Something Borrowed Page 6

  “That’s okay. I understand.” Feeling terrible that Zoom was in such bad shape, I made a mental note to send him a card and some skateboarding magazines or something. But I didn’t bother trying to change his mind about the wedding. Walking in with a guy with a bandaged hand was one thing. Walking in with a black-and-blue guy on crutches? That was a whole different kind of picture, and not one I relished being part of. “Feel better soon, okay?”

  “. . . so Zoom is down for the count, and I’m back to the drawing board,” I told Teresa. We were in Jason’s car on our way to the bridal shop. It had only been a little more than an hour since my conversation with Zoom, so it was really just sinking in as I told Teresa the whole story. “I tried making a few more calls, but no luck.”

  “Did you call that lead singer from the club?” Jason put in. “I saw you ogling him all night. I’m surprised you even noticed your real date wasn’t there.”

  Teresa shot him an irritated glance, then turned her attention back to me. I was slumped in the backseat picking at my fingernails.

  “Listen, why are you beating yourself up about this, Ava?” she said. “Just go stag like I’ve been telling you.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “You’ll probably look better than most of the girls there. All the guys will want to dance with you.”

  I shot him a suspicious look. “Is that supposed to be some kind of crack about the Pink Horror?”

  “Take it however you want.” He smirked at me in the rearview, then returned his gaze to the road.

  Even though I was pretty sure he was making fun of me, I thought about what he’d said. “You know, there will be a lot of cute, technically single guys there,” I mused aloud. “Like Andy, for instance. It would be a lot easier to get reacquainted with him without a date slowing me down.”

  “There you go,” Teresa said. “Freedom of choice.”

  We’d just turned into the bridal-shop parking lot. I recognized several of Camille’s bridesmaids clustered on the sidewalk outside, chattering away at one another like a pack of overcaffeinated pigeons. At least half of them had a head start on the day, since they were already dressed in pink.

  “Thanks for coming along, T.” I said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’d survive this on my own.”

  She smiled and unhooked her seat belt. “What are friends for? Come on, let’s get this over with.” She glanced over at Jason. “We should be done in about an hour.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back—I’m going to swing by Burrito Moe’s while I’m waiting. But don’t worry. This time I won’t come inside to check on you, no matter how long you take.” He shot me an amused look.

  Teresa and I got out of the car. As Jason drove off, Camille’s friend Lissa spotted me and started waving giddily, as if I were her long-lost BFF.

  “There’s the maid of honor!” she cried out in her baby-doll voice. “How are you, Ava? And how’s that adorable boyfriend of yours?”

  I winced. That was fast.

  “You mean Lance?” I cleared my throat. “Er, we’re not together anymore.”

  Suddenly I was surrounded by the rest of the bridesmaids, all twittering with sympathy. “Oh, no!” Camille’s sorority sister Mary exclaimed. “But you two made such a cute couple!”

  “Don’t worry, Ava,” another bridesmaid assured me. I wasn’t sure of her name, but I knew she’d gone to college with Camille. “Nobody will even notice you’re alone on a busy day like that.”

  Lissa patted me on the arm. “That’s right. That day will be all about Camille, anyway.”

  Camille and my mom arrived just then, distracting the flock of bridesmaids from my pathetic single state. Camille climbed out of Mom’s car like a princess disembarking from her carriage and was instantly mobbed.

  “This is not going to be fun,” I muttered to Teresa, hanging back from the lovefest.

  “Deep breaths,” she advised me. “This too shall pass.”

  “Thanks, Queen Solomon.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

  “Come on, everybody,” Camille called out, “let’s go in. We have a lot to do today, and I still have to meet with the photographer later.”

  With a little help from Mom, she shooed us all into the bridal shop. The same woman was waiting for us. “Welcome, ladies,” she said. “I have your dresses all ready—this shouldn’t take long. Now, who’d like to go first?”

  “Let Ava go first,” Mary urged. She smiled at me with sympathy. Or was it pity? “She’s had a tough week.”

