the story Clara Knowles should have written up in the Manhattanite.
Lorraine would explain everything to Marcus in touching detail when he finally deigned to speak to her. After dating a liar like Clara Knowles for so long, Marcus had to understand what it was like to be misled and confused enough to make a few mistakes.
A shadow fell over the cover of Vogue and Lorraine looked up, her heart swelling.
But the boy standing in front of her wasn’t Marcus—he was in fact the blond Adonis’s polar opposite. Where Marcus was tan and muscular, Melvin Delacorte was rail thin and pale, with a dusting of freckles over his nose. It was hard to tell what color his eyes were behind his thick, black-framed glasses, only that they were small. His fiery shade of red hair looked beautiful on a girl like Gloria but was completely ridiculous on a boy of nineteen.
Today he was wearing a gray sweater vest, a rumpled button-down, and baggy knickers—but his clothing selection didn’t really matter. No matter what he wore, one truth was evident: Melvin was one of the biggest killjoys Lorraine had ever met.
He was also one of the only friends she’d been able to make at college. At a Columbia-Barnard academic honors dinner early in the semester, Lorraine had been unable to stop poking fun at the stuffy old professors’ outfits. Melvin had been the only student sitting nearby to laugh.
Or maybe he’d just been coughing. His laugh and his cough sounded remarkably similar. But Lorraine loved to talk and Melvin loved to listen. All in all, not a bad arrangement.
Melvin slouched down next to her on the bench. He followed Lorraine’s gaze past the Venetian Well Head to Philosophy Hall. “I see you’re on the watch again,” he observed in the rich, deep voice of a handsomer man.
Lorraine rolled her eyes and went back to shuffling through her mail. “Yes, yes, you know me so well,” she said, bristling. But spying the name “Eastman” on the corner of an envelope sent every other thought straight out of Lorraine’s mind. Could it be a love letter? A heartfelt apology for how Marcus had been avoiding her?
Her spirits plummeted when she noted the letter was from the Eastman family, not Marcus.
Melvin watched her eagerly rip the letter open. “Were you recruited for the Academic Decathlon? Our schools compete together—we could be teammates!”
“What? God, no—Melvin, just stop talking.”
Lorraine pulled the thick folded card from the envelope and opened it. Immediately her eyes were drawn to the black-and-white photograph of Marcus, his golden hair slicked back with pomade. The boy certainly could wear a suit—the pale vest, trousers, and jacket hung beautifully on him. The smile fell off Lorraine’s face as she noticed the classically beautiful woman standing next to him. The girl wore the sort of long, frilly deb dress Lorraine had always despised. Her delicate hand was tucked around Marcus’s arm as if it belonged there, and something lovely and very, very expensive glinted on her finger.
“He’s getting married!” Lorraine exclaimed, looking away in shock and horror.
At just that moment, the boy in question walked through the heavy black doors of Philosophy Hall. Instantly he saw her and smiled his widest grin, showing off his perfectly white, gleaming teeth.
Lorraine breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Marcus had probably sent this fake wedding invitation just to make her jealous. Now he would walk straight over to her, laugh at his elaborate joke, sweep her off her feet, and tell her all was forgiven.
She felt her face break out into a smile as she got to her feet.
“What are you doing?” Melvin asked, but he’d see soon enough.
“Why, hello there, han—”
But Marcus strode past Lorraine and Melvin and onto the quad without a second glance.
He walked straight into the arms of the striking girl from the photo, who’d been waiting behind Lorraine. How had she never noticed this girl before? Could it get any worse? Lorraine wondered.
It could: They kissed in the center of the quad. It went on longer than it should have. Lorraine and Melvin weren’t the only people staring. The couple looked amazing together. The girl’s hair was a rich auburn that shone like mahogany in the sun. Her annoyingly stylish blue belted Patou dress set off her ivory skin beautifully. With Marcus in his casual but refined V-neck sweater and trousers, they could have been models.
Lorraine got a flash of herself and Marcus back in Chicago, when they used to be friends. When