The Lance Temptation Read online

He walked slowly, like his legs wouldn’t support him. Before he reached the entryway, he faced me again. His voice was soft. “Could you at least tell me why?”

  Looking at him, I felt like an idiot. This shouldn’t be happening. He was one of the nicest guys I knew. Smart. Nice. I swallowed again. Something sharp dug inside my chest.

  “I… well, I…”

  He raised his hand. “It’s okay, Emili. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t owe me any explanation. I get it.”

  “Marc, I’m sorry.”

  His eyes were shadowed. They reminded me of my dog Pumpkin’s eyes when she was hit by a car — full of pain and fear. I’d only been eight years old. When she died, my world stopped. I think I wailed for months. Then one day, my tears dried up. I never spoke of her again and never wanted a new dog. Now, watching Marc, every memory of Pumpkin ripped through my heart like it’d happened yesterday.

  But still, I said nothing.

  “Does this have anything to do with Lance Jankins?”

  I gulped and swallowed. I stared at Marc, feeling helpless.

  He sighed, turned back to the door, and left.

  I remained perched on the couch — an ice queen.

  I heard my mother in the entry way. “Nice to see you, Marc. Come around anytime.”

  After closing the door, she came to find me. “Emili Jones, the least you could’ve done is show him out. Have I taught you nothing?” She narrowed her eyes. “What happened here?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, walking toward my room. “Nothing at all.”

  I heard my mother mutter behind me, “Nothing at all? Right.”

  I fell onto my bed, grabbed my stuffed bear, and squeezed him hard. When I could breathe again, I picked up my phone and turned it back on. Then I put on an old T-shirt and went to bed.

  I wanted to sleep for at least a year.

  ****

  It was nearly midnight when Farah called. I’d been asleep dreaming about horses staging a revolt — there was one for the shrinks. I reached for my phone, completely groggy. “What?”

  “Emili, is it you?”

  “Of course it’s me.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Farah, you there? What d’you want?” I shifted in bed. “It’s the middle of the night. Are you in trouble? Where are you?”

  “Home,” she answered. Her voice sounded hollow. “Have you ever done something you knew was wrong, but you wanted to do it anyway?”

  I struggled to sit up. “You heard?”

  How did she find out what I’d done to Marc? I knew I should’ve told her straightaway. But I hadn’t, so who did?

  “Heard what?” she asked.

  “Aren’t you talking about me and Marc?”

  “Not everything in this world is about you, Emili.” Her voice was jagged, hard.

  In my mind, I envisioned her, lips tight, fingers tapping wildly on her bed. I shook my head to clear it. I sat there, twisted in my blankets, with the phone to my ear.

  “You called in the middle of the night to yell at me? What gives?”

  “It’s just… well, it’s what I did,” she said slowly.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I… we…” Another long silence.

  “Does this have anything to do with what’s in your purse?”

  “My purse? What? No. There’s nothing in my purse anyway.”

  She was lying.

  “So what’s wrong?” I finally said.

  “It’s late. I’m sorry I woke you up.” She was whispering. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Farah, you okay?”

  She’d already hung up. What had she gotten into? I tossed the phone onto my bed stand and scrunched down under the covers. Now I was wide awake. I stared upwards and the light from my phone cast weird-looking shadows onto the ceiling. Marc’s face seemed to hang in the slivers of light. His eyes looked down at me, looked right through me. It was creepy. I flopped onto my side and pulled a pillow over my head. Couldn’t think about it right then. I was tired of thinking, period.

  Marc.

  Oh, Marc.

  ****

  The next morning, enough rain came down to drown the city. I gave a huge sigh, pressed my nose against the cold glass, and peered out at the black sky. It was barely seven o’clock, but judging by the darkness, it could’ve been nine at night. The sparse leaves on the trees bent soppily against the wind while the puddles widened.

  I felt like one of the droopy branches stuck out there in the rain.

