Perfect Match Page 8

The whole table spoke up so enthusiastically that it was clear everyone was on board. I couldn’t believe that by the time the meeting adjourned, the details for the Valentine’s Dance had totally come together.

  “Okay,” Kennedy huffed, clearly pissed that allowing SBB/Simone into the meeting hadn’t been a mistake. “We’ll meet again on Wednesday to finalize the details. Everyone better be here.”

  As SBB/Simone and I walked out of the conference room arm in arm, I leaned in to whisper, “That was amazing. Are you sure you didn’t go to high school?”

  “Didn’t you figure me out?” SBB asked. “I was just channeling you, Flannie. You’re my high school role model. You know the way you get when you’re planning something and your nose gets all scrunched up and serious.” She laughed. “Do you think they bought it?”

  Looking back at Kennedy and Willa huddled in the doorway, I was sure that they must have. SBB/Simone had been so convincing—even though it was a little embarrassing to learn that I did that scrunching thing with my nose.

  But just before we turned the corner, I overheard Willa’s voice and froze.

  “I’ve got cousins all over Illinois,” she hissed to Kennedy. “I’m going to put out some feelers about this Simone from Chicago.”

  I realized I’d better warn Simone that it might be time for a costume change.

  Chapter 13

  IF YOU CAN’T DATE HIM, TRADE HIM

  A few minutes later, SBB and I were waiting outside Thoney for her driver.

  “Am I getting the hang of high school, or what?” she asked.

  I was just about to tell SBB that tomorrow, she might even consider dressing like a normal New Yorker—instead of a professional student—when she pointed at the black town car slowing to a stop in front of us and clapped her hand to her forehead. “Shoot, is it a dead giveaway of my stardom that I’m being chauffeured home?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Are you kidding? At Thoney? Take a look around,” I said, pointing to the line of town cars picking up the greater number of the girls who’d been at the dance committee meeting.

  “Wow,” she said. “High school and Hollywood seem more and more similar every day. In that case—want a ride home?”

  I looked down the street at the busy Park Avenue rush. It was nearly dusk, my favorite time of day in New York, and for a change, it wasn’t bitterly cold outside. I shook my head and helped SBB into her car.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to walk a bit. I’ve still got to find a Valentine’s gift for Alex—” I caught myself. “I mean, to supplement the mocket.”

  SBB looked at me curiously. “Going above and beyond the mocket, huh? You must really like this one.”

  As she drove away, I started walking south on Park, trying to convince myself not to get too bogged down by the pressure of this Valentine’s gift exchange. My family always said I had the magic touch when it came to gift giving. For as long as I could remember, every birthday and Christmas present I’d picked out had always received the most genuine oohs and ahhs out of anyone in my family. Part of that had to do with the fact that the rest of my relatives usually had their assistants do their shopping for them, but part of it also had to do with the fact that I put a lot of thought into my gifts. From the remote-control tracker device that I’d bought for my mom on eBay, to the chocolate fountain I’d given Feb for her twenty-first birthday, I always managed to come up with gifts that were personal and functional and unique.

  Now, as the sun set in between the gray Midtown high rises, I moseyed in and out of the shops along Madison Avenue. I had made it all the way down to Midtown without finding anything, when I found myself in front of my favorite bookstore in the city, Rizzoli.

  I stepped inside the impressive high-ceilinged shop, breathing in the crisp smell of new books and thinking that even if I didn’t find something for Alex, I still wanted to check out their section on photography. I was sidling around a giant display of Valentine’s Day books for children, when I hit a roadblock—a very tall roadblock.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the tall, dirty-blond-headed guy in a Weezer shirt. He was fully obstructing the only open path past the displays. I mean, who even wore Weezer shirts anymore? But I knew that Weezer shirt!

  “Bennett?” I said as my ex-boyfriend spun around to face me.

  “Flan?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  At first I felt guilty about admitting that I was here shopping for my current boyfriend—after all, Bennett and I had broken up because I was on the brink of a new romance with my other ex-boyfriend, Adam. Or did we break up before I met Adam? It was sort of hard to keep the timeline straight. The point was, I’d always felt a little bit of residual guilt/fear that I had broken Bennett’s heart.

