The Darlings in Love Read online

  Her plans to finish her lab report evaporated. Heart pounding, she texted Jane and Victoria to call her immediately.

  IT WAS A little hard for Jane to have not just her mother, but both Victoria and Natalya being all dewy-eyed over guys, given that she was through with love. It was like being allergic to cats and everyone you cared about decided to adopt a kitten.

  Still, Jane was excited for Natalya about the message Colin had sent. And she loved the response the three of them had composed yesterday. As soon as first period ended on Monday, she headed into the crowded hallway of The Academy for the Performing Arts, checking for news from Natalya saying Colin had responded to their—well, officially Natalya’s—response to him. There was nothing from Natalya. But there was a voice mail from her mother.

  “Hi, honey, it’s me. Listen, Richard and I are having dinner at Panne e Vino at seven. Are you free to join? I’ll be seeing patients until six, so just leave me a message.” Ugh. Panne e Vino was her and her mom’s place. Just like Ga Ga Noodle was the Darlings’ place. You couldn’t just start inviting random guys to your place.

  What was her mother’s problem?

  Rather than call her mother, Jane wrote a text to Natalya.

  Anything? she typed.

  A second later, Natalya’s response appeared on her screen. Nyet.

  Jane felt a tiny shudder of guilt. Had she given her friend bad advice?

  Last night on the phone, Natalya and Victoria had kept trying to phrase a long, intricate response about how sorry Natalya still was and how she’d been thinking about Colin and really regretted not pursuing their friendship. Blah blah blah. Each time they launched into a new version of the same e-mail, Jane felt herself growing increasingly irritated. Finally she’d said, “Look, Nat, you’ve already sent him that message. Twice.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Natalya.

  “I mean, the last two times you e-mailed him, it was with some long, heartfelt apology, right?”

  “Right,” agreed Natalya warily.

  “So forget it. That conversation is over.”

  “Aaand…” Natalya prompted.

  “Aaand,” Jane echoed, “this one is…lighter.”

  “Lighter.” Natalya’s doubt was evident.

  Jane had a sudden inspiration. “You’ve got to answer in kind. He said, ‘I saw you.’ So now you say, ‘I saw you too.’”

  Natalya and Victoria laughed.

  But Jane didn’t.

  “You are not seriously suggesting I say that,” insisted Natalya.

  But the more Jane thought about it, the better an idea it seemed to be. “It’s perfect. Oh!” She let out a cry of excitement. “And then put your cell number! That is totally flirting.”

  Both Natalya and Victoria started laughing again. “Trust me,” Jane assured them. “He’ll get what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t know if I get what I’m doing,” Natalya said, clearly unconvinced.

  “Maybe she could say, ‘I saw you too’ and something else,” offered Victoria.

  “Nope,” said Jane, shaking her head even though Natalya and Victoria couldn’t see her through the phone. “It’s got to be just that. That and her cell.”

  Five minutes later, Natalya, somewhat reluctantly, had sent the message.

  And here it was the next morning, and Colin hadn’t replied.

  Now Jane could feel her own doubts growing about the wisdom of her advice. In the world of romance, she wasn’t exactly a gold medalist. More like the Queen of It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time. Why had she interfered when Natalya and Victoria were composing their sincere message to Colin? She should have just shut her mouth and let them work their magic. After all, Victoria had a boyfriend. And Natalya had a boy who clearly hadn’t forgotten her even though they’d only met twice, both times months ago.

  She, on the other hand, was sailing the ocean of love as a first-class passenger on the Titanic.

  Before she could text Natalya she was sorry and that Natalya should just go ahead and write Colin whatever she wanted, a hand reached out of the mass of people traveling the crowded hallway, grabbed her arm, and pulled her aside so abruptly that she almost dropped her phone.

  “Hey!” Her surprise at being touched, combined with her depressing train of thought, made her voice snappish.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  The face she found herself looking into did nothing to alleviate her annoyance.

  It was Mark’s.

