his arm. Colleen hoped he liked the smell of Eternity perfume, because Tanya practically bathed in it.
She wanted very much to turn around and see the gypsy boy. Also, she should probably stop referring to him as pirate or gypsy. Even mentally.
She didn’t turn. She was too smart for that, as Dad pointed out.
She didn’t feel so smart now.
For the next thirty-one minutes, she tried to concentrate on Hamlet. Never before had she been quite so interested in the words coming out of Mrs. Wheaton’s mouth. Not that she could actually understand them, mind you, but Colleen assiduously took notes, keeping her handwriting tidy, mentally repeating phrases like “preoccupation with death,” “theme of decomposition.” And in the meantime, her entire body pulsed with hot, almost painful throbs and a vague sense of danger, the same as last summer, when they’d gone swimming on Cape Cod the day after a shark attack. Just because you couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Waiting.
“Come on, idiot,” her brother said, nudging her head with his backpack. “Physics lab. Snap out of it.”
Ah. Class had ended, then. Lucas and Bryce were talking to Mrs. Wheaton. Colleen stood up and gave her brother a look. “I was taking notes. Thank me later when I save you from flunking the test.”
“I don’t need notes,” Connor said, going on ahead.
She carefully didn’t look at Lucas...well, not directly. Wouldn’t want to give the impression that she couldn’t look at Lucas, so she did the drive-by glance...gaze just skimming the face, looking away the instant before his eyes could meet hers, a faint smile on her face, so very pleasant. “Bye, Mrs. Wheaton,” she said. “Bye, boys.” Because Colleen O’Rourke wasn’t bothered by the male species. She was too smart for that.
For the next three weeks, Colleen managed not to speak to Lucas Campbell. Bryce, she found, was as friendly as Smiley, the Holland family’s Golden retriever, and about as smart. Bryce was quite beautiful and fun to look at, and she found herself flirting with him harmlessly, same as she did with all the other boys. He could volley it back pretty well, though most of her jokes went over his head. Still, he had long eyelashes and beautiful blue eyes and always seemed happy.
His cousin...well, Colleen didn’t know what he was like. She gave him the occasional drive-by, not wanting to ignore him outright because of what that might reveal.
Tanya Cross who was as determined as she was irritating, asked Bryce to the prom. Bryce then sealed Tanya’s bitchery by asking Colleen if she’d go with him, and could she give an answer because “that Tanya chick wants to go with me.”
“Sorry, pal,” she said, patting him on the arm like a fond auntie. “It’s not really my thing. You go with Tanya. She’s sweet.” Which Tanya wasn’t, but it wouldn’t be nice to say so...plus, it would irritate Tanya all the more to know that Colleen had been totally classy.
Had Lucas asked her to go, her answer might’ve been a lot different.
He didn’t.
Lucas wasn’t going and had turned down four girls before it had been ascertained that no, he wasn’t waiting for someone else to ask him; he just wasn’t going. This, of course, was widely and voraciously analyzed every time two or more girls gathered in a classroom, hall, cafeteria, gym, bakery, school bus or mall and via phone, text, email, sign language and smoke signals.
Oh, the delicious and frustrating mystery of it! No one knew why Lucas lived with Bryce. Their fathers were brothers, and Bryce said only that “it worked out best.” Bryce’s mother worked for an insurance company that had a branch in Corning, a half hour away; hence the senior-year move from Illinois.
Bryce’s dad was the one who showed up at Bryce’s soccer games, sitting with his nephew, talking easily. The fondness between them was reassuring to Colleen. Lucas Campbell was no Heathcliff (thank heavens, because she knew how irresistible those types were).
Still, Lucas had a tinge of tragedy about him: his own mother dead; details of the father unknown, though speculated upon greatly—mafioso, movie star, eccentric billionaire, prison, gay, defrocked priest. Coll pretended not to listen but ate up every word.
The week before prom was consumed with talk of dresses, hairstyles, shoes and how to stop a guy from going too far. Despite her own utter lack of experience, Colleen was asked for advice and doled it out, sounding quite expert to her own ears—tell him beforehand how far you’re comfortable going, or just say, “that’s far enough,” no, don’t french on the dance floor, it’s so tacky, and whatever you do, don’t have unprotected sex.
On prom night, she took pictures of Connor, helped Sherry pin on his corsage because Sherry had it bad for Con and couldn’t quite manage it as her hands were shaking. Colleen wished them a merry prom and waved with her parents as the limo pulled away, filled with the other four couples as well as Con and Sherry. “Kids today. They grow so fast,” she sighed happily. “What are we doing tonight, parents?”
“I thought we’d watch movies,” Mom said hopefully. “I made Rice Krispies treats.”
“Oh, hooray,” Colleen said. “Dad? You in?”
“I have to go to check on some properties,” he said a bit tersely.
“Okay. I’ll come and help,” Colleen offered, a twinge of guilt at instantly changing plans. “We can watch movies a little later, Mom.”
“Sure!” Mom said with forced good cheer. “I’ll tag along, too.” She frowned, her sweet face soft.
“No. I’ll go alone. You girls stay here,” he said in that voice he used when he was irritated.
“Roger that,” Colleen said, keeping her voice light. Experience had shown that when Dad was in a bad mood, there was no point in arguing.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll go with you, and we can all get some dinner afterward, and it’ll be really fun?” Mom suggested, her voice ending in a question mark. Colleen wished she wouldn’t be like that.
“I said, I’ll go alone. Okay? I have some business to take care of.”
“Sure!” Mom said, and Colleen had to stifle an eye roll. She loved her mom, of course, but...well. “Of course, Pete! We’ll keep the home fires warm.”
Dad forced a smile, then kissed Colleen’s cheek. “I’m sure the other girls are glad you’re not going tonight, honey. All their dates would be after you.”
“Hmm,” Colleen said. It was a slightly insulting insinuation—she’d never steal someone else’s guy, and she liked to think that most other girls quite adored her—but she knew Dad meant it as a compliment.
And so she and Mom ate the sticky treats and admired Matthew McConaughey’s abs, Mom sitting with the house phone and her cell on the arm of her chair, just in case Dad changed his mind.
He didn’t, but around eleven, the phone rang. It was Faith, urging her to come to the after party at her boyfriend’s lovely house.
“Okay if I go up to the Lyons’, Ma?” she asked her dozing mother.
“Oh, sure,” Mom said. “Did your father call?”
“Nope.
