The Chapel Wars by Lindsey Leavitt Page B

like that sometimes, but that’s only because we work in a wedding chapel, you know?”
    I ducked my head. This is how I wanted her to react, because you shouldn’t plan a wedding before a graduation party. But Sam had been so assured at Bridal Spectacular, like there was no question that they’d get married someday. I did not want thatkid to get his heart broken by a girl who spoke in circles. “We don’t talk about that.”
    “Good.” She patted my shoulder. “Besides, you and Dax are forever away from that. You’ve had a kiss and an accidental date. Let’s get you into more solid territory before you start strategizing.”
    “But that’s what I do, Camille. I strategize. It’s like an online dating site is constantly running in my head. I have rules and boundaries and I like to have an idea what the ultimate outcome is going to be.”
    “Not every relationship is an equation,” she said.
    No. But adding some logic to the mix didn’t hurt. If my parents had done the math, maybe they would be together still. Or maybe they wouldn’t have been together at all. They always told us this story of a whirlwind romance during a college spring break trip. I couldn’t picture them in college, or at spring break, but there the story is. Dad’s friends heckled him into some nineties MTV dating contest, which he lost, but when he was walking off the stage, he bumped into my mom, who had just broken up with Lenore’s dad and was in Mexico alone to find herself. And then they went out to eat and got food poisoning and stayed sick together and fell in love and Mom moved to Vegas for Dad. They would end the story with “And two kids later, here we are.”
    And that’s where my family was, for quite a while, with parents who didn’t fight, still told how-we-met stories, and finished each other’s sentences. Which is why the divorce was so completely unexpected for James and me. Not like Porter’s parents,who’d been fighting forever, house-shaking arguments that made divorce such an inevitability that Sam actually threw him a party when Porter’s dad moved out.
    When my mom picked me up from school one day and casually said she had something to talk about, I thought some greatuncle had died or that my room was too dirty. No. The only explanation I got was, “Your dad and I totally respect each other and love you kids, but we feel like staying married isn’t the best for either of us, so we’re getting a divorce.” She’d glanced in the rearview mirror right then, like she was checking if I had on my seat belt. Safe? Good. Emotionally sound? Swell.
    I was so shocked in that moment, dumbfounded really, that I’d only asked if she was sure. “We’ve already signed papers,” Mom had said, which was a double blow. This wasn’t a night-before decision. This had been in the works for months, while meanwhile we’re having family dinners and going to James’s piano recitals like everything was ordinary and fine.
    James reacted very differently from me, and maybe that’s why I never pried more into the matter. They had his outbursts to deal with, and Lenore’s … Lenoreness. All I did was count—the holidays since the divorce (three), the weekends I’d slept at my dad’s (eight), and the days it took for Dad to move out (five). And still I was haunted by one question.
    Why?
    “Holly?” Camille touched my arm, bringing me back. “I know you’re new to girl talk, but you’re supposed to respond when I say something.”
    “What if this ends badly?”
    Camille shrugged. “A lot of things end badly. But that doesn’t mean you don’t start something anyway.”
    “That was profound,” I said.
    Camille tapped her head. “It happens, every once in a while.”
    Someone burped so loudly we heard it from the other room.
    “So I’m going to go out with him and not tell my parents,” I said.
    “Right. And go into the date with an open mind. Be emotional. Be passionate. Think about … what did you first