The Darlings in Love Read online

  But never, not once, had she uttered the phrase my boyfriend in Natalya’s presence.

  Was this a test? Was this Alison’s way of informing Natalya that Colin had mentioned Natalya to Alison and that Alison was now waiting to hear Natalya acknowledge that she and Colin did, in fact, know each other? Was this a hint? A gentle warning from Alison that while she may not in the past have referred to him as such, she did consider Colin her boyfriend, and Natalya should, therefore, be warned against thinking it was okay to spend a Saturday afternoon lounging around Colin Prewitt’s home as if he were some random unattached guy?

  Or was it none of these things? Was it possible that Alison had mentioned her boyfriend, not once but millions of times, only Natalya had never noticed her mentioning him because the words had no significance for her? Was it conceivable Colin and Alison had referred to each other regularly, in front of Natalya, as boyfriend or girlfriend, only Natalya hadn’t noticed?

  Besides, why did it matter? So Alison was Colin’s girlfriend. Well, Natalya was Colin’s friend. They were friends. And there was no reason one friend couldn’t go over to another friend’s house on a Saturday afternoon.

  They’d arrived at the bio lab, and Alison pulled open the door and held it for Natalya. Now was the time for her to follow up on Alison’s mentioning her boyfriend. Natalya should ask who it was, or say, Isn’t your boyfriend Morgan Prewitt’s brother? Or did that sound completely obvious? Maybe she should just ask who Alison’s boyfriend was? But she knew who Alison’s boyfriend was. So if Alison was trying to catch Natalya in a lie, Natalya’s asking the name of Alison’s boyfriend was like her admitting she had a secret relationship with Colin.

  Which she didn’t.

  Or did she?

  For a second, Natalya didn’t move, not even when a student heading into the lab jostled her shoulder.

  “You okay?” Alison’s face wore a look of confusion bordering on concern.

  “Um…” Natalya said for the second time.

  “Seriously,” said Alison. “Are you okay? You look really pale all of a sudden.”

  What is happening? What do you mean? WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN? Natalya wanted to shout.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. “I’m fine. Just hungry.”

  “Lunch next,” said Alison cheerfully. “Right after our favorite class of the day.”

  Jordan arrived behind Natalya in time to hear what Alison said. “Okay, can you please not say that? I completely cannot deal with the two of you and your little lovefest.”

  Alison shrugged and winked at Natalya. “What can we say? Great minds think alike. Right?”

  Still wearing her bizarrely forced smile, Natalya echoed what Alison had just said. “Right! Great minds think alike.”

  As she followed Alison into the bio lab, Natalya tried not to think about just how surprised Alison would be to discover what Natalya’s “great mind” was really thinking.

  ON HER WAY home from school on Friday, Victoria stopped at the supermarket and picked up some butterscotch chips for the cookies she’d decided to bake. But she was having trouble concentrating. Even though she’d been shopping at the same local market since she was old enough to cross the street by herself, she walked by the aisle with the baking ingredients twice, then found herself at the register holding a bag of chocolate chips, not butterscotch chips. When she realized what she’d done, she told the cashier, who was nice enough to wait while Victoria went back and switched the bags.

  But still, Victoria couldn’t get her mind off her last interaction with Jack.

  He’d come by her locker at the end of the day.

  “Okay, I don’t want to be annoying, but I’m going to ask one last time. Twilight Zone?” He’d given her a broad smile and ruffled her hair.

  The scene in Alien where the monster flies out of the guy’s stomach materialized in her brain, and she shook her head. “Casablanca,” she countered. “Humphrey Bogart. Ingrid Bergman. It’s a classic.”

  Jack laughed and shook his head, just like he had the last time she’d made the offer.

  “So,” she suggested, “do you want to come over and help me bake cookies?” She’d promised Jane and Natalya she’d bring butterscotch-chip cookies to the movie.

