Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

“Trying some different things, huh?” Jason voice is laced with sarcasm. “Just be careful, okay?”

Be flexible. Be deceptive. I should be flirting or being coy or making it sound like my thing with Micah is serious. But it’s like I’ve been transported back to Denali, to the beginning of summer when Jason dumped me. I feel pissed, so mad that controlling the hurt and anger isn’t even a possibility. Don’t have a hasty temper. No. Screw that. I’ve been restraining my temper all summer. There’s nothing hasty about this. “Your concern is touching, but how careful I am isn’t really your business, is it?”

“Am I not allowed to be worried about you?” he asks. “Didn’t that kid get arrested last year?”

“Didn’t you get arrested two years ago?”

“Yeah, but the charges were dropped.” I can practically hear Jason rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so I shouldn’t hang out with him because he doesn’t have a rich mom who paid to get him off the hook?”

Silence. Touched a nerve.

“Sorry,” Jason says finally. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I pound a fist into my pillow. “Then you shouldn’t have hurt me.” Seriously. Where does Jay get off thinking he can kick me to the curb and then pass judgment about the next guy I date?

Fake-date. Whatever.

“I know. I was an asshole. I’m not going to make excuses. I’m sorry. I hope you forgive me eventually.”

“Why do you even care if I forgive you, being that I’m just your sister’s friend?”

“Bad choice of words, huh? I figured it would be more awkward for you if I told her you were my ex-girlfriend.” Jason exhales deeply. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I get it if you hate me.” He pauses. “But I miss you.”

I flop down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. “You miss me? What does that even mean, Jay?”

“It means I want to see you. My soccer team is down a girl this weekend. Come fill in for us.”

Now he wants me to be on his team? A few weeks ago, I was looking forward to a whole summer of soccer and fun and hanging out as a couple, but he didn’t want me around. And the moment I finally think I’m starting to get over him, he invites me to come play? Tears push against my eyelids. “I’ll think about it,” I say quickly.

“Saturday. Eleven a.m. Forest Park.”

“Maybe. I might have to work.” I don’t, but he doesn’t know that. Maybe I’ll pick up an extra shift. There’s a first time for everything.

“You’ll be there,” Jason says, his voice suddenly brightening. “I know you can’t resist a soccer game.”

“Maybe,” I repeat. “Bye.” I hang up the phone and toss it onto the other side of my bed. It takes me a few minutes to process what just happened. Jason called. He definitely seemed jealous, even if he pretended it was all about being protective. And then he totally hit me in my weak spot. Even though I’m mad at him, I’m dying to play soccer. Suddenly I feel like I’m at the bottom of the mountain again.

Of course, I could skip the game, but I’m not supposed to prolong this battle. I’m supposed to be seizing opportunities as they arise. “‘If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in,’” I mutter.

I flounce down at my desk, log on to the internet, and find the webpage for the Forest Park coed league. Jay’s team—the Red Flyers—has three wins and three losses. I scan the roster. I recognize a few names from the Hazelton boys team and one girl who plays varsity. The other girls listed are strangers, but none of them are Alexandra.

Jason plays forward with Dan Spencer and Jaime Martinez, who is probably more effective in the backfield. The Red Flyers could definitely use another strong player on the front line. I’m going to go. I log off the web and close my laptop. Resting my head on my arms, I try to make sense of everything—of why Jay called, why I was more hurt and angry than ecstatic, why I really want to play soccer with him this weekend. Across my room, I catch sight of my jewelry box perched on the top shelf of my dresser.

I go to it and undo the tiny golden clasp. The soccer ball pendant sits on a bed of red velvet. I pick it up, my fingers tightening around the cold chain. Closing my eyes, I relive that entire night—the party, the way Jason sneaked me into his bedroom, the way he touched me so gently. The way how when I started to get anxious about losing my virginity, he made some stupid joke about how sex was like us running a tricky formation together. We both laughed at that and then everything seemed like less of a big deal.

“What happened?” I whisper, my fingers still wrapped about the chain.

And then my phone rings again. It’s Kendall.

