This Is Me From Now On (13 page)

So I just said, “Great. Tell me as soon as you get it, okay?”

“Oh, of course I will,” she said, laughing. “We're partners, aren't we?”

We started walking to school, hurrying past the Scavullos' automatic sprinklers, which were thwipping around crazily, even though it had just poured all night long. And my stomach was thwipping around almost as fast, because for once I had no idea what to expect at school, and that scared me.

So to keep my mind off Theo and Espee, and all my jitters about the love letter, I did diary-math: Today was Tuesday. Say Uncle Teddy didn't actually find the diary until Wednesday, and overnighted it right away, as he'd promised. That would mean we'd have the diary on Thursday, with four days to read it and write up our report. It wasn't how I usually planned my big assignments, but it was probably doable. In the meantime I'd keep reading Espee's books, and this afternoon I'd start researching the San Francisco Earthquake online. Judging by Francesca's note-taking
skills, there was no point making her help me with any of this. But as long as the diary was finally on its way, she'd have plenty of Angelica-analysis to do once it arrived.

As soon as we got to school, I spotted Nisha and Lily on the grass. Nisha was laughing with Kayla and Gaby, and Lily was talking quietly to Can You Please Pass the Syrup.

“Go ahead,” Francesca said cheerfully. “They're your best friends; you should hang out with them, Evie.”

“Actually,” I said. “Things are a little weird right now.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Things just … got weird.”

“That's bloody ridiculous! Friendships don't all of a sudden
just get weird.
” She slipped off one of her stilettos and examined the heel.

I winced. “Um, Francesca? Can you please keep it down?”

“Eeek. Sorrysorrysorry.”

She put her shoe back on and followed me over to the big maple tree where Nisha and I'd had our fight. The ground around the tree was muddy from all the rain, and I could see her skinny heels sinking into the mush.

“Things were weird this summer,” I told her. “I think we all just needed a break. And now they're sort of mad about my friendship with you.”

“But why would they be?” Francesca protested. “I'm not trying to pull you away from anybody!”

“I know. It's not your fault. It's more like everything I say to them is just wrong lately.”

She wiped her muddy heels with a dried-up maple leaf. “Well, maybe I can fix things. What if
I
talked to them about it?”

“NO.” I said it so loudly that Nisha turned around and stared at us. Then she said something to Lily, who turned around too. “I mean, really, Francesca, we have a majillion other things to worry about right now.”

“Like what? I told you, we're getting the diary.”

“I'm not talking about the
diary.
”

She looked stumped. “Oh, you mean Espee's love letter? That's a
fabulous
thing; it's not something to
worry
about!”

“Shh!”

“Okay! But come on, Evie, aren't you excited? Or even a teeny bit curious about how he'll react?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted. “But to be honest, I'm mostly freaking out.”

“Well,
don't
freak out! The problem with you—” Then Francesca gasped. “Look, look, stop talking, there she is!”

Espee was speed-walking across the grass, her hair
swinging back and forth across the shoulders of her pale gray blouse. And she had on those shapeless black pants again. It was mean and unfair to say she looked like Miss Gulch; but why, I wondered, did she always have to dress like Kansas before the tornado? Why couldn't she wear some
colors,
for a change? Why couldn't she go to Oz?

Suddenly she froze, as if she heard a sound coming from the parking lot. Then we heard it too.

“Stephie! Stephie!” a man was shouting. We spun around to see who was running toward her, waving his arms like he was trying to prevent an accident. “Steph! Stephanie! Wait!”

“Francesca,” I said through my teeth. “Omigod.”

She beamed. “Isn't it fantastic? Isn't it perfect? I
knew
we did the right thing! Didn't we, Evie?”

I nodded, and then I started giggling like crazy.

Because it was Theo.

It wasn't as if Francesca and I ever agreed,
Okay, so now the next thing is, we spy on Theo and Espee.
But I guess it just seemed to both of us like the obvious thing to do. I mean, they were like characters in a book we were writing—maybe not
Wuthering Heights
, but something romantic and passionate and not-for-little-kids. So of course we were fascinated; of course we had to know exactly what happened next. We followed them into the building and pretended to read the posters for after-school clubs while the two of them huddled in front of the faculty mailroom and talked in hushed, private voices.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. “Can you hear anything?” I whispered to Francesca.

“No,” she whispered back. “But I'm lip-reading. Trying to. Ooh, the Sewing Club, that looks like fun,” she announced in a loud, enthusiastic voice as Theo suddenly left Espee and walked past us into the main office.

I waited until he was safely inside. “What were they saying?”

Francesca shrugged. “I think she said
love.
Although it could have been
lunge.
”

“Lunge? Why would she possibly—”

“No,
lunch
! They're meeting for—” Francesca pinched my elbow, because there was Theo again, coming out of the office. “On the other hand, the Bowling Club—oh, good morning, Mr. Rafferty. How was your weekend?”

He smiled. He'd gotten a tan, so his teeth looked especially white. And even whiter against his soul patch. “Very nice, thanks. And yours?”

“Highly productive.”

I almost died.

Mr. Rafferty waved down the hall at a couple of math teachers. “Okay, girls, see you in Art,” he said, and walked off to join them.

“‘Highly productive'?” I whisper-screamed as soon as he couldn't hear. “I can't believe you said that!”

“Well, it was,” she said, laughing. “Wouldn't you agree? Anyway, so we know they're meeting for lunch. What's your guess: his studio or Spush?”

“Spush,” I said automatically. “But we can always check both.”

“Yes, Evie, of course we can,” Francesca said, patting my shoulder like she was saying,
Congratulations
.