  But looking at him now, he looked like his happy old Bennett self. Everything about him, from his chipped front tooth down to his worn T-shirt and frayed jeans, looked exactly the same as it had when I’d first fallen for him.

  “Oh, you know, I’m just browsing.” I shrugged. “What about you?”

  From the way Bennett’s face lit up, I thought he might tell me that he was shopping for his new girlfriend—not that that would bother me—but he just smiled and said, “I’ve been doing research on old film reels to try to learn more about the history of moviemaking. This place has a great section on old movie books. It’s so cool, like a whole secret world.”

  “That’s great,” I said, wondering how genuine my excitement sounded.

  Seeing Bennett all jazzed up about movies reminded me of all the ones he’d dragged me to watch last fall. He was the film editor of the Stuyvesant Spectator, and I’d always tried to support his passion for review writing, but let’s just say after seven films about evil Russian clones, my enthusiasm had started to wane. For a second, the matchmaker in me came alive, and I thought that what Bennett needed was to be with someone who was just as into movies as he was—someone like Camille.

  But then I remembered Morgan’s harsh words in the lunchroom during the Rob Zumberg rift, and I pictured her standing over me saying, “A lot of people like movies, Flan. Are you going to pawn Camille off on just anyone who likes movies?”

  No. I shook my head at the imaginary Morgan. I wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

  So I looked at Bennett again and reconsidered my intentions. There was more to it than Bennett just being into movies. There was something specific about the way he approached his hobbies. He wasn’t just interested in writing a good story or movie review; Bennett wanted to know the secret history behind everything he got involved in.

  Which actually made him a way better candidate for someone like … Morgan! She was all about finding the secret anecdotes about her favorite bands. She spent more time poring over obscure music Web sites than she ever did on her homework. And she was forever telling us about which Beatle had written which song for which of his bandmates’ wives. Totally something Bennett would do in his movie research. I also remembered the way Bennett had lightheartedly kidnapped and set free the frogs in my biology class last fall, when I’d been so stressed about animal cruelty. He was so laid-back that even when Morgan stressed about ridiculous stuff like extra-loud cappuccino makers at cafes, he’d be able to talk her down.

  Bennett was grinning as he showed me one of the black-and-white books he’d found, and I caught a glimpse of his famous chipped tooth. Morgan had always had an unexplainable fondness for imperfect teeth. She claimed it was the Anglophile in her. It was undeniable: Bennett was the perfect match I’d been seeking for Morgan all this time.

  He closed the book and looked up at me to see if I approved. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think …” I said, grinning at him. “I think I’m wondering if you’re seeing anyone.”

  Whoops, did that sound like a come-on?

  “I mean, I’ve got this really great friend at Thoney, and I think you guys might be good together. That is, if you’re single.”

  Bennett
blushed and looked down at the ground. “Well, I mean, yeah, I am single. But … would that be weird?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Would it?”

  I couldn’t tell from the tone of Bennett’s voice whether he thought it would be weirder for me or for him. I didn’t think it would be weird on my end, but I wasn’t sure about Bennett. It wasn’t really like me to think like this, but looking at his face, it crossed my mind that Bennett might not be over me.

  Finally he shrugged. “It wouldn’t be weird for me … if it wouldn’t be weird for you.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “It wouldn’t be weird for me. It was my idea.”

  “Good,” he said, thumbing through the books on the display case. “Okay, cool.”

  “Cool,” I said, looking for something to keep my hands busy too. “So I’ll text you Morgan’s number and you can give her a call?”

  “Sounds good.” Bennett nodded. “Well, it was good to see you, Flan.”

  He gave me an incredibly awkward hug and hurried out of the store. I couldn’t figure out which of us was responsible for that hug feeling so uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a store clerk said from behind me. “We’re closing. Did you want to take that Mommy’s Favorite Valentine book?”