  “As much as I love eating cookies, I’m not much of a baker,” he answered. She was about to offer to give him a baking lesson when he said, “Anyway, I’ve got to go home and meet my folks. We’re driving to Jersey for my grandfather’s birthday dinner.”

  “Oh, right. That’s tonight.” Suddenly Victoria was overwhelmed by the realization that Jack was saying they weren’t going to be seeing each other until Monday.

  She could have cried, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he noticed but didn’t care.

  Either way, he just kissed her good-bye gently and said, “I’ll call you.” Then he headed out the door, leaving Victoria slumped against her locker, feeling so far away from him it was as if the afternoon they’d said they loved each other had been a dream.

  Normally, no matter what was bothering her, Victoria could completely lose herself in a recipe, but today it was work to focus on measuring and stirring each ingredient. She had to keep reading and rereading the recipe, and after she cracked the eggs into the batter, she couldn’t remember if she’d cracked two or three and had to go back to the egg carton and count.

  Victoria felt as if there was nothing holding her and Jack together. Their relationship was like a piecrust without enough Crisco—in danger of crumbling at any second.

  Supposedly they loved each other. So why didn’t Jack care that they couldn’t see each other this weekend? Was he tired of her? Tired of hanging out with a girl who didn’t like the things he liked?

  But she’d tried to like the things he liked. She replayed her hours at the recording studio and the Lost Leaders concert. Jack had clearly guessed she was having a bad time. If only she were as good an actress as Jane.

  Only, she didn’t want to be a good actress. She didn’t want to have to pretend she was having a good time with Jack, she just wanted to have a good time with him.

  Was it normal, what she was feeling? Did other people have these problems? She thought of other couples she knew. Simon and Jane—they were both into theater and old movies. And her parents had tons in common—they were always talking about politics and social justice, history and law…They seemed to have an endless supply of subjects to debate and discuss.

  Victoria tried to imagine having a discussion with Jack about politics, but it was impossible. She hated talking about politics. In fact, one of the things she most liked about Jack was that, unlike the rest of her family, he didn’t talk about politics.

  Two people who didn’t talk about politics.

  It didn’t exactly sound like a match made in heaven.

  She spent a lonely afternoon baking, then watched what felt like a thousand hours of the Cooking Channel. Her parents were out for dinner; they’d invited her to join them, but she’d gotten the feeling that they wanted an evening alone after being apart for the whole week. Plus, whenever she was with her mother lately, she felt hyperconscious of having lied to her, like any second her mom might turn to her and say, Quick, what happens in the opening scene of Hamlet?!

  Everyone had plans. Jane’s dad had come to New York at the last minute for a medical conference and had taken Jane out for dinner. Natalya’s neighbor’s daughter was having a birthday party, and the whole family had gone. A little after ten, Victoria almost called Jack, but she didn’t want to bother him if he was still having dinner with his family.

  Luckily, just as she was sure she was going to go completely insane with boredom and loneliness, Natalya IM’d her.

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: Vicks?

  Victoria leaped off the bed, where she’d been reading an old issue of Martha Stewart Living, and sat down at her desk.

  QV210024: Hey. how was the party?

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: twenty ten year olds. th
at’s like 200 years of fun.

  QV210024: At least.

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: what time is the movie Saturday?

  QV210024: 6. y?

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: idk how long the chess game will last. but 6 will b ok.

  Natalya had told Victoria about her plans with Colin, and Victoria had told Natalya she was worried about her spending an afternoon with a boy she had a crush on who had a girlfriend. She’d made her point, and unlike Jane, she knew better than to say more than she already had.

  QV210024: we can buy u a ticket and save u a seat.

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: is Jack coming?

  Victoria considered telling Natalya what was going on with her and Jack, but mentioning it felt disloyal, like complaining about him behind his back.

  QV210024: he can’t.

  Victoria found herself hoping Natalya would ask why not. If that happened, Victoria would just tell her everything and ask what Natalya thought was going on.