The morning was a big, irrelevant blur except for Art. I told Francesca that we shouldn't hang out together in the studio, because if we started whispering or giggling during class, Theo might think we knew something. And even if there wasn't some kind of no-dating-between-teachers rule, I was pretty sure Espee would want to keep their love affair private. Which meant we needed to keep the lowest profile possible—and I didn't trust how we'd react if Espee speed-walked into the studio for a sudden middle-of-the-class rendezvous.

“Genius,” Francesca murmured when I explained all this before Art. “You're right; we can't arouse suspicion. I'll do my project near the windows, you take the door.”

So I took my own project—a papier-mâché ice cream
sundae—and brought it over to a work station as far from Francesca as I could get. I was just about to start painting little brown specks for chocolate chips when someone tapped my shoulder.

I nearly screamed. But it was only Lily.

“You okay, Evie?” she asked with a soft voice and worried eyes.

“Yeah. Just sort of jumpy.”

She nodded. “It's because you had another fight with Nisha, right? Look, I know you're upset. But so is she.”

“She's not upset, Lily. She's angry. At everything I do these days.”

“Because she thinks you're dumping her. Are you?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay,” Lily murmured. “Then why didn't you come over to us on the grass this morning?”

“Because yesterday Nisha hung up on me! Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah. She felt terrible about it, actually.”

Not terrible enough to call back, though.
“Well, after that, I didn't think she'd want a whole conversation.”

Lily sighed. “Look, Evie, this is getting out of control. I really think if you both just sat down and talked it out—”

“Okay, sure,” I said quickly. “When?”

“How about today at lunch?”

“Great.” Then I realized. “Oh, no. I
can't
today at lunch.”

“Why not?”

“I have to … do something. Isn't there another time?”

Lily blinked. “I'll ask,” she said. She got up and walked back over to Nisha, who gave her a look like,
See? What did I tell you!
And then Lily sat down next to her and started whispering and didn't come back.

So that, apparently, was that. If I couldn't meet Nisha at lunch today, then too bad for me.

I felt stunned, like someone had punched me in the stomach.

Because suddenly it was obvious that my best friends were giving up on me, like no matter what I said, they'd already made up their minds. And the truth was, I really
wanted
to sit down and talk, maybe not about Espee's love life, but about everything else. Except why did this talk have to be
today at lunch, Evie, take it or leave it
? How come Nisha always got to do all the organizing? It was hard to decide which was more unfair: the fact that they'd decided against me, or the fact that they were making all the rules, scheduling a talk with basically zero input from me.

I spent the rest of class jabbing brown paint on my sundae and listening to people gossiping about Kayla: how she broke it off with Zane, how upset she was, how mean he was, how she swears she's never dating anyone until college. Every once in a while I peeked over at Nisha and Lily, but mostly I tried to keep my eyes on Theo, who seemed strangely relaxed, wandering around the studio, helping people with their projects. Acting like,
Private life? What private life? I'm just a normal teacher doing my normal job.

As soon as the bell rang, Francesca ran up to my side. “No visit from Espee,” she murmured. “Guess she's waiting for lunch.”

“Lunge,” I corrected her, and she exploded in laughter. Then I shushed her right away because I realized Nisha was staring at us with a funny look on her face. And even though I was still upset about the lunch-or-never invitation, I didn't want things with Nisha to get any weirder.

Lunch was right after Music. The second the bell rang, Francesca and I ran to the cafeteria to grab two bags of Sun Chips, then sneaked back upstairs to Spush. Espee's door was closed, but there was light coming from underneath, and we could hear the random faraway sounds of that New Agey music she liked so much.

Maybe three minutes passed. Some kids walked by and stared at us, and so did the custodian, but we didn't move or talk or pretty much even breathe.

Finally we heard her voice: “Oh yes, but do you understand how strongly I feel?”

“Yee-haw,” Francesca murmured. “It's happening, Evie!”

“Omigod,” I whispered. “But are you sure he's in there? It could be—”

“Shh. Just listen!”

Then all of a sudden I had a terrible thought. I pointed frantically at Francesca's stilettos. “Take them off!” I mouthed.

She frowned. “Why? What's wrong—?”

“Noisy,” I mouthed. I mimed running for dear life.

Francesca slapped her forehead, slipped off her shoes, and tucked them under one arm. “Eek,” she whispered, smiling apologetically.

We waited again, my heart nearly bursting though the pumpkin sweater.

All of a sudden there were sounds near the door.

“I'm with you completely,” said Theo's voice. “But don't you think maybe we should take a deep breath here?”

“No,” Espee replied. “I'm sorry, Theo, but it's too late for that.”

Francesca grinned ecstatically and gave me two giant thumbs-up.

Then we heard a shuffling sound. Shuffling like maybe feet.

I yanked Francesca's arm. “THEY'RE COMING,” I mouthed. “LET'S
GO.
”

We raced down the hallway, Francesca sliding in her kneesocks.

On Wednesday morning I bolted out of bed, took three bites of bagel, kissed Mom's cheek (“Evie?” she said suspiciously. “Everything okay?”), then raced across the yard to Samantha's house. All I could focus on was Theo and Espee; I didn't want to think about anything else.

Francesca was standing on the front steps in her zebra jacket. But she didn't grin or wave or even seem happy to see me. She just immediately handed me a big pink envelope. “Open it,” she muttered.

So I did. It was a card with a picture of a smiling family sitting in front of a big blazing fireplace, all cuddled up with
their dog and their cat. Over their heads was a quilt that read:
A FAMILY IS FOREVER
.

“Doesn't that just make you absolutely retch?” Francesca demanded. “Oh, wait, it gets worse. Read it.”

Inside was a note in perfect mom-handwriting:

At the bottom of the page was another note written in a messy, slanty print:

I gave her back the card. “What's this not-forgetting business?” I asked, as we started walking to school.