  I pulled on my uniform and went to brush my teeth. Sarah was in the bathroom.

  “Hurry up!” I banged on the door.

  “I’m going to the bathroom if you don’t mind.”

  I slumped against the wall to wait. Maybe I should be sick today. I could have the same “cold” Farah had the other day. Then I wouldn’t have to go to school and I wouldn’t have to see Marc, or Farah, or Jeannie, or anyone.

  Or Lance.

  I took a deep breath. What was the matter with me? I’d broken it off with Marc for Lance — which Lance had asked me to do. Well, sort of. I was looking at this all wrong. I needed to focus on Lance with his hot swagger and his kisses and his strong arms.

  Why should I dwell on Marc when Lance was waiting? I needed to put my attention where it belonged. My insides started to flutter and I stood a bit straighter.

  “Tell me when you’re out,” I hollered at Sarah through the door.

  I went back to my room and picked up the bag crammed full of Farah’s make-up rejects. If I was going to see Lance, I was going to look good.

  ****

  Wouldn’t you know Jeannie Sander would be standing on the front steps when I got to school? I put my head down and pretended not to see her — like that would work.

  “Hey, Emili,” she said. I swear there was a tremor in her voice.

  “Oh, hi Jeannie.”

  She walked over, forcing me to stop. “I want to ask you something.”

  Her eyes kept glancing off to the right, and her cheeks were unnaturally red. Why was she nervous?

  My eyes narrowed. “Yeah…?”

  She coughed, clearing her throat. Then she grabbed my sleeve and pulled me out of the line of traffic. She leaned toward me like we were in some kind of a spy movie.

  “It’s about Marc.”

  Chapter Six

  I braced myself.

  “I know we’re sort of friends. We used to be anyway. So I thought it was only right to check with you about something.” Jeannie spoke quickly, clipping her words like a weed whacker. “Marc’s free, right?”

  “What?” Okay, this was weird.

  “I mean, you broke up, right? So, he’s free.”

  “Why do you want to know?” But I knew why. I knew perfectly well why, and it bugged me — down to my toes bugged me.

  She gulped and rolled her eyes. “Just wondering.” There was a note of irritation in her voice, more like the Jeannie I’d come to know.

  “You going after him?” I asked.

  “He’s a nice guy, Emili. And what you did to him was mean.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip. She was right.

  “Well?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, he’s free. Unless he got a new girlfriend in the last few hours.” I blanched as the words came out of my mouth. I’d done this.

  “Okay, thanks.” She nodded, attempted a smile, then left. Nerves seemed to have overtaken her again. Her jitters had nothing at all to do with me and everything to do with her plans for Marc.

  I slowly plodded into the school. So that’s how it was. Sure didn’t take long anymore. Strange. Before Marc and I got together, no one was interested in him as far as I knew. Then once we started dating, I noticed the girls perking up around him. Now, I supposed, he’d have all sorts of interest.

  Was he going to become the new hot guy?

  I put my hand to my mouth. Oh my word. Talk about ironic.

  I went down the hall, no
t seeing the crowd I had to push through to reach my locker.

  ****

  Farah wasn’t at school. Again. I tried to remember everything she’d said the night before, which wasn’t much of anything. But she did say she’d see me the next day. So, where was she? Was she dumb enough to be with Pete again?

  I couldn’t imagine her skipping two days in a row. No one could be so lucky twice. Mr. Ramos wasn’t stupid. He ran a “tight ship,” as he liked to say. For all her nerve, Farah wouldn’t risk it.

  Maybe she was sick. I turned my phone off, stuck it in my uniform pocket and decided it could wait until after second period when I’d have enough time to hide in the bathroom and call.

  Later, when I dialed, her phone went straight to voice mail — like yesterday. I texted her and stood staring stupidly at my screen hoping the bell wouldn’t ring. A minute passed, but no text. I’d practically begged her not to keep me hanging like this again. Something must be wrong.

