Lola and the Boy Next Door Read Free Page A

mess. Shards of china and eggy frittata bits, trapped between the cracks of the hardwood floor, and sticky raspberry-peach syrup, splattered like blood across the baseboards.
    “You have no idea.” I leave it at this.
    Max pours himself another cup of jasmine tea. “So why did you idolize her?”
    “I didn’t idolize her then. Only when we were younger. She was this . . . gorgeous, talented girl who also happened to be my neighbor. I mean, we hung out when we were little, played Barbies and make-believe. It just hurt when she turned on me, that’s all. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of her,” I add.
    “Sorry. I don’t watch a lot of figure skating.”
    “She’s been to the World Championships twice. Silver medals? She’s the big Olympic hopeful this year.”
    “Sorry,” he says again.
    “She was on a Wheaties box.”
    “No doubt selling for an entire buck ninety-nine on eBay.” He nudges my knees with his underneath the table. “Who the hell cares?”
    I sigh. “I loved her costumes. The chiffon ruffles, the beading and Swarovski crystals, the little skirts—”
    “Little skirts?” Max swigs the rest of his tea.
    “And she had that grace and poise and confidence.” I push my shoulders back. “And that perfect shiny hair. That perfect skin.”
    “Perfect is overrated. Perfect is boring.”
    I smile. “You don’t think I’m perfect?”
    “No.You’re delightfully screwy, and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Drink your tea.”
    When I finish, we take another stroll. The Japanese Tea Garden isn’t big, but it makes up for its size with beauty. Perfumed flowers in jewel-toned colors are balanced by intricately cut plants in tranquil blues and greens. Pathways meander around Buddhist statuary, koi ponds, a red pagoda, and a wooden bridge shaped like the moon. The only sounds are birdsong and the soft click of cameras. It’s peaceful. Magical.
    But the best part?
    Hidden nooks, perfect for kissing.
    We find just the right bench, private and tucked away, and Max places his hands behind my head and pulls my lips to his. This is what I’ve been waiting for. His kisses are gentle and rough, spearmint and cigarettes.
    We’ve dated all summer, but I’m still not used to him. Max. My boyfriend, Max.The night we met was the first time my parents had let me go to a club. Lindsey Lim was in the bathroom, so I was temporarily alone, perched nervously against Verge’s rough concrete wall. He walked straight up to me like he’d done it a hundred times before.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “You must have noticed me staring at you during the set.”
    This was true. His stare had thrilled me, though I didn’t trust it. The small club was crowded, and he could’ve been watching any of the hungry girls dancing beside me.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Lola Nolan.” I adjusted my tiara and shifted in my creepers.
    “Lo-lo-lo-lo Lo-la.” Max sang it like the Kinks’ song. His deep voice was hoarse from the show. He wore a plain black T-shirt, which I would soon discover to be his uniform. Underneath it, his shoulders were broad, his arms were toned, and right away I spotted the tattoo that would become my favorite, hidden in the crook of his left elbow. His namesake from Where the Wild Things Are. The little boy in the white wolf suit.
    He was the most attractive man who’d ever spoken to me. Semicoherent sentences tumbled around in my head, but I couldn’t keep up with any of them long enough to spit one out.
    “What’d you think of the show?” He had to raise his voice above the Ramones, who’d started blasting from the speakers.
    “You were great,” I shouted. “I’ve never seen your band before.”
    I tried to yell this second part casually, like I had just never seen his band before. He didn’t have to know it was my first show ever.
    “I know. I would have noticed you. Do you have a boyfriend, Lola?”
    Joey Ramone echoed it behind him. Hey, little girl. I wanna be your