Love, Love, Love Page 3

  By Thursday I was starting to feel slightly more comfortable in my newly cast role of intriguing foreign exchange student. Molly and I had spent Wednesday afternoon prepping, dreaming up a few fake Hungarian childhood memories involving holidays spent visiting castles in the countryside and my mom’s infamous Hungarian goulash, just in case Julian asked me about my life “back home.” To make sure my accent was on spot, we watched clip after clip of actress Zsa Zsa Gabor on YouTube, although I used it only as inspiration, since Zsa Zsa was a little more la-di-da than I was going for.

  Though all this preparation for the role of a lifetime was clearly pushing me way beyond my comfort zone, not all of the Hungarian homework had been a bad thing. For starters, it occurred to me that I might be able to parlay my newfound in-depth knowledge about Hungary into an extra-credit project for cultural studies and therefore attain the B that I so desperately needed. And then there were the necessary wardrobe updates.

  Since Hungary has a large gypsy population, Molly insisted I needed to have a personal style that was part Euro chic, part hippie chick. We spent hours picking through the racks at consignment shops in the U District, eventually piecing together the perfect Bohemian outfit for Friday night: an embroidered, empire-waist tank top with tiered cotton skirt, accessorized with a patchwork hobo bag and funky necklace.

  Of course, I knew my new look was sure to raise some eyebrows, as Henry confirmed later that night when he barged into my room as I was trying on the ensemble.

  “What is that?” he said.

  “What is what?”

  “That.” He was pointing to my necklace.

  “What do you mean? It’s a necklace with the om symbol on it,” I said, defensively. “It’s Hindu.”

  “Hind who?”

  “Hin-du!” I scowled. “What are you doing in my room, anyway?”

  “Easy, sis.” He slowly backed toward the door like he’d just been cornered by a wild animal. “I just wanted to tell you to say hi to Jimi Hendrix for me when you get to Woodstock. Peace out!” He flashed me the peace symbol before I slammed the door in his face.

  I turned back and looked in the mirror, unclenching my fists and trying to shake off the residual Henry annoyance energy (no small feat). As I took in my reflection, I realized I actually felt great in the outfit. Exotic. Foreign, even. It was almost like slipping in to the clothes completed my transformation. The idea of being an intriguing citizen of the world was starting to grow on me.

  Molly’s dedication to helping me prep for Friday night was typically obsessive, but I knew her primary motivation wasn’t my love life at all. Rather, it was Spence, with whom she’d been flirting via text message since we’d met. Molly’s love life being dependent on me must have been an unusual predicament for her, but more than anyone I knew, Molly had a relentless can-do attitude. She intended to get her man, no matter what. Which is why, I suppose, she gave me a final homework assignment to ensure I was one hundred percent ready for the big night.

  “Method acting? What’s that?” Molly had called me late Wednesday night, excited to share her grand scheme, which had apparently hit her like a load of bricks halfway through Heroes. Her high level of enthusiasm naturally made me wary.

  “I learned all about it in drama camp last summer,” she explained. “It’s where you totally immerse yourself in your role. Like, you live, sleep, and breathe the character you’re playing. Serious actors do it all the time. Even when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

  I knew why she wanted me to do it—Molly wasn’t going for a passable performance. She had her sights set on an Oscar.

  “What exactly are you suggesting I do?” I asked.

  “I think you should spend all day tomorrow in character as Janna Ika Ilka.”

  “All day?”

  “Yes, all day. Well, of course, unless you get called on in class or you have to do something with your family. But other than that, yeah. I think it’ll be great practice.”

  An Oscar didn’t interest me, but surviving Friday night’s date without humiliating myself did, so I agreed to go along with it. The afternoon was going to be tricky, though, since Emmett and I usually went to see old movies at the revival theater on Thursdays after school. Today the 1953 classic The War of the Worlds was showing. I could only hope that the real war wouldn’t be between the two of us.

  Ever since Tuesday at lunch, Emmett had been acting fairly weird toward me, and I didn’t like it one bit. Of course, we’d had disagreements before, but this one felt different. To be fair, I’d barely even seen him, since he’d spent every spare moment including lunchtime working on the yearbook, which he was art directing. I figured we just needed to spend some quality time hanging out in order for things to go back to normal. I was kind of hoping he’d actually see the funny side of my predicament today. Heck, maybe he’d even like the new Janna. But as soon as our outing began, I knew I was out of luck.

  We had just caught up with each other as the bus pulled up, so the first words out of my mouth were spoken to the driver. After climbing aboard and flashing my bus pass, I quietly thanked the driver in my best Hungarian accent. My response didn’t go unnoticed by Emmett, who slowly turned around, squinting his eyes.

