How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend Page 8

  Jesse tossed up both his hands like I was the one being unreasonable. “I invited everyone I know. That’s not being elitist, that’s being inclusive. Besides, Dante can invite my friends to his party. I don’t care.”

  And I could tell he didn’t. His face registered only disbelief at my frustration. This was his idea of good sportsmanship? “Dante might have been able to invite your friends if Wilson hadn’t planned his party at the exact same time Dante was throwing his party. Are you going to defend Wilson about that too?”

  Jesse shrugged. “That’s just normal politics. It’s like contact sports. When you play football, you gotta expect you’re going to be tackled a few times.”

  That was it? That was how he justified everything? Because it was okay to slam people to the ground in football?

  He must have seen the incredulity on my face, because he tried to explain further. “Guys will fight to the death during a game, but after it’s over, we’re all friends again.”

  Men and their sports tactics. If he could claim that sort of thing as fair play, then I could just as easily pull out a few feminine wiles to help my cause. I shoved the petition closer to Bill and smiled at him, trying to muster as much charm as I could. I softened my voice and tilted my head so my hair cascaded off one shoulder. “I’d really appreciate your support.”

  Jesse frowned at me. He knew what I was up to. “Maybe Bill wants to keep his support to himself.”

  “I . . . um . . .” Bill said.

  I cast a glare at Jesse. “Is this another one of your attempts to scare guys away from me?”

  Jesse leaned back in his seat. “Not at all. If I was trying to scare him away from you, I would have said something like, ‘Hey Bill, don’t talk to Giovanna, and if you ever ask her out I’ll make your life never-ending misery.’ ” Jesse smiled over at me. “And I clearly never said that.”

  I don’t understand men. I mean, it would be one thing if Jesse was trying to make amends and win me back or something. But he hadn’t done that. He’d never called or tried to talk to me. It was like this was all a game to him. I’d dumped him in front of everybody, so he was getting back at me by doing everything he could to ensure no one else asked me out.

  I gave my pencil to Bill even though he already had one sitting on his desk. “Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s just one of the elitists whose rule is about to end.”

  Jesse looked at the ceiling and shook his head. “Come on, Gi. You can’t call me an elitist. How many elitists do you know who wear cowboy boots and drive a motorcycle?”

  “One,” I said.

  Bill pulled the petition toward him. “Here. I’ll sign. No need for more discussion.” His hand scurried across the paper. “I’m signing it.”

  Jesse shook his head at me again. “If you think my friends are elitists, you don’t know them very well.”

  I kept my voice light, refusing to let any bitterness seep through. “Well, that might be true. After all, none of them ever spoke to me, so it was hard to get to know them.”

  Bill put both his hands down on his desk and let out a sigh. He glanced first at Jesse, then me. “And I thought you two were bad when you were dating. I’m never going to have a minute’s peace in this class. I nearly took World History this period, but no, everyone said to pass the English AP test I needed Honors Lit.”

  I took my pencil and the petition from Bill’s desk. “That reminds me, Bill. You’re invited to a party at my house. This Saturday at seven thirty. You can bring a friend if you want.”

  Bill looked at me like I was crazy, which I supposed meant I wouldn’t have to add him to the party head count.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything else, because Mrs. Pembroke strode in front of the room. “Settle down, class. It’s time to get started, but first I wanted to read something to you.”

  I turned around in my desk and looked at her. I held my pencil to my notebook paper in case I had to take notes, but I pressed down so hard the lead snapped off. Which is probably a sign that your ex-boyfriend has stressed you out.

  Mrs. Pembroke read to the class from a piece of paper she held, which turned out to be her latest rejection letter for a mystery novel she’d written. My mind wouldn’t focus on her words though. It was still back on the election. “Dear Ms. Pembroke,” she read, “thank you for submitting your manuscript for our consideration . . .”

  How could we win when we were struggling just to get Dante’s name on the ballot? I felt tears threatening to appear, which is really not something you want to happen at the beginning of English, especially when your ex-boyfriend is sitting two rows over.

  “We regret to inform you that your story does not fit our current publishing needs . . .”

  Wilson was impossible to beat. Why was I even trying?

  “We wish you the best in your publishing endeavors . . .”

  The party on Saturday would be a flop, and Dante would be so hurt. A lot of times you go through life thinking you have friends and people like you. Maybe those assumptions should never be put to the test.

  And then Mrs. Pembroke’s words cut through my thoughts. She shook the piece of paper she held in her hand. “Sometimes I feel like quitting, but I’m not going to. What kind of teacher would I be if I taught you to quit just because you received a rejection letter or two—or in my case twenty-eight, but who’s counting?” She forced a laugh and picked up the stapler from off her desk. “Do you know what I’m going to do instead? I’m taking all of my rejection letters and putting them on the classroom bulletin board. Then every time we see them it will remind us that it takes hard work and a lot of revision to get what you want in life.”

  She strode to the bulletin board, stapled the letter in the middle, then turned around and smiled at us. “Because I know that one day I’ll staple an acceptance letter right up here.”

  Sometimes I wondered about the sanity of my teachers, and I have to say that this was one of those times. I mean, the woman had smiled at her rejection letter. That couldn’t be normal.