  She and Mark had been friendly for about ten minutes at the beginning of the year, just long enough for her to discover that he was the biggest poseur in the school. It was because of Mark’s announcing his intention to audition for the major fall production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Jane had decided to audition in the first place. Of course Mark had been too chicken to actually go through with the tryout, which had meant Jane was the only freshman who’d auditioned. She dropped her phone into her bag and looked back at Mark, who was leaning contentedly against the wall of metal lockers.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. His expression reminded Jane that she’d once thought Mark was cute. Still, as usual, he undermined his acceptable physical appearance by giving her a self-satisfied grin, one that was clearly intended to inspire her to ask what he was smiling about.

  Refusing to be inspired, Jane paused for a long beat, and then, when Mark remained silent, shrugged and started walking toward her next class, which was English. Mark quickly fell into step next to her.

  “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  “Okay.” They came to a crowded T-junction, and Jane made a left. Mark stayed alongside her. Walking in the opposite direction, Dahlia, a girl who’d been in Midsummer with Jane, waved at her. “Want to have lunch?” she called, barely slowing down as they passed each other.

  “Sure,” Jane shouted back. In the first weeks after the show, Jane had avoided her fellow cast members, scared that her asking Mr. Robbins out for a drink might be something they were all gossiping about behind her back. But as November had become December, and December, January, she’d slowly accepted that no one associated opening night or the show in general with anything but Jane’s triumph as the only freshman since Fran Sherman (the biggest star at the Academy) to land a part in a main-stage production.

  Nobody but Jane, that is.

  “This is one of those opportunities you will not be able to say no to,” Mark assured her confidently.

  “Try me.” She glanced over at him. He was wearing his usual uniform: a long-sleeved T-shirt (today’s was light green and said little shredder), black jeans, and checkerboard Vans. His thick black hair was in a ponytail. Mark wore exactly what all the skater boys at Jane’s old school had worn and what all the skater boys at the Academy wore.

  The only difference was, she’d never seen him with a skateboard.

  “I will. So, in March, there’s going to be A Night to Remember.” He blocked the words out in the air, as if he were drawing a Broadway marquee, then turned to Jane and explained, “An evening of great love scenes.”

  In light of her recent experience with love, it was impossible not to laugh at Mark’s proposal.

  “I’m glad you find this funny,” he said, misunderstanding her laughter.

  Jane wasn’t about to explain the real reason she was laughing. Instead, since they’d arrived at her classroom, she said simply, “This is where I get off.”

  He tilted his head. “You’re not seriously saying no. I haven’t even done my hard-core pitch yet.”

  Jane shrugged. “It’s shocking, I know. But I will have to live without acting opposite you in ‘a great love scene.’” She put air quotes around the last four words.

  “Oh, don’t bet on that.” He pointed his finger at her and gave her a knowing look, but when she didn’t respond, he dropped his hand and turned serious. “It wouldn’t be acting opposite me. I’m going to direct. I’m a fabulous director, by the way.” />
  God, Mark, cocky much?

  Before Jane could respond to his generous assessment of his own directorial skills, he added, “I want to do a scene from Medea.”

  Despite her feelings about Mark, Jane was suddenly listening. Ever since Nana had taken her to see Medea at the Brooklyn Academy of Music when she was in seventh grade, Jane had dreamed of playing Medea, one of the most powerful, vindictive female characters in the history of theater. It was impossible not to be tempted by the part, especially since she’d been too shell-shocked by what had happened with Mr. Robbins to audition for Chicago, the current main-stage production. The only acting she’d done since Midsummer was in her scene-study class.

  Maybe what she needed was a small production, something to get her feet wet.

  “You’re considering it,” Mark concluded, watching her hesitate. Then he gently hip-checked her. “Face it: you can’t resist me.”