I drop the necklace back onto the velvet. “Hey,” I say, swallowing back a rush of emotion. “Aren’t you up way past your official TV-star curfew?”

She ignores my question. “My brother said you replaced him with a whack job.” Each word is a cube of ice clinking into a glass. “Were you going to mention that to me at any particular point in time?”

And here we go. “Micah’s not a whack job,” I say. “And he’s not a replacement.”

“I see.” Kendall is quiet for a moment. “Because, and I’m quoting, Jason said you were slow dancing with some loser with a mohawk. He said you two were all over each other.”

“We were not all over each other,” I insist. “And who cares if I hang out with a guy who has a mohawk. It’s just a style.”

“More like a lack of style.”

I don’t answer for a second. It’s the exact same thing I said about Ebony’s baldness a few weeks ago. I’m wondering whether I got the phrase from Kendall or she got it from me. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m the copycat.

“Whatever, Kendall,” I say. “We’re just friends, okay?”

“What about the non-mohawked guy posting pictures of you two on the internet? Also just friends?”

She must be talking about the picture Leo took the night of the play. But how did she see it? I’m pretty sure she’s not allowed to get online until after the taping of So You Think You Can Model finishes up.

“Yeah. A guy I work with.”

“Lainey, you’re not going Slutsville on me, are you? I get it if Jason bailing on you made you crazy, but promise me you won’t get knocked up by some loser, okay?”

This is actually as close to worrying about someone as Kendall gets. She’s gone a whole three minutes without mentioning herself. I can even sense an undercurrent of concern beneath her crass words.

“I promise,” I say.

“Good, because there is no way the student body is going to elect me president if my VP is preggo.”

So much for concerned. I should have known. Only Kendall could make my breakup more about her than me. She has all these senior-year plans for us. Cocaptains of the soccer team. President and VP of the student government. It all sounds like a lot of work, but she likes to be in charge of things, on and off the field. I know she’s learning it all from her mom, but Kendall’s utter self-centeredness is really starting to get on my nerves.

“Well, I’m not planning on getting knocked up,” I say tersely. “But you could always ask someone else to be your VP if you’re so worried.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Actually, I might. “Did you find out what the story is with Jason and his EMT friend? Alexandra?” It’s a bit of a struggle to say her name.

“He didn’t really say much about her, except that it’s nothing serious.” She pauses. “He totally wants you back, Lainey.”

“He said that?”

“More or less. He’s just afraid you’re going to blow him off for Mohawk Boy so he’s using soccer to get close to you.”

It is a total Jason move to try and fix everything with soccer. “We’ll see how Saturday goes,” I say warily.

“What should I tell him in the meantime?” Kendall asks.

According to Sun Tzu, the best spies are the ones located inside the enemy camp. “Tell Jason I’m really into this new guy. That he makes me realize Jay was all wrong for me. Tell him I refused to give you the dirt on how serious things are between us.”

“Ick.” She makes a gagging sound. “You’re asking me to lie to my brother?”

“Is lying a problem for you these days?” I ask. “If Jason thinks I’m really getting over him, it’ll push him to make a bold move, or at least decide for sure what he wants.”

“Good point,” Kendall says. “You’ll have him back in no time. There’s nothing more intoxicating to Jason than a girl who doesn’t want him.”

The next day at work, I end up right behind Micah at the time clock. I fill him in on the conversations with Jason and Kendall.

“Sounds like last night worked out better than you thought,” he says. “I’ve got to work at the Humane Society on Saturday morning, but afterward I can be a proper fake boyfriend and come watch you play.” The time clock beeps and he slides out of the way for me.

“Perfect. What about Amber?” I ask, punching in my ID number.

“Definitely not going to come watch you play.” Micah tucks his hands in the pockets of his baggy cook pants and waits for me.

“Ha-ha. How’d it go after I left?”

“Okay, I think.” We head toward the back together. “We texted for an hour. She wants to meet up someplace soon to talk.”

I leave Micah among the cutting boards and condiments and toss my purse in my locker. As I’m heading back to the front, I pause and watch him wipe down the salad station.