  I looked down at the cartoon illustration on the cover of the picture book I’d accidentally picked up while talking to Bennett. Not exactly the gift I had in mind.

  “Uh, no thanks,” I said, as she ushered me out the door to the dark street.

  I guessed I’d have to put off my Alex shopping one more day. At least I’d gotten a little shopping done on Morgan’s behalf. Now I all I had to do was convince her that this latest fix-up would be worth her while.

  Chapter 14

  WHAT WE CALL A POWER LUNCH

  It was unseasonably warm the next day, so the girls and I decided to skip out from under the fluorescent cafeteria lights, grab some sushi from Haru, and park ourselves on the front steps of the Met during lunch.

  Maybe it was the sunny weather, maybe it was just that it was Friday, or maybe it was the fact that I had very impressively arranged a slew of blind dates for my friends for tonight, but we were all having too much fun to think about going back to class.

  Morgan had brought her inflatable speakers and was playing the Vampire Weekend CD I’d given her last week. Amory was making shadow puppets out of her sashimi. Harper was reading everyone’s horoscopes off her BlackBerry, noting that all of our Romance Factor numbers for the day were abnormally off the charts. And Camille and I were participating in one of our favorite Met steps pastimes: selecting three guys off the street and playing Kiss, Diss, or Marry.

  “Ooh, kiss,” she said about a businessman crossing the street with an alligator Hermès briefcase.

  “What? Diss—Camille, he’s like forty.”

  “Forty and fiiine. Look at that luscious bottom lip.” She pursed her own lips and made a smooching sound.

  I pushed her playfully off the step and grinned. “I’ve missed this.”

  “What, me drooling over silver foxes?”

  “You know what I mean,” I said. “You being, well, you. I’ve been worried about you for a few days.”

  “It’s still hard,” she said. “Xander e-mailed the other day to see how I was doing, but I’m just not ready to talk yet. I’m trying to keep my mind off of it, you know?” I nodded. “Now remind me who this guy is that you’re fixing me up with tonight?” she said.

  “Camille,” I said, incredulously, “it’s Saxton. Alex’s outrageously hot friend who you met at Bowlmor the other day? Don’t you remember talking his ear off about your breakup?”

  “Ugh.” she shook her head. “Hazily. I guess I was still in a self-pity coma. Wait—I talked his ear off about Xander and he still agreed to go out with me?”

  “He thought you were hot. Guys are able to overlook small flaws like emotional baggage to get a date with a gorgeous girl.” I shrugged. “You’re meeting at eight at Mary’s Fish Camp. Wear that green leather skirt from Takashimaya, and just, uh … maybe try to focus on a new topic of conversation tonight?”

  Camille nodded. “Got it. Okay, what about you, Harper? Who’s our little yenta fixed you up with?”

  Harper’s cheeks flushed lightly. Even her embarrassment was ladylike. “A painter,” she drawled.

  I’d managed to get Trevor’s number from Patch, who confirmed that he was in New York and single. I wasn’t sure Trevor would remember me, but when I called him last night, he actually sounded really excited. He said he’d had some bad experiences with blind dates before, so I’d agreed to show up with Harper for the first half hour to moderate their introductions. It actually worked out perfectly, since Harper was a little wary of the whole blind fix-up thing as well. I knew once Trevor saw what a babe Harper was, and once she saw how cool and talented he was, they’d have no problem with me skipping out.

  “I’ve never dated an artsy guy before,” Harper was saying as she touched up her French manicure. “It feels so rebellious!”

  “Just make sure you tell your parents that he also graduated first in his class at Xavier so they’ll let you out of the house,” I coached. “You and I are going to meet at Grey Dog’s at seven, and we’ll have coffee with Trevor before I send you off on your own.”

  “What should I wear?” Harper asked.

  I thought back to the image Trevor had captured in his painting. “Pearls,” I said, glad that this request wouldn’t be much of a challenge for Harper. “Pearls with something classy and black.”