  Camille frowned. “What are you talking about? Ava’s been goofing off all week while I work my butt off.”

  “She means because of breaking up with her boyfriend,” Lissa spoke up with that same pitying look on her face. “Poor thing—and right before the most romantic day of the summer!”

  Now they were all staring at me again, as sorrowful as if my dog had just died on the same day I’d found out I had an incurable disease. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Wait,” I said. “I didn’t tell you guys the rest. Yeah, Lance and I broke up. But the good news is, I already found a much better guy.”

  “Really?” Lissa gasped.

  Camille looked suspicious. “Who is it?” she asked. “You didn’t tell me anything about some great new guy.”

  “I don’t tell you everything, sister dear.” I tossed my head, going for a look of playful confidence. “It’s a surprise. You guys will just have to wait and find out at the wedding.”

  Camille rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she muttered. But she was obviously too distracted to waste much energy on me. “Hey, Molly, did you remember to ask your grandmother if I could borrow her antique pearls?”

  “She said yes,” the bridesmaid in question answered, beaming. “Those pearls are going to look so amazing with your dress, Camille!”

  Lissa giggled. “Too bad they aren’t blue!” When several of us gave her confused looks, she giggled again. “You know—something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. The pearls are borrowed and old. But not blue. Get it?”

  I rolled my eyes at Teresa. All the wedding giddiness was making me blue, that was for sure.

  “All right, girls.” Mom glanced at her watch. “Can we keep things moving? Lissa and Mary, why don’t you two go get changed first?”

  As the other bridesmaids started twittering again, Teresa leaned toward me. “Is all the pink going to your head, or what?” she murmured. “Why did you tell them you have some incredible secret date for the wedding?”

  I was already wondering that myself. But what was done was done.

  “Because I do,” I told her. “That is, I will—just as soon as I find the perfect guy to ask.”

  “How’d it go?” Jason asked as we climbed back into his car an hour and a half later. “Did you girls have lots of pink and frilly fun playing dress-up?”

  “It was scintillating,” Teresa answered. “The most exciting thing that happened the entire time was when that girl Molly stepped on her hem.” She shot me a disapproving look. “Oh, wait. Also, there was Ava announcing to the world that she’s bringing some fabulous man of mystery as her date. Too bad he’s totally imaginary.”

  “I know, I know,” I moaned. “What was I thinking? Now I have to come up with someone really good, or Camille’s suburban gossip posse will have a fit. To that bunch, getting dumped is a fate worse than death.”

  “Don’t let them get to you.” Teresa sounded more sympathetic this time. “They’re too focused on their own lives to realize there’s anyone out there who might be a little different from them. No imagination, that’s their problem.”

  I smiled at her gratefully. No matter what she thought of my sometimes impulsive behavior, I knew she was always in my corner.

  “It’s probably just as well that Zoom guy is out of the picture,” Jason said as he put the car into gear. “He was probably a little too edgy for that gang anyway.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. But I wasn’t really paying attention. I was to
o busy scanning my mind for new ideas. “Listen, Teresa. Want to go hang out on campus again on Saturday? I had good luck there last time.”

  “Why bother?” Jason said before Teresa could answer. “I already found you the perfect wedding date.”

  “Who?” I glanced at him skeptically. “The counter guy at Burrito Moe’s? I’d prefer someone older than fifteen, thanks.”

  “No. The lead singer of Manayunk Mucus.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. I’m trying to have a serious discussion here.”

  “I am serious.” He shot me a glance in the rearview. His eyes held a bit of a challenge. “Unless he’s not your type? Not safe and suburban enough?”

  I frowned. “Who do you think I am—Camille? I don’t go for suburban and safe.”

  “If you say so.” He reached over and turned on the radio.

  I leaned forward and poked him in the shoulder. “Hey,” I said. “Who are you to call me suburban? Which of us is wearing an L.L.Bean T-shirt right now? And who just said Zoom was too edgy?”

  “Just ignore him,” Teresa advised me. “He’s only trying to get a rise out of you.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said, “ignore me. I’m just kidding around.”