  But Natalya didn’t ask. Instead, she wrote: Jane thinks I m crazy for going over there.

  QV210024: I know.

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: do u think so 2?

  Victoria didn’t know what to say. She’d thought she and Jack were the perfect couple, but clearly they weren’t. Maybe Colin and Natalya, even with the deck seeming to be totally stacked against them, were the ones who were actually destined to be together.

  After all, what did she know? As she was trying to decide how to respond, a line of type appeared on her screen.

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: if u say im crazy, I won’t go.

  Victoria hesitated. Finally she wrote: u know what I think?

  RUSKIGIRLNAT: what?

  QV210024: when it comes to boys, we’re all crazy.

  JANE HAD TOTALLY meant to call Mark before their rehearsal Saturday.

  It kind of wasn’t her fault that she’d never gotten around to doing it. Between dealing with a math test and an unexpected dinner with her dad, who was in from L.A. for a medical conference, and trying to convince Natalya that going over to Colin’s house to play chess with him was a majorly bad idea, Jane had had her busiest week since Midsummer ended. It was like every time she thought she was going to be able to catch her breath for a second, she got dumped in the dunking tank again. Simon kept telling her not to forget to talk to Mark, and she kept swearing to remember. But remembering to do something and actually doing it were apparently two different things.

  Now, as she pushed open the door to Black Box B, she was definitely feeling a little guilty. Not so much because of what she’d said to Mark, but because she felt bad about breaking her promise to Simon. Jane liked to think of herself as someone who kept her word, and this time she hadn’t.

  As soon as she stepped into the theater, she could see that Mark was there and Simon wasn’t. Of course Simon wasn’t. Ugh. She’d been hoping to sort of…well, not avoid Mark exactly, since they were going to be in the same space all morning, but just kind of…not deal directly with him. Only, she needed Simon there to do that. And Simon was late.

  Simon was never late.

  She looked at her phone—five after seven. Just seeing the time made her want to crawl back into bed. And she had a text from Simon that she’d somehow failed to notice when it first came in. Maybe his train was delayed or something. She opened it.

  text me after u talk 2 mark.

  That bastard !

  She raised her eyes from the screen of her phone. Mark was sitting against the wall with the light switches, his elbow on his knee. In his hand was a script, which he was either reading or pretending to read to avoid looking at Jane.

  She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

  Mark grunted.

  Okay, could he act more like a Neanderthal? At least she was trying to be civil.

  “Um, I just got a text from Simon. He’s, uh, running a little late.”

  “Mmmm,” Mark non-answered.

  She put her stuff on a random chair, then wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She knew if she texted Simon, he’d just text back, talk 2 mark or something equally annoying. She started composing a text to Victoria and Natalya, but then she remembered it was only seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.

  Probably not an ideal time to text anyone.

  She fiddled with her necklace, let it go, sat down, leaned back, then leaned forward. The whole time, Mark didn’t take his eyes off his script.

  “So,” she said finally.

  Mark didn’t respond.

  Now she was getting annoyed. “So, what, are you just going to ignore me? Oh, that’s really mature.”

  Still looking at his script, Mark said, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry we can’t all be as mature as you, Jane.”

  Jane crossed her arms. “Do you think we could at least try to have a civil conversation about this?” She was proud of how calm she sounded.

  “Oh, are we being civil now?” Mark finally dropped Medea and looked at Jane. “I’m sorry, I guess I never got the memo.”

  Jane snorted. “Look, Mark, if you can’t handle a little dialogue about your direction, I don’t see how you expect to—”

  “Dialogue!” Mark leaped to his feet and jabbed his index finger in her direction. “You call reaming me out dialogue?! I’ve been working my ass off trying to do something exciting and new with a play that’s been around for a few thousand years, and when it’s not perfect after a few rehearsals, all you can do is insult me. Do you know how hard it is to direct? To try and hear a scene in your head when nobody’s acting it? Do you have any idea how stupid I feel when I tell you to do something and it doesn’t work? How about saying, You know, Mark, I think maybe it could be a little more X or a little more Y. Because that’s dialogue, honey. What you did? That’s a drive-by.”

