Chapter Seven

I headed back to school. I felt terrible. When I had a problem I could usually talk to Leo or Kyla about it. This time, I was clearly on my own.

I’d just turned onto Pleasant Point Road when I saw Devin barreling back toward me. He didn’t look very happy.

“What was all that about?” he said.

“All what?” I said, although I really didn’t want to know.

“What’s the idea of bringing that girl to lunch with us?”

I didn’t have an answer. Right then it didn’t seem like such a great idea to admit I was setting him up. I sort of stood there, stunned, mumbling something about how good Deon’s fish chowder is. He just carried right on.

“I don’t know what got into you! We have a good time together. We hang out at the store. We hang out at the school. We hang out at the library. Things are going great. Then you ask me out—and I think, hey, we’re finally getting somewhere. I arrive at our big date—and find out you’ve brought a friend!?! I don’t get it!”

Is that what he thought? This was a date? I could have kicked myself. Why hadn’t I just told him about Kyla in the first place?

“Look. I’m really sorry, Devin,” I said. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought you’d realize it was just …” I tried to find the right word “… a friendly invitation. I mean, you know I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, right!” he said. “Leo. He’s your boyfriend? That guy you’re scared of?”

“I’m not scared of him!” I said.

“You sure looked like you were the other night!” He was practically screaming at me.

“I just didn’t want him seeing you there, that’s all.” It sounded pretty lame.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “How come?”

“Well, I…I just didn’t want Leo to get the wrong idea.”

Devin laughed. “The wrong idea? Like maybe there was a little something going on between us? Some mutual attraction, maybe?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“See, that’s your problem, Frances. It wouldn’t be giving Leo the wrong idea. It would be giving him the right idea. We are attracted to each other. You know it as well as I do.”

What could I say to that? I didn’t want to crush the guy. I didn’t want to tell him he didn’t appeal to me. I didn’t want to be mean.

I just said, “Devin, I’m sorry but it’s not like that. I love Leo.”

“Oh, please!” he said. “You’ve got to stop kidding yourself. I don’t know what type of weird hold this guy has over you. You have nothing in common! You and I like to do the same things. We laugh at the same things. Hey, we even picked out exactly the same book! You and Leo? You can’t even agree on what movie to see!”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“I bet you really enjoyed watching Alien Slugfest. That’s just your type of film, isn’t it?”

I got a chill. That was the movie Leo and I had rented the night before.

“Were you following me?” I could barely get the words out.

“Excuse me?” Devin looked like I’d really insulted him. “I’m not allowed to rent a movie? I’m not allowed to go into the town’s one and only video store just because you’re there?”

“How come I didn’t see you?” Lockeport Movie Stop isn’t that big a place.

Devin shook his head as if I was being totally dense. “Frances!” he said. “I was doing you a favor! I hid so that Bam-Bam, your caveman boyfriend, wouldn’t catch us in the same room together! Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

I didn’t answer. Things were getting out of hand. It seemed the more I said, the madder he got. The worst thing was that I could sort of see where he was coming from.

Sort of.

I made him hide from Leo. I hung out with him. I asked him for lunch. I didn’t mean to, but maybe I was sending him mixed messages. Maybe he wasn’t that crazy for thinking there was some hope there. I felt so bad for him.

“Devin,” I said, “you’re a nice guy. You’re funny. And you’re smart. I’m glad to be your friend, but that’s all I can be. There’s more to Leo and me than you can see. I hope you understand.”

He looked away. There was this long silence.

Then he laughed and said, “Oh, I understand all right.” I couldn’t tell if it was a mad laugh or a sad laugh.

I touched his arm. “No hard feelings?”

He said, “I’ve got nothing but good feelings for you, Frances.” He handed me the plastic bag he was holding.

“Here. You can read all about them on the front page,” he said.

I looked in the bag. It was a book. One of those big $80 coffee-table books on the history of art. I tried to give it back but he wouldn’t let me. When he left, I opened it to the front page.

He’d written: “To Frances—and the beginning of our own long and beautiful history of art. With love always, Devin.”

I felt sick. The poor guy. What could I do? I just hoped he’d get over it soon.