Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better Read online

  “Yes,” I say, sighing. “I remember that.” Something tells me this is not how Bailey Barelli’s family treated Luke.

  “So Luke,” my mom says. “Devon says you two are in mock trial together?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Right now we’re working our way through the Supreme Court cases.”

  “It’s really interesting,” I lie. In the backseat, Katie has pulled out a bag of crackers and is chewing on them noisily. I take a glance back there just in time to see one of the crumbs fly out of her mouth and land on Luke’s sneaker. Ewww.

  “Katie, um, I think you need a napkin,” I try.

  “I think you need to tell me why that mean-looking man had your phone, please.”

  “I told you, he’s not mean, he’s my teacher.”

  “Why did the teacher have your phone?” my mom asks, frowning.

  “Um, he just . . .” I catch Luke’s eye in the side mirror. Crap. Now what? Do I make up something to tell my mom so that I don’t get in trouble? I mean, is it that big of a deal to get caught texting in class? There are way worse things I could have done. Like cheat on a test for example. Or make out with Luke in the hallway, the way Lexi and Jared sometimes do. Of course, Lexi’s mom wouldn’t care about that, but my mom totally would. I’m just saying. And if I don’t lie, if I just tell the truth, then Luke will see what a trustworthy person I am, right? Right?

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I say. “He just took my phone for the day because he caught me returning a text message in between classes. He wasn’t even mad about it, they just have to do it because it’s school rules.” Not exactly the truth, but whatevs. I add a little eye roll to show that, you know, it’s not a big deal. And that my mom shouldn’t freak out. But then her hands tighten around the steering wheel, and I can tell it’s going to be bad.

  chapter nine

  My mom’s still upset when we pull into the driveway. I can tell she’s trying to reign it all in since Luke is around and everything, but it’s still a little uncomfortable.

  “I just thought you and I had a promise to each other, that’s all,” she’s saying. “That you wouldn’t use the phone in school if we got you one.”

  “Um, well, I wasn’t technically using it in school. I mean, yes, I was in school, but no, I wasn’t in class, I told you, it was before the bell.”

  We’re inside now, and Katie plops herself down on the floor of the foyer and holds her foot out to Luke. “Untie my shoe, please, Luke,” she says politely. Oh, geez. At least she remembered his name. And at least she’s not wearing ballet slippers or something equally ridiculous. Luke hesitates for a second, then reaches down and starts untying her shoe.

  The phone rings, and my sister rushes off to get it. She steps on Luke’s foot as she goes, and my mom follows her into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” I say. “Katie’s not usually so . . .” I’m trying to think of the word, and then I realize no matter what word I use, Katie usually is so. “Actually, she is.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, squeezing my hand. “They’re your family. I’m looking forward to getting to know them.”

  Aww! How cute is Luke? Wanting to get to know my family even after my sister bossed him around, called him ‘my stupid boyfriend’ and then almost broke his toe when she stepped on it! And after my mom made an almost big deal about the texting. I mean, honestly. How embarrassing.

  “Anyway,” I say, “maybe we should go into the kitchen and look at some menus.” My plan is to just nonchalantly open the drawer in the kitchen and pull out some menus, and then if my mom says anything, act like I just assumed we’d be ordering out. That way, maybe I can convince her. I considered telling her Luke had a bunch of weird food allergies, but then I realized it’d be hard to keep that going once Luke actually got here.

  When we reach the kitchen, though, we find my mom at the stove, stirring something in a big pot. “Luke, I hope you like chicken and dumplings,” my mom says. “It’s been cooking all day.”

  “I love chicken and dumplings, thanks, Mrs. Delaney.” Luke pulls out a chair and sits down at the table.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask.

  “He’ll be home soon,” my mom says. “He had to work late.” My stomach rolls a little bit at this news. Working late? Isn’t that the oldest excuse in the book for when parents are out, gallivanting around with other people?