  I silenced my phone, stuck it in my pocket, and ran to third period. I knew it was chancy having my phone on me during the day, but I’d done it before and never gotten caught. Besides, this was an emergency. There was a queer feeling in my stomach. Mom always went on and on about a woman’s intuition. She claimed she knew things before they actually happened — which I found highly amusing since she didn’t appear to know much about me. Yet right then, intuition or not, I didn’t feel good about Farah.

  During third period, I felt a growing sense of urgency. I saw Lance before lunch. He was leaning against the wall next to the water fountain as if he hadn’t ever had a concern about anything in his life, and I couldn’t help but notice his body. I didn’t want to. I mean it seemed wrong. Nice girls don’t look at guys’ butts, right? Yet there he was, and there I was, my eyes fastened on him. Then I remembered my mission.

  “Lance,” I called, approaching him.

  He was talking with Jennifer Gibbons, who seemed to live at the water fountain — at least when Lance was there. I wondered if I should be worried. She gracefully held her feathered blonde hair from her face while she bent down to sip at the fountain. I felt a sting of jealousy.

  After a small hesitation, Lance greeted me with raised eyebrows.

  I shot Jennifer what I hoped was a withering look and faced Lance. “It’s about Farah. Is she with your brother?”

  “How would I know? I haven’t even talked to Pete today.” He turned back to the fountain, but Jennifer was gone. He stooped to get a drink. I waited.

  He stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anything else?”

  I blinked, confused. I’d gotten it all wrong, I thought we were… well, together. And here he was acting like he hardly knew me. I put on extra make-up for this? I wanted to scrape all the eye shadow and rouge off my face. Who was I kidding?

  “N-no,” I stammered. “I’m concerned is all.”

  “Like yesterday, huh? I guess I don’t blame you. We’re going to be late, so I gotta go. See ya later.” He shrugged and walked away.

  I stood there, feeling like he’d slapped my face. I put my hand to my cheek and it burned beneath my touch. I am a fool. I swallowed and glanced side to side hoping no one had seen. What was going on here? And where was Farah? She’d know why Lance was acting like a jerk. She knew everything. She’d laugh and shake her long red hair and explain it all away.

  It’d turn into a marvelous joke.

  Right then, I missed her so badly I could taste it.

  The day began to pass in a fog, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Even my teachers eagle-eyed me with fretful interest all over their faces. When Mrs. Binder leaned over my desk and peered at me, I nearly burst into tears. I turned away and pretended there was something in my purse I urgently needed.

  I struggled to get through the afternoon without breaking down. There was no one I could talk to, so I kept up a running monologue inside my brain.

  Keep going, Emili. Don’t think. Don’t speak. The day will be over soon.

  After my last class, I was pulling my coat out of my locker when Marc came over. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes held mine. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I leaned into my locker, doing my best to pretend he wasn’t there while I bundled up. My heavy wool coat pressed down on me like a hundred-pound weight.

  When I checked again, Marc was still there, studying me with creases between his brows.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi back.”

  He shifted his weight. He reached forward and I thought for a moment he was going to grab my hand, but instead he pulled back and shoved his hand into his pocket. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  I nodded. “See you.”

  And he was gone.

  “I hate this,” I thought. I willed myself to take slow, even breaths. I leaned against my locker until my heart calmed. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. I checked my phone to see if Farah had texted me. Nothing. I picked up my backpack and walked out of the building. Right outside the door stood Lance.

  “Hey, Cecily,” he said.

  I nearly tripped over myself. “What?”

  “I said, hey.”

  “Hey,” I answered, wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. The burning humiliation from earlier hadn’t worn off, and I certainly didn’t crave a repeat performance.

  “Sorry about Farah. I know you’re worried, but I don’t think she’s with Pete.” Lance’s voice was subdued, concerned.

  I was so surprised I nearly dropped my backpack, but my surprise quickly changed into confusion. What was he? Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

  He stepped closer, and murmured, “Ah, Cis, you’re not still mad, are you?”