  We changed the subject after that, but inside I was still stewing about what he’d said. If he really thought I was too suburban and safe to be interested in a guy like that singer, he knew even less about me than I’d thought.

  As soon as I got home, I hurried upstairs and turned on my laptop. It only took a quick Google to find the official website of the Manayunk Mucus. The site had a little profile of the band members. Staring out at me from the top photo was that amazing lead singer. His name was Oliver, according to the site, and his eyes were almost as smoldering in the photo as they had been in real life. There was also a contact phone number on the site. Grabbing my cell, I dialed it. What did I have to lose?

  “’Lo?” a hoarse, sleepy-sounding voice answered on the fifth ring.

  “Um, hello? I’m trying to get ahold of Oliver? The lead singer of the Manayunk Mucus?”

  “This is Oliver.” The voice sounded slightly more awake this time.

  I clutched the phone tightly. “Uh, hi,” I said, taken aback. Somehow, I’d been expecting an agent or something. “My name’s Ava. I was at your show last night at Thermopylae.”

  “Oh, really?” Now he sounded fully awake, though his voice had that same raw, smoky quality it did when he was singing. “What do you look like, darlin’? Maybe I saw you there.”

  “I’m about five-three, reddish blond hair,” I said. “I was wearing a green flowered halter top?”

  “Yeah, and a black miniskirt, right? Sure, I remember you,” Oliver said right away. “I always remember the cutest girl at every gig.”

  I was kind of taken aback. Sure, I was used to getting my share of notice from the opposite sex. But this was different. Or was it?

  He’s just a guy, I reminded myself. One pant leg at a time, like all the rest of ’em.

  “Listen, Oliver. This might seem like a strange question . . .” Before I could lose my nerve, I blurted out my dilemma.

  I hung up the phone a few minutes later feeling a little overwhelmed. For better or worse, I had a date for the following night—and another date to the wedding. One that was sure to make Camille’s twittering pink minions faint in their pink pumps.

  So there, Jason, I thought. I stared at the flickering photo of Oliver on my laptop screen and smiled.

  Eight

  Camille’s bachelorette party the next evening was perfectly boring in a typical Camille-like way. I was glad that she and her dorky friends seemed to be having fun and all, but dirty Pictionary and karaoke just weren’t my thing, and I was glad to have my date with Oliver as an excuse to duck out a little early.

  I’d offered to take the train in to Center City, figuring the Main Line might be too much of a shock to Oliver’s rock-and-roll system, but he’d gallantly insisted on being the one to travel. When I arrived at the local Thai place I’d picked for the date, he was at the bar waiting for me, looking smoking hot in a cool alt-rock kind of way.

  “There you are.” He stood up when I approached and looked me over. He pursed his lips. “Just as gorgeous as I remembered.”

  “You too,” I said with a smile. “And boy, am I glad to see you tonight. I just came from the lamest bachelorette party in the world.”

  He put a hand on my back and steered me to an empty table. “What, no male strippers?”

  “Hardly.” I rolled my eyes as I allowed myself to be steered. “My sister is way too uptight for that sort of thing.”

  “Uh-oh.” He arched an eyebrow and pulled out my chair. “What did I let myself in for? I signed on for a date with a hot babe, not an uptight Main Line wedding.”

  I grinned. “Too late to back out now,” I teased. “But don’t worry. I’ll do my best to keep you entertained.”

  He laughed, showing nicotine-stained teeth and a surprisingly sweet smile. Suddenly I wondered why I’d ever been nervous about calling him. He was just a guy, like any other guy.

  Well, maybe not quite like every other guy. Tonight he was dressed in skinny black jeans, electric-blue cowboy boots, a faded Sex Pistols T-shirt, and a tuxedo jacket with patches on the elbows. Oh, and a different nose ring—this one was an actual ring, with a tiny silver cross dangling from it.

  “I know one way to liven things up at the wedding,” I said, running my eyes over the outfit as he sat down across from me. “Wear that.”