  “You can sit there,” I say to Luke, pointing to the seat next to me. He’ll be across from Katie, but hopefully she’ll do a little better with the chicken and dumplings than she did with the crackers in the car.

  “Devon, it’s for you,” Katie says, holding out the phone. “It’s Greg.”

  Luke shoots me a look. My mom shoots me a look. Katie shoots me a look.

  “Um, okay,” I say. Why would Greg/Ryan be calling me? And why is he using his fake name?

  “Hello?” I take the phone away from Katie and wonder if I can get away with pretending it’s Mel.

  “Hey, it’s Ryan,” Greg/Ryan says.

  “Oh, hi.” What I really want to say is, Why are you calling me and how do you have my number and why have you picked the worst night to do so, the night my boyfriend is over for a supposedly relaxing family meal? But all I say is, “Um, so what do you want?”

  “I just wanted to touch base about this weekend. Now, I know I’m playing a juvenile delinquent, but do I need to dress like one, too?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, like, does this person dress all hardcore, or is he just your normal, run-of-the-mill rich boy with a problem, like the ones that have dark secrets and are tortured?”

  “I’m really not sure, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” Despite myself, I’m intrigued. Yes, Greg/Ryan’s timing is completely off, but he brings up a good point. I don’t think we can have him showing up at Mel’s house wearing some kind of ripped clothes and carrying a switchblade. More likely he’d be a kid who comes from a good family, but maybe has a bad home life. Kind of like in this one movie I saw on Lifetime once, called, A Stranger in the Family. It was all about how the family didn’t even know their own son once he started doing crazy things. “Hey, do you ever watch Lifetime?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” So much for that. “Well, I think it’s more like the rich kid thing.”

  “Good, that’s what I was thinking, too. And I really think I can play this part well.”

  Hmmm. Does Greg/Ryan want to be an actor? I guess I could see that. Although he’d have to learn to listen to the director a little more, since he told Bailey Barelli that he still liked me, when he was specifically told not to. I want to ask him about this, but then I realize Luke is still in the kitchen with my mom, and neither one of them are talking. And it’s not because they don’t have anything to say to each other, but because they both want to hear what I’m saying.

  “I have to go,” I say, and hang up the phone before Greg/Ryan can respond. Please don’t call back, please don’t call back, I plead silently in my head.

  “Who was that?” my mom asks.

  “Oh, that was just Greg,” I say. I slide into the seat next to Luke, praying my mom doesn’t ask who Greg is.

  “Who’s—” But the phone rings, cutting her off. I almost jump out of my seat I’m so nervous.

  “I’ll get it!” I practically scream, running for the phone. Luke looks alarmed as I almost trip over Katie in my haste.

  “Hello?” I say, breathless. I didn’t even check the caller ID.

  “Devon?” a male voice asks. But it’s not Greg/

  Ryan. It’s my dad.

  “Oh, hi, Dad,” I say, relieved. There’s no way he’d be calling me if he were out with what’s-her-face, the blonde from the Starbucks. Unless he’s on his way home, and his guilt has gotten the best of him, and so he’s calling to assuage those feelings. “Where are you?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Listen, I’m not going to make dinner,” he says. “There’s some, uh, business I have to f
inish up at the office.”

  “Business, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Apologize to Luke for me, let him know I’ll meet him next time. And tell your mom I should be home after I take care of this last thing.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Thanks, honey,” he says. I hang up the phone.

  “Who was that?” my mom asks.

  “Dad,” I say, slumping into the chair next to Luke. “He’s not going to make it for dinner, he has to work late.” I emphasize the words “work late” so that my mom can, you know, maybe get the hint that he’s probably not actually working late. But she just starts opening up a tube of dough and dropping it into the chicken stew with a spoon.

  Dinner passes by in a blur. I’m so upset that I can’t even concentrate on what’s being said. All I know is that my mom manages not to say anything too embarrassing (if you don’t count how she tells Luke about how I used to have a blanket that I called Mr. Blankie when I was younger and if anyone tried to take it away from me I’d scream and cry), and Katie manages to chew with her mouth closed.