  Then she looked at me. “We should never give up.”

  For a moment I didn’t breathe. Somehow Mrs. Pembroke not only knew about the election, but she’d read my mind and understood how I wanted to quit. All this was a message to me, telling me to believe in Dante’s chances, and even to believe in the Bickham High student body.

  Then her gaze moved on, and I knew I had imagined it all. Still, I tucked the petition into my notebook, more determined than ever to get our last seven names.

  Before school ended I must have asked every single person in my classes to sign Dante’s petition. Which is really saying something, since the last thing I wanted to do was get sent to detention again. By the time the last bell rang, I’d done it. Which ought to show Jesse—I mean, Wilson—something.

  Although, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure how much Wilson actually paid attention. He flirted with Lorrel Stock—head of the swim team—through English, switched to Leslie Hanchet—tennis star—during Spanish class, and I saw him walking out of the school with Katheryne Blair—captain of the volleyball team. I guess you could say Wilson was well rounded when it came to sports.

  I rode home from school with Dante. I used to ride home with Jesse, which is sort of the same, motorcycle-wise, but not at all the same otherwise.

  Right after Dante dropped me off, he went to pick up Skipper from the babysitter’s. She has morning kindergarten, then stays with a lady a few streets over until Dante and I get home from school. He walks, by the way. Skipper’s not allowed anywhere near a motorcycle. We watch her (which usually means I watch her) until Gabby and Dad get home from work.

  While I rummaged through the fridge looking for something to eat, the doorbell rang. I answered it without thinking. Jesse stood on my doorstep.

  Chapter 8

  At first I couldn’t breathe. Then I couldn’t speak. I just stood there looking at him. Had he always been so tall? Had his jaw been so perfectly square before?


  He shifted a toolbox that he held from one hand to the other. “Is Dante home?”

  “Oh. Um. No. He’s picking up Skipper, but he’ll be home any minute.”

  “I have some tools to return to him.”

  He held out the box to me, but I didn’t take it. “Did you want to wait for him to come back?”

  I thought Jesse wouldn’t stay and face Dante, but he stepped inside. “Sure. I probably should talk to him about the ape hangers.”

  “The what?”

  “The handlebars.”

  Apes, hogs. I never understood what he was talking about when he lapsed into motorcycle lingo.

  Jesse walked to the living room, put the toolbox on the floor, then sat down on the couch. He knew the inside of my house as well as I did, and probably the nooks and crannies of the garage better. That’s where he and Dante worked on their bikes.

  I sat on the love seat, crossed my legs, and ran my fingers through my hair in what I hoped was a casual, I’mover-you manner.

  Jesse leaned back on the couch, putting one foot on his knee. He wore his cowboy boots, and I traced the design with my eyes.

  “So . . .” He let the word drift off awkwardly, a poor opening for any conversation, then examined my face. “Are you still upset about English class?”

  The question wasn’t what I expected. I had already prepared myself for something generic, maybe a comment on the weather, and I blinked at him unspeaking.

  “I’m not trying to be your enemy,” he said.

  Well, he had a funny way of showing it, but I decided to avoid another fight. I wouldn’t be the stereotypical shrill, accusing ex-girlfriend. I would show him I was above such things. I put on a smile. “It’s fine. I’m not upset.”

  He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

  “I’ve moved on.” I tried to make the words light and aloof, but his nod took on an amused tilt. Did he really think he was so hard to get over?

  “Well, I’m glad you’re not mad at me.” He forced a grin to disappear. “So what have you been up to lately?”

  “The campaign takes a lot of time, and last weekend Daphne set me up with two of her guy friends—not at the same time, of course. I mean I went out with one on Friday and one on Saturday.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Dante said you went to your grandmother’s to spend time with her.”

  “I did. I spent time with her while I wasn’t out on one of my dates.”

  “Oh.” More suspicious nodding on his part. Which ticked me off, because—really, did he not think I was hot enough to rate two dates in one weekend? Okay, so they were blind dates with guys who had probably only consented to go out with me because they thought it would win them brownie points with Daphne, but that’s beside the point.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked.

  He shrugged his awesomely broad shoulders in an obvious attempt to make it hard for me to breathe. And I admit my lungs had one quick spasm, but after that I was able to manage a disinterested expression.

  He said, “I’ve been working with Wilson and his friends. You know, Luke, Stacey . . . Bridget.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you working with Bridget. She’s about as subtle as Wilson.”

  Another quick smile on his part. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He knew what it meant, so I decided to ignore the subject of Bridget altogether. “Every time I turn around, Wilson has a different girl attached to his side.”

  Jesse laughed, and his voice grew soft. “I think that says more about the girls at our school than it does about Wilson.”

  Yeah, it said they were stupid.

  I smiled back at him. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy with your campaigning decision.”

  His gaze locked with mine, and his aqua blue eyes grew intense. “I will be.”

  The front door opened. I expected Dante, but instead Gabby walked inside. She opened the coat closet with one hand and put her briefcase inside with the other, then she turned back to us and sent a glare in Jesse’s direction. “Jesse. I thought I recognized your bike out front.”