  Mark’s thinking he was so irresistible made it easy for her to resist him. She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  The late bell rang just as Mark opened his mouth as if to argue with her. Then he shut it and nodded, his lips pressed into a line. As Jane swung into her classroom, she remembered to call over her shoulder, “But thanks for asking.” She didn’t know if he was still standing there or if he’d heard her, and the truth was, he was so arrogant that she didn’t really care.

  WITH ITS WALLS covered in black-and-white Ansel Adams landscapes and Richard Avedon portraits, shelves stacked with photography reference books, and double bed blanketed with a soft red comforter, Jack’s room was Victoria’s favorite place in the world.

  Too bad she almost never got to be in it.

  Jack’s mom taught preschool a few blocks away, so she was usually home in the afternoon. If she wasn’t, his father, who played cello with the New York Philharmonic and had morning rehearsals and evening performances, was pretty much guaranteed to be in the apartment from four to six. When he’d been younger, Jack told Victoria, he’d loved that one, and sometimes both, of his parents picked him up from school and spent the afternoon with him. He’d always felt a little bad for kids who had to log after-school hours with babysitters because their moms and dads worked late.

  But lately Jack didn’t feel bad for those kids.

  He envied them.

  Jack’s parents had made it clear: they did not want Victoria and Jack in Jack’s room with the door closed. And Victoria’s parents had made it equally clear that if neither of them was home, Victoria and Jack couldn’t be at her apartment. Since her dad was basically living in Washington, and her mother worked until six or seven every day, they couldn’t be at her apartment in the afternoons at all. (The one time they’d tried to take advantage of no one’s being there, the doorman had inadvertently ratted them out by cheerfully telling Victoria’s mom when she got home from work that she’d “unfortunately just missed” Victoria and her friend Jack.)

  All of which made what they were doing right now practically a miracle.

  Victoria lay with her head on Jack’s stomach, their bodies forming a T across his bed. One of Jack’s hands was running lazily through Victoria’s hair, and the other was holding hers. The Hastings were spending the afternoon walking along the High Line before getting an early dinner in Chelsea with friends from out of town. When Victoria had turned on her phone that morning, there had been a text from Jack.

  who has an apartment all 2 themselves after school? call me & find out.

  It had felt like Christmas in January.

  “I love Sweden,” Victoria said.

  “Why?” asked Jack, his voice rumbling gently against the back of her head.

  “Isn’t that where your parents’ friends are from?”

  Jack laughed. “They’re from Denmark, actually.”

  Victoria laughed too, then rolled onto her side so she was facing Jack. He curled toward her, his face just inches away. “Denmark, Sweden,” she said. “They’re kind of the same, right?”

  “Close enough,” Jack agreed. He kissed her lightly on the nose. She raised her face so his next kiss found her lips. At first their kiss was gentle, but then he put his hands on her face, pulling her toward him, and it became deeper and more intense. Kissing Jack made Victoria feel like she was slipping out of her body and, at the same time, like she was slipping into it, really existing inside herself for the first time in her life.

  He gently kissed her closed eyes. “I’m hungry, but I don’t want to stop kissing you.”

  “Mmmm,” Victoria sighed dreamily. “That reminds me, I brought cookies.”

  “Oh no,” Jack lamented. “The impossible choice. Your delicious kisses versus your delicious cookies.”

  She laughed as he traced the edge of her ear with his lips. “That tickles.”

  Victoria’s phone buzzed. “Do you want to answer that?” Jack asked.

  She didn’t, really. She just wanted to be here. With Jack.

  Instead of reaching for her phone, she pulled his face back to hers and started kissing him again. “I’ll take that as a no,” he mumbled, through their kiss. She slid her arm around his back.

  When his phone rang the opening bars of Lost Leaders’ “All the Stars,” he groaned and pulled reluctantly away from her. “I just have to see if it’s my mom. If I don’t answer, she’ll use her Spidey sense to figure out what we’re doing, and she’ll race home.”