  Luke is funny and cute and I can tell my mom likes him. After a dessert of ice cream sandwiches, when we’re sitting around talking about the case we have to prepare for mock trial, my mom tells us that she and Katie will handle the dishes, and that we can go in the living room and work on our homework before she drives Luke home. I’m shocked. My mom, actually letting me go into the living room with Luke? Of course, the living room is right off the dining room, and there’s no door connecting the two, but still.

  “So,” Luke says, once we’ve spread out all our books and papers. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Why you barely said one word during dinner?”

  “I did say one word,” I protest. “I yelled at my mom for telling that Mr. Blankie story.”

  Luke grins. “And you,” I say, “better not tell anyone that story, not even Jared.”

  “Scout’s honor,” he says, crossing his heart.

  “You’re not a Boy Scout,” I say. “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then Scout’s honor doesn’t mean anything.” I open my bag and pull out a pen, tapping it against my English binder thoughtfully. “You need to give me an honor on something you’re actually a part of.”

  “Soccer player’s honor?” he tries.

  “Does the soccer team have some sort of unwritten code that you won’t violate?” Somehow I doubt this, since all the soccer players I know throw spit-balls at lunch and sometimes put gum in unsuspecting girls’ hair.

  “No,” Luke admits. “But I think Scout’s honor should be good enough, since you don’t actually have to be a Scout to realize what a big undertaking that is.”

  “You’re right,” I say. My cell phone beeps, and I reach down into my bag and pull it out. FOUND THE PERFECT OUTFIT FOR CHALLENGING ROLE! it says. ALSO CAN MY FAKE NAME BE ETHAN? SOUNDS V. RICH! Ohmigod. How did Greg/Ryan get my cell phone number? Lexi, probably. I have to have a talk with her about violating others’ privacy.

  “Who’s that?” Luke asks, as I quickly shove the phone back into my bag.

  “Just Lexi,” I say. “She wants to know about the dance.”

  There’s a silence. “So,” Luke says. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I told you, nothing.” I open my English binder and run my finger over the first paper in there, an assignment sheet that lists our homework for the night, a response paper comparing and contrasting Romeo’s cousin and his best friend as characters. Sigh.

  “Is it about Greg?” Luke asks, shifting beside me on the couch. “Is that why you’re upset?”

  “What? No!”

  “You got upset right after he called you, and you’ve been upset this whole time.” He takes a deep breath. “What did he say to you? Do I need to kick his—”

  “No!” My boyfriend wants to beat up a guy I’ve met once in my life. I decide to take a deep breath and tell Luke about my dad. After all, Luke’s parents are divorced, and maybe he’ll have some insight. “It’s my dad.”

  “Your dad? What about him?” Luke looks concerned, and I motion him a little closer to me so that my mom won’t overhear us. He moves closer, until he’s so close his leg is touching mine.

  “I just . . .” I look down at my hands, take another deep breath, and then tell him the whole story. About how my dad acted weird on the phone that day. How Lexi and I saw him with that woman. And before I know it, I’m crying, fat little tears are sliding down my face and slipping off my cheeks and making wet spots on the sleeve of my shirt as I try to wipe them away.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Luke says. He strokes my hair and pulls me into a hug. “You don’t know what any of that means.”

  “I know,” I say. “But let’s be serious. I mean, he had to work late? And then he couldn’t come home for dinner?”

  “Yeah,” he says slowly. He pulls away from the hug and looks at me, his eyes serious. “But Devon, no offense, you do tend to have kind of an overactive imagination.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Like how you thought something was going on between me and Bailey.”

  “I didn’t think something was going on between you and Bailey,” I say. And then, just to, you know, clear things up, I say, “Well, I didn’t really know if something was going on with you and Bailey. I mean, you guys did used to go out, and there’s all that texting and note-passing.”

