mouthed to me, “He’s cute! Do him !”
I almost choked. Luckily, Annie had had enough with the torture. She whirled away, tulle spinning, disappearing quickly into the crowd.
“So. Mrs. Thompson tells me I’m supposed to paint faces. Which is good because I rock at art,” Lincoln said, using his tongue to dislodge some chocolate wedged between his teeth and his cheek.
“Really?” Faith said.
“No.” He looked me up and down. “You don’t look busy. Wanna give me a goatee and a scar? Make me look authentic?”
I swallowed the massive mound of melting chocolate and licked my lips. I felt hot from head to toe, and was glad to have something to distract me from thoughts of Lincoln’s butt. Was Annie right about its thumbs-up-worthiness?
“Sure,” I replied, gesturing to the chair at the end of the table. “Have a seat.”
Lincoln complied, dropping the wax-paper bag on the table and dusting some white sprinkles from his fingers. I picked up a black crayon and hesitated, looking him in the eye.
Okay. No more butt-thoughts, but now I was looking right into his eyes. His intensely green, smiling eyes. And suddenly I realized there was no way to do this without touching hisface. I’d been doing it all day. Holding the person’s chin, tilting the cheek, tilting it back again. Was I going to touch Lincoln Carter’s face right now? My pulse began to thrum in my ears. I could feel that I was blushing and I felt the sudden need to track down Annie and kick her in the shin.
“Just be gentle,” he said seriously.
I laughed nervously and rolled my eyes. “I promise.”
As I leaned in to start his goatee, Faith eyed me curiously. I hoped she wasn’t putting two and two together—that she wasn’t thinking I was considering Annie’s suggestion. Because I wasn’t. Not anymore. Lincoln just had a flirtatious personality. That was it.
Besides. I hadn’t thought about Jake and Chloe in two whole minutes. That had to be some kind of record.
jake
I was sitting at the huge table in the Applebys’ dining room, staring at this champagne pear salad thing that Mrs. Appleby could not shut up about, when Chloe’s fork suddenly clattered against her china plate.
“Mom, Dad, there’s something I have to tell you.”
My legs stopped bouncing under the table. “What, now ?”
We had decided to wait until after dinner. The plan had been hashed and rehashed fourteen thousand times. She couldn’t just ditch the plan. Chloe gave me an apologetic look and shrugged. I glanced at her father, who was slowly finishing his last bite, and my life flashed before my eyes, right down to my goldfish, Beckham, who’d died in the third grade. But I guess I saw her point. Sitting here knowing what was coming wastorture. Might as well get it over with. I pushed my chair back a little bit, in case I had to run.
“What is it, sweetie?” Chloe’s mother asked.
She looked pale under her helmet of blond hair, and her hand fluttered up to fiddle with her pearls. For a split second I wondered if she already knew somehow. Woman’s intuition or whatever.
“What’s going on?” my mother asked, smiling at me. Like she was expecting good news. What that could be, I had no idea. Maybe she thought Chloe and I were going to tell them we were a couple, which was what my mom had wanted all summer. Suddenly I felt sorry for her.
Chloe laid her cloth napkin down flat on the table and pushed back too. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was—that we should have planned a strategic escape route. She’d told me she was going to be blunt, but what did that mean, exactly? I held my breath and prayed like I’d never prayed before.
“I’m pregnant,” she said flatly. “Jake and I are …” She paused and shot me this pained look. Almost like she was apolo-gizing. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Yep. That was blunt.
“What?”
That would be the four of them. At the same time. At roughly the same glass-cracking pitch.
I almost choked. Luckily, Annie had had enough with the torture. She whirled away, tulle spinning, disappearing quickly into the crowd.
“So. Mrs. Thompson tells me I’m supposed to paint faces. Which is good because I rock at art,” Lincoln said, using his tongue to dislodge some chocolate wedged between his teeth and his cheek.
“Really?” Faith said.
“No.” He looked me up and down. “You don’t look busy. Wanna give me a goatee and a scar? Make me look authentic?”
I swallowed the massive mound of melting chocolate and licked my lips. I felt hot from head to toe, and was glad to have something to distract me from thoughts of Lincoln’s butt. Was Annie right about its thumbs-up-worthiness?
“Sure,” I replied, gesturing to the chair at the end of the table. “Have a seat.”
Lincoln complied, dropping the wax-paper bag on the table and dusting some white sprinkles from his fingers. I picked up a black crayon and hesitated, looking him in the eye.
Okay. No more butt-thoughts, but now I was looking right into his eyes. His intensely green, smiling eyes. And suddenly I realized there was no way to do this without touching hisface. I’d been doing it all day. Holding the person’s chin, tilting the cheek, tilting it back again. Was I going to touch Lincoln Carter’s face right now? My pulse began to thrum in my ears. I could feel that I was blushing and I felt the sudden need to track down Annie and kick her in the shin.
“Just be gentle,” he said seriously.
I laughed nervously and rolled my eyes. “I promise.”
As I leaned in to start his goatee, Faith eyed me curiously. I hoped she wasn’t putting two and two together—that she wasn’t thinking I was considering Annie’s suggestion. Because I wasn’t. Not anymore. Lincoln just had a flirtatious personality. That was it.
Besides. I hadn’t thought about Jake and Chloe in two whole minutes. That had to be some kind of record.
jake
I was sitting at the huge table in the Applebys’ dining room, staring at this champagne pear salad thing that Mrs. Appleby could not shut up about, when Chloe’s fork suddenly clattered against her china plate.
“Mom, Dad, there’s something I have to tell you.”
My legs stopped bouncing under the table. “What, now ?”
We had decided to wait until after dinner. The plan had been hashed and rehashed fourteen thousand times. She couldn’t just ditch the plan. Chloe gave me an apologetic look and shrugged. I glanced at her father, who was slowly finishing his last bite, and my life flashed before my eyes, right down to my goldfish, Beckham, who’d died in the third grade. But I guess I saw her point. Sitting here knowing what was coming wastorture. Might as well get it over with. I pushed my chair back a little bit, in case I had to run.
“What is it, sweetie?” Chloe’s mother asked.
She looked pale under her helmet of blond hair, and her hand fluttered up to fiddle with her pearls. For a split second I wondered if she already knew somehow. Woman’s intuition or whatever.
“What’s going on?” my mother asked, smiling at me. Like she was expecting good news. What that could be, I had no idea. Maybe she thought Chloe and I were going to tell them we were a couple, which was what my mom had wanted all summer. Suddenly I felt sorry for her.
Chloe laid her cloth napkin down flat on the table and pushed back too. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was—that we should have planned a strategic escape route. She’d told me she was going to be blunt, but what did that mean, exactly? I held my breath and prayed like I’d never prayed before.
“I’m pregnant,” she said flatly. “Jake and I are …” She paused and shot me this pained look. Almost like she was apolo-gizing. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Yep. That was blunt.
“What?”
That would be the four of them. At the same time. At roughly the same glass-cracking pitch.
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