her footsteps coming up the stairs. No way do I have time to change. I grab my clothes, hitch up the dress, and climb out the window. Once I’m safely in the hallway again, I hurry to the top of the stairs. To my surprise, I spot someone looking up at me. The blond figure is outlined against the black-and-white marble squares of the grand hallway floor.
“Thaddeus?” I blurt.
Crap. Why am I wearing this stupid dress? Do I have time to change? I step backward, but my foot lands squarely on Jezebel’s paw.
“Yeeeeeoooow!”
Crap, crap, crap.
“Hi,” Thaddeus says, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Reluctantly, I shuffle back into his line of vision and head down the stairs.
“Nice dress.” He’s leaning against the banister.
“It was my mom’s,” I say. “I know, I look stupid.”
“No, you don’t,” he says. “I mean, you look okay. It’s just that the hair doesn’t really match the outfit.”
We look at each other for a moment.
“You want to go for a walk?” he says.
“Yeah, okay. Hang on—I’ll change.”
I bolt to my room, shed the dress, and throw on my normal uniform—jeans and a vintage tee. I look briefly in the mirror. A bit of dirt from the windowsill is on my hands and cheek.
I rub it off furiously and run downstairs, trying my hardest to look like I don’t care at all that the hottest guy in school has randomly dropped by to visit me.
“Better,” he says. “Shall we?”
He opens the door and steps into the sunlight, leaving me nothing to do but follow.
22
You know the only thing more uncomfortable than talking to a seriously snobby guy?
Talking to a snobby guy when you sort of have a huge crush on him.
We walk in silence across the street and into the park, which is alive with early-evening activity. A few people stand in the dog run, drinking beer and watching their spaniels nip at one another. Meanwhile, hordes of shrieking kids are jumping into the jets of the public fountain, gleefully ignoring the Keep Out of Fountain sign. A gaggle of students from the art college are Hula-Hooping in the grass. When Thaddeus gazes admiringly at their bare, toned midriffs, I can’t help gritting my teeth in misery.
“Oh, man. All the hippies used to hoop like that at the RC,” I say, just to make conversation. Thaddeus doesn’t say anything. Does he think they’re sexy? Probably. He looks pretty amazing himself, as usual. Jeans with just the perfect amount of bagginess, and a faded logoless T-shirt. As we continue to stroll along, I grow more and more uncomfortable at the disparity between us—both physically and conversationally. “So… how’s school going?”
Thaddeus shrugs and doesn’t answer.
“Okaaaaaay,” I say. “I know that’s a boring question, but I’m sort of grasping at straws here. What do you want to talk about?”
“Sorry,” he says. “School’s fine.”
“Are you applying to colleges?”
“Sure. Yale, Harvard, and Brown.”
“Wow. I’m from the middle of nowhere, and even I’ve heard of those. You must get pretty good grades.”
“I study hard,” he says. “It doesn’t come naturally to me, the way it does to Hayes. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m usually doing work.”
I nod. He does usually have a book in his hand. I sneak a look at him, then quickly look away. He’s so cute that it’s hard to focus.
“I actually came over to ask you to help me with something,” he says.
“The only thing I’m good at is literature. But I can give you some pointers, sure.”
“Thanks, but that’s not it. I don’t need tutoring from a pot farmer.”
I toss my dreads. “I wasn’t a pot farmer, Snobbeus. I was an herbalist. But fine, whatever. Believe what you want.”
Thaddeus stops walking and, to my surprise, touches my arm just below my elbow. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m an ass.”
“No, it’s okay—”
He blushes. “The truth is… I know I can be pretty awkward.”
Him? Awkward? Did he not see my previous outfit of ass-hugging debutante dress and Birkenstocks?
“I just get nervous sometimes. For some reason it makes me say snobby things. I know it’s annoying.”
His hand drops from my elbow. I look down at where he touched me, as if it had left a mark. “We all get nervous. Don’t sweat it.”
“Thanks for calling me on it.” He looks into my eyes for a moment. Uh-oh. I think I might be levitating. “Most people don’t.”
“We’ll consider it my official job,” I say, reddening. “So, what did you want to see me about?”
“It’s my sister,” he says.