I try to force back a growing smile, but it’s hard to tame.
“But French, now that’s tricky. As you so brilliantly displayed last week.”
“I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”
His eyes widen. “Distracted?”
“Bird watching.”
“Lucky bird.”
Huh. “So how did you get into this class? If you’ve never taken French before?” I ask as Mrs. Sarter’s room comes into view.
“I scored high on the placement test. I used my Latin and a lot of educated guessing. Who said dead languages are useless?”
Dead languages. Like the dead silence between me and Gregg. I shake the thought from my head.
We enter the classroom and take our seats at the back. I open my book, pretend to review. Gregg’s homemade card for free French tutoring flutters to the floor. And that’s when I see him in the front row, chatting it up with Suzanne Sharper, his charm turned on high. Mrs. Sarter calls the class to order and Gregg twists in his seat, like he’s supposed to be in the front row. Like he’s always been in the front row.
• • •
Gregg successfully ignores me the rest of the day, despite my best efforts to catch him coming out of class or run into him at lunch. It’s like he’s changed all of his patterns just to avoid me, an observation that makes my stomach coil. I remember the same sinking feeling in the weeks after Dad left, the way I’d search for him in the aisles at the grocery store or through the windows of passing cars. I don’t want Gregg to slip away like Dad did.
I need advice.
I text Lizzie to meet me outside for lunch and she’s already at our picnic table when I arrive. She starts her interrogation before I’m fully plunked down across from her.
“So are you finally going to tell me what’s up? You’ve been acting weird all day.”
“Have I?”
She wrestles a handful of Junior Mints from their box. “You thinking about your dad?”
“What? No. I mean, yeah, I guess, but no.”
“Then what?”
“More like who.” I pop the top of my soda, trace its metal rim with my finger. “Gregg, who.”
“Slice? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. At least, I think.” I hesitate. It’s unsettling spilling my private bits, even to someone I trust as much as Lizzie. But what choice do I have? “He kissed me. On Saturday. At Waxman’s.”
“He kissed you?” Lizzie practically yells. “That’s why you two were acting so weird. Zee, oh my god! It’s about time.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“You cannot be shocked. He’s been in love with you since junior high.”
“He has not.”
“Zee, I’m a reporter. I get paid to notice these things.”
“You’re the editor of the school newspaper. No one pays you.”
She waves off the technicality. “Slice loves you. Everyone knows that. And you guys would be incredible together, an unstoppable force of hockey on the ice and field.” She ghosts her hand along an imagined, overenlarged headline. “Hockey Couple Zee and Slice, Twice as Nice.” She frowns, considering. “Okay, needs some work.”
“I think there’s a bigger problem than your headline.” I swallow hard. Gregg is strong and kind and all the things any sane girl would want in a boyfriend, but he’s practically family. “I just can’t like Gregg like that, you know—I don’t like him like him.”
“You’re not interested in being swept off your feet by one of the most popular guys in school?”
“It’s too weird, Lizzie. He’s like my brother. You know, if I had a brother.”
Lizzie steals a sip of my soda and contemplates. “Yeah, okay, I get that.”
“Why would he do this? It’s beyond bizarre. I mean, our families have been friends forever.” My face rushes with heat.
“Complicated.”
“Right? And now he’s avoiding me. Even moved his seat to the front of French class. Told Mrs. Sarter some bullshit excuse about not being able to see the board. But he never misses a puck flying at him at breakneck speed. Doesn’t need glasses for that.”
“Ouch. What are you gonna do?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“You have to talk to him. Drive to his house. Confront him. You guys can get past this. I’ll even go with you if you want.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. This will all blow over, Zee. And this could be a good thing.” She pops a mint.
“How do you figure?”
“It’s probably healthy that you’re dealing with a little boy drama instead of the relationship chaos imploding over at chez Doyle.”