  I turned to Amory, but before I could instruct her on the details for her date to see The Adding Machine with Phil, I spotted a familiar green beret dashing up the steps toward us.

  Uh-oh. I’d been able to tone down SBB/Simone at the dance committee meeting yesterday, but I wasn’t so sure I could maintain her cover in front of my friends. What was she doing here?

  “Flan—here you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” SBB/Simone sank down on the steps. Today she looked like a schoolgirl from the fifties in an argyle cardigan, pleated gray skirt, and oxford shoes. Her hands were full of poster boards, Magic Markers, protractors, and a big Ziploc bag full of erasers. She looked like she’d just robbed a Staples store. And she clearly still hadn’t figured out how to use her locker. In fact, she was so bogged down with school supplies, she didn’t even notice the rest of my friends.

  “After that committee meeting last night,” she said hurriedly, “I decided that I need to join more clubs. That’s the only way to round out this experience. So I signed up for the choir, the science fair, and the 4-H club. Did you even know Thoney had a 4-H club? Well, there’s only one other member, but apparently that’s all it takes to make a club so—”

  Harper cleared her throat. SBB stopped talking and looked around, taking in my crew. For a second, I was sure her cover was blown. How were we going to explain this to my friends? I looked at Camille, who’d be the most likely of any of them to un-incognito SBB, but, amazingly, she seemed oblivious to the starlet in our midst.

  Maybe it was because of how confident SBB was in her acting abilities. She just shifted her posture slightly, put on the Midwestern accent again, and stuck out her hand.

  “I must have left my manners back in Chicah-go,” she said. “I’m Simone, your new classmate at Thoney. You must be Flan’s posse. She’s told me absolutely everything about you.”

  I could tell my friends were a little thrown by a stranger knowing absolutely everything about them, especially when I’d never even mentioned having made a new friend. Still, they were polite enough to introduce themselves and act normal.

  Which was more than I could say for SBB/Simone. After she pretended to learn everyone’s names, she fixated back on me.

  “So anyway, now I’m just stressing that I’ve signed up for too much. I feel put out, stretched thin, you know? I’m giving myself wrinkles and my face is insured. But then I remembered: overcommitments are my Flan
nie’s specialty. So you can help me, right?”

  “Um, actually,” I said, looking around at my very confused friends, “I’m already a little overcommitted right now. I’ve fixed everyone up with dates tonight and I need to go over the details.” I explained this last part slowly, to help jog SBB’s memory that this whole matchmaking venture had been her idea—and that it was important to me, and my Valentine’s Dance future, that everything go smoothly. Hint, hint. “Maybe we can meet up later?” I suggested.

  “Oooh,” she said, finally getting it. “I’ll just wait here quietly until you’re done.”

  Groan. Somehow I doubted that SBB was capable of waiting quietly for anything. I looked at my watch. We only had ten more minutes of lunch and I had a lot of dating ground to cover.

  “Okay,” I said. “Back to Amory. Your case is the easiest one, since you’ve already sparked with Phil.”

  “Oooh! Love those initial sparks,” SBB cooed. I shot her a look to shut up.

  “But what if Phil remembers me differently and doesn’t like me this time around?” Amory used the last piece of her sushi shadow puppet to mime terror.

  “Impossible,” I said, shaking my head. “Just meet him outside the Provincetown Playhouse near NYU at seven-thirty, be your crazy self, and you’ll be golden.”

  “Wear perfume,” SBB chimed in again. “Actor boys love perfume.”

  “Simone!” I hissed.

  “Sah-rry,” she said sheepishly. “Shutting up now.”

  Luckily, after that, SBB stuck to her word, and I was able to get through the details of the final fix-up without interruptions.

  “Morg, since you and Bennett are both crazy about Middle Eastern food, you’re meeting him at eight-thirty at Moustache. You’ll recognize him because he’ll probably be wearing a Weezer T-shirt and, when he’s waiting for someone, he always stands slightly slouched over, with his hands in his pockets.”

  “Oh, okay,” Morgan said, sounding hesitant. “Remind me how you know so much about this guy?”