  No one, not even her mom during one of their monster fights, had ever yelled at Jane like that. For a minute after Mark stopped talking, Jane couldn’t find her voice. All she could do was stare at him.

  Was that what had happened? The exact words she’d used had faded, but she definitely remembered telling him he didn’t know how to direct. She tried to imagine how she would have felt if she had done a crap reading of a scene and Mr. Robbins or Mark had told her she didn’t know how to act.

  Ouch.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” she said finally.

  It was weirdly hard to say.

  She expected Mark to say something sarcastic, but what he said was, “I accept your apology.” Then he sat down on the floor and opened his script again, adding, “I have a feeling Simon’s waiting for us to resolve this before he comes. Do you mind texting him that the coast is clear? You have his number, right?”

  Jane laughed as she took out her phone. “I would hope so. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Mark jerked his head up. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Jane had thought it was pretty obvious that she and Simon were going out, considering they basically couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But apparently Mark was too distracted by his directorial responsibilities to realize what was going on. “I said he’s my boyfriend.”

  “But—” Mark was still staring at her; his jaw had literally dropped.

  Jane hardened her gaze. “If you’re about to say he’s too hot to go out with me, I’m going to kill you.”

  “No, I…” Mark shook his head, then went back to studying his script. “Nothing.”

  Whatever.

  Jane sent Simon a message: we talked. About half a second later, Simon pushed open the door to Black Box B.

  “Hey.” He smiled a question at Jane, and she nodded a response. Looking relieved, he dropped his bag on a chair and came to stand in the center of the space. Mark didn’t say anything to acknowledge his arrival, and Jane and Simon just stood, not holding hands or touching in any way, waiting silently.

  “Okay,” Mark said finally, and he dropped his script to the floor and looked up at them. “Here’s what I think.”

  Jane continued to stand in silence, looking back at him.


  “Like we talked about, Medea”—he gestured at Jane—“is never free of the effects of Cupid’s arrow, right? I mean, this is a lifelong spell, as far as I know. Agreed?”

  Jane nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” Mark’s smile had a touch of gratitude in it. He stood up. “I think this scene is about her trying to get out of a box.” He moved his hands around him, miming striking the walls of an invisible box. “And she’s frustrated. She wants to punish Jason, but she wants to be with him too.”

  Jane thought about how hard it had been to apologize to Mark. She’d wanted to apologize, but she’d barely been able to speak the words. “I think I know what you mean,” she said, hesitantly.

  “Great!” Mark nodded and turned to Simon. “And here’s what I’m thinking about Jason. He’s always been able to manipulate Medea, right? Because he knows she loves him.”

  Simon nodded.

  “But this time, he’s not going to be able to manipulate her. She’s going to kill their kids to punish him, even though it punishes her, too. Only, Jason doesn’t realize just how enraged she is. So he’s just trying his old tricks. He’s—”

  “Confident!” Jane almost shouted, seeing where Mark was going. “He’s confident that she’s going to accept his version of things.”

  Mark snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Simon, I’ve been telling you to play him angry, but why would he be angry? He’s got it all—babelicious new wife, two sons. The king’s totally on his side.”

  “Medea’s just annoying to him,” Simon realized. “He’s, like, What’s your problem, honey? ”

  “Yes!” agreed Mark, nodding enthusiastically. He crossed to the edge of the performance area, talking all the while. “So try this. When Jason says, ‘Try understanding: it was not for lust I climbed into my present royal bed. I did it, as I said before, to keep you safe…’ I want you, Jane, to get a…like, a pained look on your face, okay? I want the audience to see you want to believe him, and then I want them to see you wipe that look off your face and get…hard. Cold. But it’s a conscious choice, okay? Because you’re literally powerless not to love him.”