  “I came over to return some tools to Dante,” he said.

  Gabby’s gaze swept across the living room. “Then where is Dante?”

  “He’s not back with Skipper yet,” I said. “That’s why Jesse is waiting for him.”

  Gabby twisted her lips into a disbelieving grimace. “How convenient. I come home early and find you here alone with your boyfriend. You just don’t think rules apply to you.”

  I blushed. I hated her, but I didn’t say another word.

  She put one hand on her hip. “We’ll discuss this when your father gets home. For now”—she turned to Jesse and let out a disappointed sigh—“you’d better go on home. And please don’t come over to see Giovanna again until she’s through being grounded.”

  Jesse opened his mouth but didn’t speak. He glanced at me, I guess to see my reaction. Maybe he was surprised I didn’t correct Gabby about his being my boyfriend. To admit that, however, was to let Gabby know she’d grounded me for three weeks for nothing.

  Jesse stood up and said a quiet “Yes, ma’am,” to Gabby. Then he looked from the toolbox to me. “So you’ll tell Dante I came by?”

  I nodded and stood up to walk him to the door, but just then Dante and Skipper came inside. Skipper let out a squeal of joy and, with her arms up, rushed to Gabby. “Mommy’s home!”

  Gabby gave her a quick hug, then set her back down. “Yes, Mommy is home early today, and it’s a good thing too, because apparently I needed to be here.” She shot me another one of her We’ll-discuss-this-later looks, then turned and walked to the kitchen, shaking her head as she went.

  Jesse nodded in Dante’s direction. “I just stopped by to return your tools.”

  “Oh.” Dante glanced at the toolbox. “Thanks.” Then nothing more. An awkward silence filled the room.

  Skipper stared up at Jesse with her head tilted. Her pig-tails looked like crooked antennae. “You don’t look like you’ve been crying.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Dante said you were a sob.”

  Immediately, Dante scooped up Skipper and flung her over one shoulder. “Let’s go find Mommy.”

  Dante gave Jesse a hurried, “See ya,” then headed to the kitchen, calling, “Hey Mom, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Jesse watched them go, then folded his arms. “So what was that all about?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Dante called me an S.O.B., didn’t he?”

  I didn’t want to look at Jesse but found myself meeting his eyes anyway. “You can’t blame him. You and Wilson are trying to ruin his party.”

  Jesse let out a sigh and walked to the door. “I’m going to be so glad when this election is over and things go back to normal.”

  As if they would.

  Jesse put his hand on the doorknob, then paused and turned back to me. “Do you want me to talk to Gabby for you? You know, explain to her that I really did come by to see Dante.”

  “She wouldn’t believe you,” I said.

  He paused for another moment. I waited for him to ask me why I hadn’t told Gabby about our breakup, but instead he said, “Ironic that she’s mad at you for this afternoon and not for going out with two different guys last weekend.”

  “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

  He leaned against the doorway. His eyes took on a mischievous glint. “I could tell her.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He looked upward, as though considering the situation. “It would keep you from going out again. And even though you broke up with me, I just might be the jealous type who can’t get over you.”

  “Yeah, I could tell that by the way you never take your eyes off of Bridget at school.”

  He smiled. “We’re not talking about Bridget.”

  “I mentioned her name. You mentioned her name. That means we’re talking about her.”

  H
is gaze moved to mine, and his voice dropped to a soft murmur. “I could blackmail you, you know. Something along the lines of you doing my bidding or I tell your stepmom everything.”

  I smiled back to show him I wasn’t afraid. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “How can I help thinking about it? There are so many things I could bid you to do.” He rubbed his hand against his chin, still considering me with teasing eyes. “I have a vivid imagination, you know.”

  Yeah, I bet. He’d probably make me campaign for Wilson.

  Jesse took a step toward me, his gaze intense. I caught the scent of his cologne. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

  He was doing this on purpose—making me want to throw my arms around him, even though we were rivals now. It must have seemed funny to him, how easily he could maneuver my emotions. Perhaps he was taking girl-melting lessons from Wilson.

  I moved closer to the door. “You need to go. If Gabby comes out and finds you here, she’ll yell at me again.”

  He didn’t budge. The teasing left his expression, but the intensity remained. “Promise me you won’t go out again while you’re grounded.”

  Why? I stared at him, trying to figure it out. I mean, despite this episode of flirting, I knew he didn’t want me back. You don’t ignore someone for eleven days—and yes, I’d been counting—if you wanted a reconciliation. You didn’t tote around Bridget like she was some sort of fashion accessory if you had second thoughts.

  I tried to read his intentions from his eyes. “Why do you care whether I obey Gabby or not?”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “Blackmailers never explain their thinking. They’re like pirates that way. Dark-hearted, dangerous—and cool like Johnny Depp.”

  I was not about to admit to him that he was right about that last part. Instead I peered over at the kitchen door. “If you don’t go, you’re going to get me in more trouble.”

  “All the more reason for you to agree to my terms.”

  “I can’t. I already have plans for next weekend.”

  One of Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. “Besides Dante’s party?”

  “Yes. I have another date with a guy from Swain.”