Becca Fitzpatrick: Crescendo

Inside Enzo’s, Vee and I placed orders for iced mochas and spicy pecan salads, and plopped down with our food at a table. Over the past several weeks, Enzo’s had undergone extensive remodeling to bring it up to speed with the twenty-first century, and Coldwater now had its very first Internet lounge. Given the fact that my home computer was six years old, I was actually excited about this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for vacation,” Vee said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Eight more weeks of Spanish. That’s more days than I want to think about. What we need is a distraction. We need something that will take our minds off this endless stretch of quality education spread out before us. We need to go shopping. Portland, here we come. Macy’s is having a big sale. I need shoes, I need dresses, and I need a new fragrance.”

“You just bought new clothes. Two hundred dollars’ worth. Your mom is going to hemorrhage when she gets her MasterCard statement.”

“Yeah, but I need a boyfriend. And to get a boyfriend, you have to look good. Doesn’t hurt to smell good too.”

I bit a diced pear off my fork. “Have anybody in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Just promise me it’s not Scott Parnell.”

“Scott who?”

I smiled. “See? Now I’m happy.”

“I don’t know about any Scott Parnells, but the guy I’ve got my eye on happens to be hot. Off-the-charts hot. Hotter-than-Patch hot.” She paused. “Well, maybe not that hot. Nobody’s that hot. Seriously, the rest of my day is a wash. Portland or bust, I say.”

I opened my mouth, but Vee was faster.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I know that look. You’re going to tell me you already have plans.”

“Rewind to Scott Parnell. He used to live here when we were five.”

Vee looked like she was searching her long-term memory.

“He wet his pants a lot,” I offered helpfully.

Vee’s eyes lit up. “Scotty the Potty?”

“He’s moving back to Coldwater. My mom invited him over for dinner tonight.”

“I see where this is going,” Vee said, nodding sagely. “This is what’s called the ‘meet cute.’ This is when the lives of two potential romantic partners intersect. Remember when Desi accidentally walked into the men’s room and caught Ernesto at the urinal?”

I stopped with my fork halfway between my plate and my mouth. “What?”

“On Corazón, the Spanish soap. No? Never mind. Your mom wants to hook you and Scotty the Potty up. Pronto.”

“No, she doesn’t. She knows I’m with Patch.”

“Just because she knows, doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. Your mom is going to spend a lot of time and energy turning this equation from Nora plus Patch equals love, to Nora plus Scotty the Potty equals love. And what about this? Maybe Scotty the Potty turned into Scotty the Hottie. Have you thought about that?”

I hadn’t, and I wasn’t going to either. I had Patch, and I was perfectly happy to keep it that way.

“Can we talk about something slightly more urgent?” I asked, thinking it was time to change the subject before our current one gave Vee even more wild ideas. “Like the fact that my new chemistry partner is Marcie Millar?”

“The ho.”

“Apparently she’s filing for the front office, and she looked in Patch’s file.”

“Is it still empty?”

“It looks that way, since she wants me to tell her everything I know about him.” Including why he was hanging out in her driveway last night, gazing at her bedroom window. I’d once heard a rumor that Marcie propped a tennis racket in her window when she was open to payment for certain “services,” but I wasn’t going to think about that. Weren’t rumors 90 percent fiction, anyway?

Vee leaned in closer. “What do you know?”

Our conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. I didn’t believe in secrets between best friends. But there are secrets … and there are hard truths. Scary truths. Unimaginable truths. Having a boyfriend who’s a fallen-turned-guardian angel fits into all of the above.

“You’re keeping something from me,” said Vee.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Thick silence.

“I told Patch I loved him.”

Vee covered her mouth, but I couldn’t tell if she was stifling a gasp or laughter. Which only made me feel more insecure. Was it that funny? Had I done something even stupider than I already thought?

“What did he say?” Vee asked.

I merely looked at her.

“That bad?” she asked.

I cleared my voice. “Tell me about this guy you’re after. I mean, is this a lust-from-afar thing, or have you actually talked to him?”

Vee took the hint. “Talked to him? I had hot dogs at Skippy’s with him yesterday for lunch. It was one of those blind date things, and it turned out better than expected. Much better. FYI, you’d know all this stuff if you returned my calls instead of making out with your boyfriend nonstop.”

“Vee, I’m your only friend, and it wasn’t me who hooked you up.”

“I know. Your boyfriend did.”

I choked on a Gorgonzola cheese ball. “ Patch set you up on a blind date?”

“Yeah, so?” Vee said, her tone edging toward defensive.

I smiled. “I thought you didn’t trust Patch.”

“I don’t.”

“But?”

“I tried calling you to vet my date first, but to repeat, you never return my calls anymore.”

“Mission accomplished. I feel like the worst friend ever.” I gave her a conspirator’s smile. “Now tell me the rest.”

Vee’s resistant tone dropped away, and she mirrored my smile. “His name is Rixon, and he’s Irish. His brogue or whatever it’s called kills me. Sexy to the max. He’s a little on the skinny side considering I’m big-boned, but I’m planning on losing twenty pounds this summer, so everything should even out by August.”

“Rixon? No way! I love Rixon!” As a standard rule, I didn’t trust fallen angels, but Rixon was an exception. Like Patch, his moral boundaries were drawn in the gray area between black and white. He wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t all bad, either.

I grinned, pointing my fork at Vee. “I can’t believe you went out with him. I mean, he’s Patch’s best friend. You hate Patch.”

Vee gave me her black-cat look, her hair practically bristling. “Best friends doesn’t mean anything. Look at you and me. We’re nothing alike.”

“This is great. The four of us can hang out all summer.”

“Uh-uh. No way. I’m not hanging out with that whack-job boyfriend of yours. I don’t care what you told me, I still think he had something to do with Jules’s mysterious death in the gym.”

A dark cloud fell on the conversation. There had been only three people in the gym the night Jules died, and I was one of them. I’d never told Vee everything that happened, just enough to get her to stop pressing, and for her own safety, I planned on keeping it that way.

Vee and I spent the day driving around, picking up employment applications from local fast-food joints, and it was nearly six thirty when I got home. I dropped my keys on the sideboard and checked the answering machine for messages. There was one from my mom. She was at Michaud’s Market picking up garlic bread, deli lasagna, and cheap wine, and swore on her grave she would beat the Parnells to the house.

I deleted the message and climbed upstairs to my bedroom. Since I’d missed my morning shower, and my hair had frizzed to maximum height during the day, I figured I’d change into clean clothes by way of damage control. Every single memory I had of Scott Parnell was unpleasant, but company was company. I had my cardigan halfway unbuttoned when there was a rap at the front door.