How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend Read online

  “And?” I didn’t say Wilson’s name then, but I thought it.

  “And I thought you should know you were right. I guess I never put my finger on it to begin with, but that’s what I first liked about you. You weren’t that way. You were always nice to everybody.”

  “Oh.” Instead of making me feel better, his words stung. Did he still think this about me, even after what I’d done to Wilson? I didn’t want to ask, and yet I had to say something. “About Wilson . . .” I didn’t know how to say the rest of it, so the sentence drifted off.

  He looked away from me, out across the darkness of the parking lot. “You were still wrong about Wilson. I mean, he invited you to sit with us tonight even though you’re campaigning for his opponent. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Did this mean I was wrong about Jesse saying something on Wilson’s behalf that made Dante decide to quit the campaign? Jesse wouldn’t stand here defending Wilson if he knew Wilson was forcing Dante to quit, would he?

  But there had been something—I was sure Dante wouldn’t flake out about this. Not now. The whole thing twirled around in my mind, unraveling into a jumble.

  We came to Jesse’s bike, but neither of us climbed on. I held onto Jesse’s hand, but more loosely now. “After you left our house today, Dante said he didn’t want to be president anymore.”

  “Did he?” Jesse voice was low and smooth, without any hint of surprise. It was as good as an admission of guilt.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “We talked about our bikes.”

  “Okay, I didn’t believe that explanation when Dante gave it to me, and he’s a better liar than you are.”

  Jesse reached out and slowly ran his finger across the length of my cheek. “You know, sometimes you’ve got to trust the people you love. You’ve got to trust that if they’re good people, they’ll make good decisions.”

  I didn’t understand exactly what Jesse meant, but this might have been because he was standing so close. He still had his hand on my face, and now he leaned down, looking at my lips. “Do you trust me, Giovanna?”

  I couldn’t breathe. My heart doubled its pace. I didn’t answer. He leaned even closer until his lips nearly brushed against mine. “Do you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I did trust him at that moment—and the next moment. I trusted him until several minutes later when he released me. Then he ran his hand through his hair and said, “I guess I’d better get you home.”

  That was it? He wasn’t going to offer any explanation?

  “Wait,” I said. “What about Dante? What about all of that stuff you said about trust?”

  He shrugged. “I meant it.” He climbed onto his bike and slipped his helmet in place as though the conversation was over.

  I still didn’t move. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, trust me and trust Dante, and we’ll talk about the rest of it later.”

  “You mean after the election? We’ll talk about it after Dante throws the election?”

  “Right,” he said.

  I climbed onto the back of Jesse’s bike and put on the extra helmet he always carried with him. I wound my arms around his waist to hold on, but my insides went numb. I didn’t feel like trusting him anymore, and I didn’t want Wilson to win the election. As for Dante, I knew very well I’d betrayed him tonight by getting back together with Jesse. I’d betrayed my brother with a kiss.

  I called Daphne when I got home and told her the news: the night had ended with Jesse and me embracing in the parking lot. Then I told her the other news: that I had accidentally stood up Buddy and gone out with a stranger. Stranger in this instance meaning both definitions of the word.

  She said that she’d call Buddy and explain and then told me how happy she was that things had gone well with Jesse. She was probably just happy that she could exit the doomed carnival ride that was my love life, but still, she was happy.

  The next morning Gabby fussed over Dante before we left for school. Did he have his speech? Didn’t he think he should wear a nicer shirt to stand up in front of the student body? How about the one Grandma Petrizzo had given him last Christmas?

  After Dante assured her that he was completely prepared and wouldn’t touch Grandma Petrizzo’s shirt even if it were lined with ten-dollar bills, she stopped bothering him. Still, as we walked out the door, she called after us, “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, Dante. We’re still proud of you for trying your best.”

  I looked at Dante to see if he’d wince because he’d already decided to quit, but he smiled at her and waved good-bye.

  How was it that no matter what he did, Gabby was always on his side? She never took my side, and despite what Dante said, all of the compliments in the world wouldn’t change that.

  I tried to talk to Dante on the way to school, which isn’t the easiest to do on a motorcycle because they are as noisy as lawnmowers, plus your helmet muffles everything you say.

  But at every stop sign I badgered him. “Is Wilson blackmailing you? Is that it?”

  And Dante kept saying, “Would you just drop it?”

  As soon as we got to school, he took off so he could rewrite his speech. Since I didn’t have anything else to do, I stood by Charity’s locker, waiting for her and growing more frustrated at Dante for not telling me what was going on. She finally showed up and set her backpack down on the ground with a thud. “Hi, Giovanna.”

  “I still don’t know what you see in him.”

  She flipped through her combination. “Who?”

  As if she didn’t know. “You’ve got to talk to him. He’s resigning from the race.”

  Her hand stopped on her lock. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He says he doesn’t want to be president anymore, but I think Wilson blackmailed him.”

  She resumed turning her combination, this time more slowly. “What has Dante ever done that someone could blackmail him?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he did something bad once.”

