. It’s Thursday, and he isn’t scheduled to work, but of course he’s here anyway. Though tonight is different.
He’s brought someone.
Here’s the thing about Cricket Bell. You can’t NOT notice him when he walks into a room. The first thing that registers is his height, but it’s quickly followed by recognition of his energy. He moves gracefully like his sister, but with an enthusiasm he can’t quite seem to control—the constantly moving body, hands, feet. He’s been subdued the last few times I’ve seen him, but he’s fully revived now.
“Anna,” St. Clair says. “This is Cricket.”
Cricket dwarfs St. Clair. They look like Rocky and Bullwinkle, and the comfortable manner between them makes it appear they’ve been friends just as long. I suppose when one overly kind person and one overly outgoing person become friends, it’s easy like that.
Anna smiles. “We keep missing each other in the dorm. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Cricket says. “I’ve heard nothing but good things. In fact, if I weren’t standing next to your boyfriend, I’d be tempted to ask you out myself.”
She blushes, and St. Clair bounds inside the box office and wrestles her into a hug. “Miiiiiiiiine!” he says. The couple buying tickets from me eyes him warily.
“Cut it out .” Anna pushes him off, laughing. “You’ll get fired. And then I’ll have to support your sorry arse for the rest of our lives.”
The rest of their lives.
Why does this always make me uneasy? I’m not bothered that they’re happy, am I? He hops into his usual sitting position on the counter, and they’re already laughing about something else. Cricket waits on the other side of the glass, looking amused. I hand the couple their change. “So . . . what are you doing in the city on a weekday?” I ask him.