The Girl Who Invented Romance Read Free

she’s having with your father, dummy. Every time I come here, he’s just bought your mother chocolate or a bouquet of violets or a special card. And how long have they been married? Forever. Longer than any of us have even been alive.”
    “I should hope so,” I said grumpily.
    I disliked talking about my parents’ romance. It is beautifuland I do love seeing them. They’re forty and still setting the standard by which everybody in Fox Meadow goes—notes to each other tucked under the windshield wipers, the special silver charm, the perfect surprise. But it’s hard to live in a house that is wall-to-wall romance and not be able to participate one single red rose’s worth. My older brother, Parker, literally closes his eyes whenever they get romantic. I used to think it embarrassed him, but now I think he’s disgusted by it. Maybe he thinks they’re too old and too married.
    But then, Parker himself was such a mystery to me right then that who knows?
    Because my brother, Parker, was dating Wendy Newcombe. Wendy is the Queen of Romance. Exquisitely pretty, very funny, terribly smart. She writes a daily school soap opera, which we listen to after the principal’s announcements. She dates only princes, like Jeep.
    Now, Parker is nice. In fact, very nice. When he graduated from middle school, he was voted Nicest Boy and I don’t think anybody would change that vote four years later. But what kind of adjective is
nice
? You can’t call Parker dramatic or romantic or handsome. He’s my brother and I love him—everybody loves him—but Wendy dumped Jeep for my brother Parker and that’s amazing.
    Jeep has about eight hundred wonderful qualities, from sexy to sweet, from athletic to gorgeous. Park has one wonderful quality. You wonder what Wendy had beenthinking of to make that trade. Whatever it was, she was thinking of it constantly.
    You should have seen Wendy follow Parker around.
    She ran the long way through the corridors between classes just to catch a glimpse of my brother going into chem lab. Once in sociology she actually forgot to take a test, and when Ms. Simms said, “Wendy? You’re not taking the test?” Wendy said, “Oh my goodness! Oh dear!” and blushed and added, “I guess I was thinking about Parker.”
    Parker isn’t in our sociology class, but Jeep is. Jeep cringed. He has good features for cringing, although I prefer to imagine his features in terms of kissing and serenading. I can think of no time I would put Parker’s features ahead of Jeep’s. Even though he’s my brother and I’m very loyal. Well, sort of loyal.
    Sometimes I think romance is a mystical game. You’ve been dealt cards you don’t know what to do with. You play by rules nobody else seems to be following because they were given a different set of instructions. Or maybe you don’t play at all. You can’t seem to toss the right combination to start the game.
    “Oh well,” said Megan, mopping up the last of her tears and throwing Jimmy out with the tissue. “Let’s play Monopoly. I’ll be banker. Next to boys I like money best.” She said, “Oh well,” with the reverse inflection. Instead of her voice sinking with despair, it lifted cheerily. Her “Oh well” was looking forward to a new day.
    “I’ll be the iron,” said Faith, choosing her game piece.
    “I’ll be the Scottie dog,” said Megan, choosing hers.
    The phone rang.
    I keep my phone under the bed because there’s so much essential junk on my bedside table. I leaned over backward so that my vertebrae made splintering noises, and I reached down under. My hair, which is absolutely straight and very thin, like my body, fell around me like a silvery gold waterfall and splashed on my carpet. About the only thing I really like about myself is my hair. Yellow silk ribbons.
    I groped for the phone and clicked it on. “Hello?”
    “Hello, Kelly? It’s Wendy. Wendy Newcombe?”
    The princess of Cummington High is in two classes with me and has been