  I studied his face. “I don’t get you. What happened this morning?”

  “Sorry, I was distracted. Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He stepped even closer.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close. I wiggled against his hold for a moment, but his grip was firm and I gave up. His lips brushed my cheek. “I guess you’re right. I’m not used to having a steady. Sorry. You forgive me, right?”

  A steady? Was I his steady?

  His arm was wrapped almost completely around me. He relaxed his hold and raised his eyebrows. I leaned in for a second then remembered where we were and shimmied out of his grasp.

  “You’re going to get me in trouble. Everyone can see us.”

  “Cis? Am I forgiven or not?”

  I wanted to stay mad, but he was standing so close, and I could feel his muscles pressing against my side and smell his cologne, and it was simply too good. I settled for mildly miffed, and then shook my head, surrendering.

  “Yeah, you’re rotten, but forgiven.” I pursed my lips. I couldn’t take my eyes from his face. For a second, I thought I was going to reach up and caress him.

  I’m pathetic.

  “Why don’t you think she’s with Pete?” I asked, changing the subject to safer ground.

  “I called him.”

  “You did? Thanks.”

  “Yeah, and he’s fuming.” Lance broke out into a huge grin.

  “He’s mad? Why?”

  “I poked my nose in,” Lance said. “He can be as furious as he wants. As if I care.”

  “Farah wasn’t there?”

  “Not right then. Got the feeling maybe she was earlier.”

  “Oh, man.”

  “See what you can find out. Then let me know.” I heard the intensity behind his words.

  “I will,” I said. “Got to go.”

  “I’m serious, Cis.” The smile was still there, but it looked false, forced. His eyes penetrated mine.

  “About what?”

  “About Farah. Let me know what you find out.” He rubbed his hands up and down the shoulder straps of his backpack. “I mean, I know you’re worried and all. So am I.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  I hurried home. When I got closer to my house, I saw Mom’s car
and a small gray SUV in the driveway. What was Mom doing home? I was usually the first to arrive. I beat Sarah most days even though she was let out fifteen minutes earlier than me. Alarms started sounding off in my brain. All the dread from the day ramped up a notch.

  Mother flung open the front door and cried, “There she is!”

  My eyes widened.

  “Hurry up! Get in here,” she said. Her tone was as agitated as her movements. I almost expected her to run out and snatch me.

  I couldn’t hurry. Whatever news she had, I didn’t want to hear it. My feet dragged on the pavement. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. If I didn’t go in, I wouldn’t have to know. Mom stepped out of the house and grabbed hold of my coat. She pulled me into the living room.

  There, sitting on the edge of the couch, was Farah’s mother. She’d been crying, and I’d never seen her look such a mess. Streaks of black mascara traveled down each cheek. Her untucked blouse hung out over her skirt. She must have thrown on the first pair of shoes she’d found because they didn’t match her clothes — unheard of for her. Even her short auburn hair stuck out in funny places. I did a double-take to be sure it was Mrs. Menins.

  I couldn’t move. My throat seemed to be closing. I rubbed at it.

  Was Farah dead?

  “Where is she?” Farah’s mother asked. Her voice was raw and scratchy. “Tell me where she is.”

  My breath whooshed out. She wasn’t dead. Thank goodness. “I don’t know, Mrs. Menins. She wasn’t at school.”

  “You have to know. You’re her best friend. Where is she?”

  I shook my head helplessly. “I really don’t know. Wasn’t she home with you?”

  “Do I look like she was with me?” Mrs. Menins snapped. Then she shivered and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you. I don’t know what to think.” She gave my mother a desperate look. “Should I call the police?”

  The police? Oh, no.

  Mom sat down and put her hand on Mrs. Menins’s shoulder. The worry on Mom’s face scared me. “Does she have any other friends where she might be? Any relatives?”

  Mrs. Menins shook her head. “No, no. I don’t know.” She started to cry. I stood there not knowing what to do.