  Charity shook her head and opened her locker door. “If he had, he’d be the first one to announce it. He’s so into that whole rebel image. The only thing he’d hide is season tickets to the symphony or a membership in the Audubon Society.”

  I hugged my books to my chest. “Well, it must have been something. Jesse came over to talk to him, and then suddenly Dante wanted to quit.”

  “Jesse?” Charity arranged books in her locker, putting some from her backpack in and taking others out for class. “Jesse isn’t the type who’d help Wilson blackmail somebody.”

  “Yeah, but Jesse also isn’t the type who’d turn his back on Dante and work for Wilson in the first place, and yet he did. It’s like Wilson has some secret power that’s turned them all into election zombies.”

  Charity didn’t answer, but Raine walked up to the two of us. “Who’s a zombie?”

  “Dante,” Charity said.

  Raine nodded. “I knew there was something wrong with him. Have either of you noticed that he doesn’t finish his sentences anymore—and he always thinks he’s supposed to be somewhere else? Every time I see him, he’s darting off someplace.”

  Charity took out the last of her books and shut her locker. “He decided he didn’t want to be president after all, so he’s quitting.”

  Raine’s mouth actually dropped open. “No sir,” she said.

  “Giovanna thinks I should talk to him, but I don’t know what good that would do. He’s never listened to me in his life.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Raine said, her mouth set in a hard line. “He can’t quit and make everyone who supported him look stupid. I went to his party. I told a roomful of guys I was dating someone from Swain named Thor. I bet that’s why no one from our school has asked me to prom, and now he doesn’t want to be president? I don’t think so. He owes me a better explanation.” She took several steps down the hall. “And he owes me a pr
om date too.”

  Charity and I both watched her go. We looked at each other, and then at Raine’s back tromping down the hallway.

  “Well, that should be an interesting conversation,” I said.

  “If she can find him,” Charity said. “He does a pretty good job of avoiding her.”

  The two of us walked toward our first period classes, weaving in and out of other students. I fingered the books in my hand. “Maybe we should tell her the truth.”

  “No. And don’t you dare tell Dante that I like him. I don’t want him to start speaking to me in half sentences and telling me he has to be somewhere else.”

  We walked a few more steps in silence. “If you never find a way to tell him how you feel, he’ll never know.”

  “That is the point,” she said.

  “Maybe he secretly likes you back.”

  “It’s not meant to be. And when something isn’t meant to be, you leave it alone.”

  Which didn’t seem like an answer to me. I mean, how could she just decide it wasn’t meant to be? I didn’t press the issue, though, because I’d learned an important lesson from Daphne. Matchmaking is a lot harder than it looks.

  During my morning classes I tried to use our twin bond to send Dante psychic messages not to resign. Whatever control Wilson had on him, he could fight it. Or better yet, he could outsmart Wilson. Wasn’t that the way it always worked on TV? When the hero is presented with some awful choice—like the villain is going to blow up an orphanage if the hero doesn’t give himself up to the villain’s evil clutches—instead of turning himself in, the hero finds a way to save both the orphans and himself, plus he gets a really hot girlfriend by the time the ending credits roll by.

  Dante had watched a lot of TV. He should know this.

  At fourth period, the freshman, sophomore, and junior classes went into the auditorium to hear the candidates speak. I saw my friends sitting in the middle section of the bleachers. Dante and the rest of the candidates sat on folding chairs on the floor of the auditorium. They were lined up by position, with the people running for secretary closest to the podium. The presidential candidates sat the farthest away. Dante was at the very end of the line, the last to give his speech. He stared up into the crowd and looked so alone. For a minute I stood by the door watching him while the masses flowed past me on their way to the bleachers.

  I couldn’t let it happen. I mean, how could I just stand there and let Wilson take the election away from my brother?

  I went to the side of the auditorium, picked up a stray chair, and walked over to Dante. After putting the chair beside him, I sat down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t be here.”

  “If you resign, I’m going to make a speech and tell everyone that Wilson blackmailed you, and they should vote for you anyway.”

  His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “No, Giovanna. Go sit with your friends.”

  I didn’t move. I folded my arms and looked out into the crowd. A thousand people sat in the stands. Just seeing them all en masse made every part of me shrink, but I still didn’t move.

  Dante leaned toward me. “I know you’re bluffing. When we moved here, you wouldn’t even introduce yourself to anyone for a month. There is no way you’re getting up in front of the entire school to say anything. Now please leave.”

  I could see Jesse sitting toward the front of the bleachers. He stared at me with questioning eyes. I pulled my gaze away from him and turned back to Dante. “If you don’t want me to make a speech, then don’t resign in yours. Otherwise, I’ll walk to the podium right after you.”

  “You’re bluffing,” he said again, but he looked at my eyes more closely. After a moment he let out a sigh and a few swearwords.

  Chalk one up for the twin mind-meld. I wasn’t bluffing. Trembling, yes, scared to death, yes, but I wasn’t bluffing.

  Dante edged toward me on his chair. His eyes took on a look of resignation, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Look, Giovanna, this is the way it is. You know how you have that police record?”

  I nodded. It’s not something I ever forgot.