  “Ah, but no,” he replied. “I’ve got a much more interesting outfit in mind for the big day.”

  “Really?” I giggled. “What?”

  He leaned forward, lacing his long fingers together and gazing at me. “I thought I’d start with my favorite pair of leather pants. Black, of course—after all, it’s a formal occasion. . . .”

  After that, the evening flew by. Oliver was really fun to hang out with. Better yet, the more I got to know him, the more I relished the thought of parading him around in front of all the stuffy Main Line gossips who would be at the wedding. I wasn’t sure Oliver would ever be Mr. Right. But as Mr. Right Now, he was perfect. As the evening went on, he continued to plan and improve upon the outrageous outfit he planned to wear—it involved all sorts of leather, a few chains, some zebra-patterned silk, and even a touch of purple-glitter guyliner. Camille would definitely have him Photoshopped out of all the wedding pictures, and Boring Bob would probably faint when he got a load of him. Not to mention what Mr. Smug You’re-So-Suburban Jason would say the first time he saw us together.

  Suddenly I couldn’t wait another whole week to see the reactions. “Hey,” I blurted out as the waitress cleared away our plates and dropped dessert menus on the table. “Want to come to a pool party on Sunday?”

  “A pool party?” He leaned closer and arched his eyebrow again. I’d never quite realized just how sexy an eyebrow could be. “Depends. Will it involve seeing you in a bikini?”

  “Maybe, if you play your cards right. So how about it?”

  “I’ll be there. Just tell me where and when.”

  I gave him the info, silently congratulating myself for taking a chance on him. I’d never really pictured myself falling for a musician. Then again, I’d never met one quite like Oliver. Maybe this time Mr. Right Now really would end up turning into something more after all. . . .

  I was in a great mood when I got home after my date. It was late—Oliver and I had hung out at the restaurant for a long time talking and laughing and drinking green tea. Then he’d driven me home in his old beater Chevy, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek before I hopped out. That wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting from Mr. Walk on the Wild Side, and I’d found it quite charming.

  To my surprise, all the downstairs lights were on in my house. When I let myself in, I saw why. Another category-five Bridezilla crisis was in full swing in the den. My father was sitting in front of the computer, grim-faced and s
ilent. Camille, on the other hand, was decidedly not silent. She was wailing at the top of her lungs while pacing around in circles in her robe and fuzzy pink slippers. Her voice was reaching that pitch that only dogs can hear, so at first it was hard to make out exactly what the problem was.

  I glanced at Mom for help. She was standing near the computer desk glancing back and forth from Dad to Camille with a frown on her face.

  “Hey,” I greeted her. “What’s going on?”

  Camille heard me and whirled around. “I’ll tell you what’s going on!” she exclaimed. “That jerk of a webmaster really messed me up. My wedding site crashed, I can’t retrieve the RSVP list or the gift registry, and now it won’t even let me log on! Even though it’s my site!”

  “Yes,” Mom said through clenched teeth. “And apparently this is such a big emergency that it can’t possibly wait until morning.”

  I gulped. Mom had the patience of a saint. So far she’d been dealing pretty well with the yearlong process of planning this wedding, resorting only occasionally to an extra glass of wine or an especially pointed joke when things got ridiculous. But I could see that she was really getting fed up this time. This wedding was hard on all of us, but Mom was taking the brunt of it. Now it looked like it was my turn to take over bridesitting duties for a while before someone got hurt.

  “No problem, people, I’m here,” I said. Hurrying toward the computer, I gave Dad a poke on the shoulder. “Up you go, old man. What do you know about computers, anyway? Back in your day, didn’t you still carry an abacus to school?”

  Dad’s grim mask cracked just enough to let out a hint of a smile. I could usually make him laugh even when he was deep in his I’d-rather-be-somewhere-else mode. “Watch it, missy,” he said. “If you keep up that lip, I’ll whack you with my dentures.”

  He stood up and stretched. Meanwhile, Camille was staring at me suspiciously. “What are you going to do?” she demanded. “You don’t know any more about this stuff than I do, Ava.”