  Victoria kissed him once, swiftly, then let him go. He got up and dug his phone out of his bag. “I knew it!” he said, holding the screen up toward Victoria so she could read the words the mom.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said. Propped up on her arm, Victoria watched as he sat on the window seat and toyed with the shade pull, appreciating how cute he looked in his jeans and soft gray sweater, the same color as his eyes. Sometimes when she saw Jack in the hallway at school, she couldn’t believe he was really hers. It wouldn’t have surprised her if their whole relationship turned out to be just a figment of her imagination, something she’d wanted so fiercely she’d believed her own dream. Every time he saw her coming toward him down the hall, and she watched his face break into its slow smile of happy recognition, she felt the same glow of joyous surprise.

  It’s real, she would think. It’s really real.

  “When?” Jack asked. “Oh yeah?” He stood up and strolled across the room to where his guitar leaned against the wall, then idly plucked at the strings before picking it up and sitting down in his desk chair. “Okay, Mom, I’m glad you called, but I gotta go.” He listened for a second, then said, “At my desk.” Something about the way he said it made Victoria’s ears prick up. It was like he was lying or something, even though he really was sitting at his desk.

  Jack’s mom must have sensed something too, because whatever she said next, Jack responded, “I’m not lying,” but he grinned and shook his head, mouthing to Victoria, I’m a terrible liar. “Yes, Mom, as a matter of fact, she is.” He listened for a second. “Yes, Mom, I am impressed.…Yes, you should work for the CIA.…Mom, we’re not doing anything untoward. I promise you won’t have any grandchildren in the immediate future.” Victoria felt her face grow bright red, and even Jack blushed at what he’d just said. Despite being halfway across the room from the phone, Victoria could hear his mother’s voice grow loud with annoyance. “You’re right, Mother, that was a completely inappropriate thing to say.” He put his hand on his heart. “I sincerely apologize.…Yes, I do realize how lucky I am.…It’s true, you are much more permissive than most mothers.” Jack rolled his eyes at Victoria, who smiled sympathetically. “Though, let me point out, not as permissive as some.…Sorry, sorry,” he added quickly. “No, I don’t want you to come right back uptown this second.…Okay, Mom. I love you too.…Yeah, see you soon…Okay. We will. I promise. Bye.” He hung up and gave Victoria a sheepish look. “My mom says hi.”

  Victoria raised an eyebrow. “It sounded like she said a lot more than that.”

  “As you know, my mother is not one for
brevity,” he reminded her. It was true: Victoria liked Jack’s mom a lot, but she definitely was chatty.

  Idly, almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it, Jack began picking out a tune. He had never played the guitar for Victoria before; she’d noticed the instrument in the corner and wondered if he played at all, or if the guitar was just something he’d planned on mastering and then given up, the way she had ice skates hanging in her closet, which she’d worn once and never put on again.

  But clearly Jack had spent way more time with his guitar than she had with her skates. Victoria watched his agile fingers moving across the strings, then lifted her eyes to his, which were staring at her. She felt the melting feeling she always experienced when Jack looked at her like that.

  Still looking into her eyes, he began to sing along to the tune he was playing. Jack’s voice was soft but deep and sure, and he let the song unfold slowly and sweetly. The words were about swimming alone under the night sky, and they described a place so still and perfect and beautiful, Victoria wished she could be there.

  Suddenly Victoria felt her eyes filling with tears. Everything about this moment was just so perfect. It was as if her whole self—her very soul—was standing on tiptoe with joy. Why did they call it “falling in love”? She didn’t feel like she was about to fall. She felt like she was about to fly.

  The silence that hung in the room when the song ended felt as significant as the music had. Victoria and Jack stayed perfectly still, staring at each other. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. To Victoria, it felt as if somehow they were communicating on a level deeper than language.

  Jack spoke first. “I love you, Victoria.” His voice was serious, his eyes dark and intense as they bored into hers.

  Victoria felt her heart pounding in her chest. Jack put the guitar down, stood up, and walked over to where she lay on the bed. Then he reached his hand down to her.

  Victoria let him pull her to her feet, and they stood facing each other.