“What’s that?” David asks.
“Job application.” I put it in my purse to fill out at home—?I don’t have my social security number with me, and she said there was no rush.
“You looking for work?”
“No, I just have a job application collection. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t respond, just studies me uncertainly, like something doesn’t make sense to him.
Eleven
IVY CALLS AN END to the date about five minutes later. She gets up abruptly—?Ethan’s in midsentence, still talking about the X-Men franchise—?walks over to our table, and says, “I’m done.”
“You sure you don’t want to hang out a little longer?” I ask.
“No, I’m done.”
“Okay, then . . .” I stand up. “It’s been real,” I tell David flatly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Later.”
Ethan has leapt to his feet and joined us. “I’ll walk you guys to your car,” he says.
“That’s really nice, but you don’t have to,” I say. “We’re parked a couple of blocks away.”
“My brother said I should.”
“Yes, I did.” David gets up, jamming his phone in his pocket. “Come on. Let’s accompany these two lovely ladies to their car.”
I catch a whiff of sarcasm, but the other two are oblivious to it. Ethan resumes his X-Men discourse, but the rest of us are silent, and the walk feels endless. We come to a halt at our Subaru hatchback.
“This is yours?” David says, like he’s surprised.
“My mom’s.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Nonexistent?”
“Seriously? I pictured you always cruising around in some hot girl car like a Porsche or something.”
“A ‘hot girl car’? What does that even mean? That the girl is hot or the car is?”
He flushes. “I don’t know why I used that word. I never do.”
“Hot or girl?” I ask sweetly.
“Come on,” he says to Ethan. “We have to get home.”
“Wait.” Ethan turns to Ivy and holds out his hand. “I’ve had a very nice time,” he says politely.
Ivy stares at his hand.
“Shake it!” I hiss.
“I know!” she says, annoyed, and puts her hand in his.
He bends forward and kisses her quickly and lightly on the cheek, then rocks back on his heels, glancing over at his brother.
David nods his approval. “Well done. You ready to go?”
“First you have to say goodbye to Ivy’s sister.”
“Right.” David holds his hand out. “Goodbye, Chloe.”
I pump his hand, as aware of our audience as he is. “Goodbye, David. It was nice to see you.”
“Let’s do this again sometime,” he says gravely.
“Yes, let’s.”
We release each other’s hands and step back. Ethan studies us for a moment, his grayish eyes flickering back and forth quickly between our two faces.
If I had to make a guess, I’d say he’s waiting for David to kiss me on the cheek.
That’s not going to happen.
“Well?” I ask Ivy once we’re safely in the car.
“What?”
“Did you have fun?”
“It was okay.”
“Ethan seems really nice.”
“I guess.”
“It’s funny that I know his brother from school.”
“Are you guys friends?”
“Not really.” The goal is to get Ivy to like Ethan, so that’s all I say. “But we do have a class together.”
“That’s like me and Ethan—?we’re in the same class, but we’re not friends.”
“Even after today? You don’t think you’re friends now?”
“Maybe. We went out for frozen yogurt, and that’s what you and Sarah do, and she’s your best friend.”
“Yeah.” I dart a sideways glance at her as I brake for a light. “It’s also what James and I do, and he’s my boyfriend.”
She doesn’t respond to that, just slumps in her seat and chews her lip for a while.
Back home, I shower and get dressed to go out.
“What do you think?” I ask Ivy, twirling around for her in our bedroom to show off my circle skirt and short, tight sweater. “Will James like this?”
“You look great.” She always says I look great—?I accidentally trained her to give meaningless compliments. A few years ago, Mom put on a dress for a friend’s fiftieth birthday party, and Ivy said, “You look like you’re pregnant, but you’re not pregnant, right?” Mom tore the dress off and said she was just going to stay home. I lectured Ivy for a while about how it’s important to make people feel good about themselves, and now when Mom and I get dressed up, she always says we look great.
I’m able to slip out of the house without running into Ron. I don’t want to go through the whole “James needs to come inside” thing with him again.
In the car, I tell James about how Ethan turned out to be David’s brother.
“Well, that sucks,” James says. His car purrs under his skillful handling. I like watching his hand work the shift—?it’s kind of sexy, but I’m not going to overthink the metaphor. “Guess you’ll have to keep looking.”
“Nah. Ethan’s totally sweet.”
“How is that possible if he’s that douchebag’s brother?”
“Siblings can be really different. Look at me and Ivy.”
“Yeah, but you guys are different because she’s messed up.”
My face feels suddenly hot. “She’s not messed up.”
“Sorry.” He takes his hand off the stick shift so he can pat my leg briefly. “You know what I mean.”
For a moment, I think about being sullen and saying that no, I don’t know what he means, that calling my sister “messed up” is really lousy.
But I don’t want to be that girl, the one who takes everything too seriously and has weird reactions to things. I’ve never wanted to be that girl. I want to be the cool, fun—?and, yes, hot girl—?who doesn’t think too deeply about anything at all, at least not when she’s with her adorable boyfriend.
So I just change the subject, ask him to tell me about the game he played that morning, and when he says, “We won!” I tell him he’s awesome and that I wish I’d been there to cheer him on.