The Julian Game Read Free Page B

here, too cluttered.
    “You know I live in Radnor? And you’re on North Aberdeen Avenue in Wayne, right? Actually I’m not guessing—I looked you up in the school directory. I’m only fifteen minutes, and Noreen—that’s my housekeeper—said she’d drive me.”
    Why? Why did she want to come here? I was delirious to know and almost too shy to ask. “Do you need something . . . from me?”
    “Remember you said you could teach me Chinese better than Filth? Well, I’m free tomorrow. Do you mind? I’m in major danger of failing the semester. Then we’ll do something fun, after. Promise.”
    Awful as it was to think of Ella in my house, I didn’t know how to deny her. “No, I don’t mind. Come over whenever.”
    “Eight-ish?”
    “Eight-ish, sure.” After I clicked off, I rested the phone on my beating heart. Then I called Natalya’s. Then I hung up. Then I stared at the phone. What would I tell her? I felt horrible. But a bigger part of me was excited. A promise of fun, from Ella Parker, didn’t happen every day.

five
    Almost a year before, I’d experienced my first kiss. It was way overdue, and it happened in the final five minutes of a freshman mixer. Ed Strohman was cute, with a choppy haircut that made me think of artichokes, and a habit of repeating the last words I’d said to him. I’d been shyly orbiting him all night. Laughing at his jokes and accepting his offer of cinnamon Dentyne.
    When he went for it, I was ready.
    “It’s the last dance of the night, I think,” I’d prompted as the music switched to a down-tempo.
    “I think,” he agreed with a nod of his big artichoke head. Moving in. His breath was sweet, his mouth was warm, his tongue roved but didn’t make me want to throw up. Afterward, he’d helped me on with my jacket and waited outside by the front wall for my ride. And although the image of Dad cranking down the window to tell Ed, “I’ll take it from here, son,” over “Looks Like We Made It” is seared forever into my Miserable Manilow Moments, that night also became a semi-precious stone embedded in my memory.
    Nothing had come of it, but later that spring Ed sent me a good-luck note on Facebook about how he hoped I’d survive my new, all-girls school. Last time I texted him, he wrote back that he was seeing Maia Amodio. If I’d known that my next year at Fulton would be so parched of romance or adventure, I might have kept up with him more aggressively.
    It seemed unnatural to have so few chances to talk to guys these days. So few chances to be social, ever. Which was probably why, by Saturday morning, I still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to cancel on either Natalya or Ella. I was stuck between the safe bet of a comfy night of videos with Tal, and that seductive, electric promise of “something fun” with Ella Parker.
    “What’s wrong?” Dad asked me at breakfast as he peered over his Chex and coffee.
    “Nothing.”
    “You look thoughtful.”
    I’d only been wondering what kind of party Lindy Limon was throwing. Which MacArthur guys would be there. Imagining a grateful Ella—after I’d cracked the mysteries of Mandarin for her in less than an hour—asking her housekeeper to drop us both off at Lindy’s house. Would the Group accept me if I showed up with Ella? Would they be shocked, or would Ella’s vote of confidence put them at ease? It’s not like I was some charity choice. My worst crime was being the new girl. And maybe not being superrich. But I could be fun, and I wasn’t too shy or too bold, which could land you in equal social peril.
    Dad was still watching me. But he wouldn’t want to hear about any of this.
    We cleaned up together before taking the short walk into town. At the corner, we ran into our neighbor Mrs. Savides, who gave me a honeyed good morning and a spiky-eyed once-over. Probably because I was drowning inside clothing two sizes too big for me—as usual. My love of floppy clothes had started after Mom died and I began wearing