  “Does the texting and note-passing really weird you out?” he says.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s just . . . I don’t know, it’s complicated, all this ex-girlfriend stuff.” I look down at my hands.

  “Yeah, that’s how I feel about Greg,” he says. “I know he’ll always be hard to compete with, since he was your first boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t see him ever. Or even talk to him.” Luke raises his eyebrows, and I realize that Greg/Ryan just called me tonight. “Well, not that much anyway. You have to be with Bailey every single day at school, and after school, too, at mock trial.”

  “But I only want to be with you.” And when he says it, something about the way his voice sounds makes me believe him.

  “And I only want to be with you,” I say.

  “So it’s a good thing we’re together then.” He smiles.

  “A very good thing.” I smile back at him, and he reaches out and takes my hand, drawing little circles on my palm with his finger.

  “Devon?” he says. “I think you should talk to your dad. I’m sure it’s probably nothing, but still. Just for your own peace of mind.”

  “You’re right,” I say. And I know he is. I just don’t know if I’m ready to have that conversation.

  chapter ten

  “Of course I gave him your number, he kept asking for it,” Lexi says. It’s the next day after school, and she’s standing in front of the mirror in her room, wearing a long, flowing, sheer lavender dress. It’s scalloped on the top, with a sweetheart neckline. “No, no, no,” Lexi declares. She pulls the dress off her head. “No good for the dance. I need something a little more me.” She leaves the dress in a pile on the floor and goes skipping into her walk-in closet wearing nothing but her bra and underwear.

  Neither me nor Mel (who’s on the other side of the room, going through Lexi’s bookshelves, looking for books she wants to borrow), are fazed by this display. We’re used to it. Lexi dances around the gym locker room all the time like this. She just doesn’t care.

  “I thought you already had a dress for the dance,” I say, flopping down on her bed and staring up at the ceiling.

  “I thought I did, but I really need to keep my options open.” She reappears holding a red, strapless short dress. She slides into it, and smiles at her reflection in the mirror. “Much better.” She does a twirl, then looks at me. “Devi, did you get your dress yet?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m too
depressed to think about the dance.”

  “Stop acting like a drama queen,” Lexi instructs. She twirls in front of the mirror, the dress swishing all around her.

  “Yeah,” Mel says. She holds up a book. “I’m taking this one, too, is that okay?”

  “Sure,” Lexi says, waving her hand. “Take whatever you want.”

  “I’m not being dramatic,” I say. “My dad is having an affair, hello! That is a huge deal.”

  “Just because you saw him with some woman in Starbucks?” Mel asks. “No offense, Devon, but you do kind of have an overactive imagination.”

  “You forgot about the weird phone call and the working late.” What is up with everyone telling me I have an overactive imagination? It’s not that bad. I mean, yeah, I have created some secret lives for myself. And one time last year when this woman asked me to watch her computer while she ran to the bathroom at the library, I did get all nervous thinking maybe she was some kind of spy and the computer was a bomb. But seeing your dad with another woman? That is pretty much something that you cannot misinterpret.

  “Hey,” I say to Lexi, suddenly remembering. “Where were you in mock trial yesterday?”

  A look of guilt passes over Lexi’s face, and she and Mel exchange a look. “What?” I ask. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “Um, well,” Lexi says. She turns away from the mirror and twists her hands nervously. Suddenly Mel gets very busy arranging all the books she’s going to be borrowing into a pile. “The thing is, mock trial isn’t really for me.”

  “You’re quitting? But Lexi, you should have an extracurricular.” I don’t really mean that. About the extracurricular thing. Yeah, she should have one, I guess, but I don’t really care if she does. What I do care about is her staying in mock trial with me, so I’m not left alone with Bailey and Kim.

  “I do,” she says.

  “You do what?” I’m confused.

  “I do have an extracurricular.” Her eyes flash to Mel, who’s still busy arranging. And not looking at me. Lexi clears her throat, and then says finally, “I joined radio.”