  “Wilson told Jesse that if Jesse helped him win, Wilson could do something to have your name cleared. Do you understand everything now? When Wilson wins, you’ll have a clean record. You can apply for any job you want and go to college anywhere.” He turned and faced forward again. “So I’m resigning.”

  The buzzing of the crowd seemed to grow louder as everything that had happened over the last two weeks rearranged itself in my mind. I looked over to where Wilson sat talking with the vice-presidential hopefuls. What could he do that would clear my record? I wasn’t sure, but somehow I didn’t doubt for a minute that he could do it. Then I stared at Jesse in the audience. All along he’d been trying to help me. It made my breath catch in my throat.

  “Why did Jesse wait until last night to tell you?”

  “Because he didn’t think I was going to win until last night. He didn’t want to make me choose between running and helping you.” Dante pointed up to the middle of the crowd. “Look, there’s where your friends are sitting. They’re saving you a place.”

  I still didn’t move. My heart simultaneously felt so achingly full and so pierced that I couldn’t believe it kept beating. I wanted to be free of that police record. Just the thought brought to mind a future I could jump headfirst into. All I had to say was, “Thanks, Dante. Go ahead and resign.” He planned on doing it, after all. And my future was there, dangling within reach.

  But I couldn’t let it happen. I knew that.

  For a moment I wished I had never brought this chair over and sat next to Dante, that I’d never forced him to tell me what he was doing. But I pushed those thoughts away and faced my brother. “Don’t resign for me, Dante. This election is about you, not me.”

  Another swearword from Dante. He shut his eyes. “See, I knew you would say that. That’s why we had to keep it a secret from you. Jesse and I both knew you’d try to be all noble about it.”

  “Well, you were right. I’d rather have you win.”

  He didn’t say anything, just looked out at the crowd, then he shrugged. “Fine. It’s your future. If you don’t care about it, why should I?” He waved in the general direction of the audience. “Now would you go sit in the stands before you get me in trouble?”

  “You’re going to give your first speech?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, now go. The principal’s walking to the podium.”

  I stood up and hurried to the bleachers, crawling past people to sit in between Charity and Daphne.

  Daphne leaned over to me. “Giving Dante a last minute pep talk?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  The principal gave a brief discourse about how blessed we were to live in a democratic society, then introduced the candidates. The people running for secretary, treasurer, and vice president spoke. They said the usual stuff. I promise I’ll do a great job, and so on. They threw in little school spirit snippets to get the audience to clap—which everyone did, probably so their arms wouldn’t fall asleep.

  Finally Wilson strolled to the podium. He smiled up at everyone and no one in particular. While he spoke, polite applause and hoots of encouragement surrounded him. Then Dante stood up and walked to the podium. My heart followed his every footstep.

  He stood in front of the microphone and set his speech on the podium. I would have been shaking, but he looked up calmly. “First of all, I want to thank everybody who worked on my campaign, gathering signatures and making posters and stuff. Thanks for believing in me.” He looked up toward me and smiled. A pause stretched through the auditorium, and then he spoke again. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was running for president for the wrong reason.”

  No, this wasn’t his first speech. I stared at Dante, shaking my head. Despite everything he’d said to me, he was resigning. I didn’t know whether I wanted to
yell at him or kiss him.

  “The thing is,” Dante went on, “I originally wanted to do some sort of memorial for Norman Pike, you know, just something that said our class remembered him. When the student council wouldn’t do anything, I decided, no problem, I’d run for president.” Dante put both hands on the podium, gripping it on either side. His gaze moved from the audience to the paper in front of him, but he wasn’t reading. “Norman was one of us. We shouldn’t forget him. We shouldn’t overlook people. Not anybody.”

  Dante shrugged, and his attention went back to the audience. “Then I realized I don’t have to be president to make a memorial happen. All I need is for you to help me show the student council that we want to do something for Norman.” Another shrug, and Dante leaned in to the microphone as though to let us in on a secret. “I figure, why not let Wilson plan the dances, fund-raisers, and all that stuff. He wants to do it.”

  Dante took a step back, raised both hands up as though conducting an orchestra, and called out, “Let’s tell the student council that we want a memorial. Put your hands together for Norman!”

  The noise was immediate. It didn’t trickle in, it didn’t build, it filled the room fully formed. Clapping, stomping, and the chant, “Nor-man! Nor-man!” vibrated around me. I chanted myself, although I barely heard my own voice. The energy of the crowd swallowed it whole.

  It didn’t seem like defeat at all. Dante had turned his resignation into something powerful.

  “Nor-man! Nor-man!”

  I wished Norman could have heard his name booming through the auditorium. No matter what else we did, this was the memorial I would remember.

  Finally Dante stepped back up to the microphone and called out, “Thank you! I think the candidates for student council heard us.” He turned sideways, looking over to the chairs where the candidates sat. “Hey, can I see by a show of hands which of you pledge to work on a memorial for Norman if you’re elected?”

  They didn’t hesitate. Every hand went up.

  “Cool.” Dante nodded and picked up his speech. “That’s all I really wanted to say, so I’m officially resigning. Thanks.”