  “I’m sorry … did you just say ‘sank you’?”

  I lowered my voice and leaned in. “Not so loud, Emm,” I whispered in my regular voice. “I’m practicing my Hungarian accent today. Molly thinks it’s a good idea for me to spend the whole day in character.”

  Emmett rolled his eyes. “Of course she does. Because to Molly, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with what you’re doing. I just can’t believe how easily she’s manipulated you into thinking this is okay.”

  “Can’t you just go along with it for today? Please? The only thing that will be different about me is my accent. I promise.” I paused. “Hey, I have an idea … why don’t you pretend to be an exchange student, too? Seriously, it’s kind of fun.”

  Emmett’s dagger eyes told me that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I’ve got to be honest, Janna. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Yes, I know you have a hard time standing up to Molly when she gets one of her big ideas, but it seems to me like you’re actually okay with all this, which I totally don’t get,” Emmett said. “I mean, why would you pretend to be someone else to get a guy? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  I turned to look out the window, not sure of how to respond. The truth? It didn’t make complete sense to me, either. What I did know was that I liked the fact that there was a cute guy out there who was interested in me. I mean, who wouldn’t like that? But there was more to it than that.

  “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, have you ever wished you could have a fresh start and just be someone else for once?”

  “I guess so.”

  “This is kind of like that. Do you realize that this is the first time a really cute guy has ever actually been interested in me? I don’t know. I guess something about it feels exciting. Like I have a chance to be seen as really intriguing and, you know, a catch.”

  Emmett looked at me, his brown eyes boring right through me. “What makes you think a cute guy wouldn’t see all those things in you without you having to actually pretend to be someone else?” Emmett sighed in resignation. “Whatever … it’s your life. Don’t worry … I won’t blow your cover.”

  I looped my arm through Emmett’s and leaned in for a squeeze, glancing up at him with a devilish grin. “You are best friend a girl could vont,” I said, laying the accent on thick.

  I swear I heard a chuckle slip out.

  I decided not to press my luck with Emmett, though, and kept my alter ego in check until we got to the theater. For his part, Emmett patiently stood by while I bought a ticket and some Junior Mints, although the temptation to screw with me was clearly too hard to resist, because while paying for my snack, he loudly blurted out, “Gee, Janna, I hope you can understand what’s happening in the movie. After all … there are no
Hungarian subtitles!”

  I ignored the confused looks from the other moviegoers, grabbed Emmett’s arm, and dragged him into the theater. Frankly, I was looking forward to two hours of focusing on the drama on-screen instead of the drama in my own life.

  By the time the credits rolled and we headed over to Café Allegro for a cinematic debrief, things between Emmett and I seemed almost normal, which was a relief. In fact, he even seemed to be okay with my speaking with an accent. It was only when my cell phone pinged to indicate I had a text that things started going downhill.

  We were in the middle of discussing whether or not a hoax regarding an alien invasion on Earth could be pulled off today when the message came in. Instinctively, I grabbed my phone and stared at the message. It was from him. From Julian. I hadn’t heard from him since the text he sent me at lunch on Tuesday.

  Hi Janna. Julian here. Reading Kafka in English class. Thought of u. C u tomorrow?

  A cute boy was thinking of me. I thumbed out a quick reply— Yes, C u tomorrow!—only noticing Emmett’s grim expression once I was finished and tried picking up our conversation where we’d left off.

  “Who was that?” Emmett probed.

  “What. Oh … nobody. I mean, it was a text from that guy.”

  “You mean the guy you’re going out with tomorrow night who thinks you’re from Hungary?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “I’m sorry, is it just me or did you get all giddy and girly when he texted you? What’s his name again?”

  “Julian,” I said, unable to suppress a grin.

  “There it is again … that embarrassed-excited-flushed-face thing.”

  “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

  Emmett’s tone seemed to change. “So, do you really like this guy? Or is it just the fact that he’s paying attention to you?”

  I thought about his question. “I don’t know, Emmett. I don’t know if I like him yet or not. And who knows if he would actually like me if he knew the truth? I guess you could say I’m interested in knowing more.”

  “More about what? Why he feels the need to stalk foreign girls?”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. Emmett was clearly upset, and I wasn’t sure why. One thing was for sure—I didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking.

  “Look. All I know is, he seems like a nice guy. Yes, I think he’s cute. Yes, I like that he’s interested in me. And yes, you’re right. There’s a good chance he only likes me because he thinks I’m from another country. He might be some total exchange-student-loving loser for all I know.” Why did Emmett always make me feel like I had to explain myself? “I just don’t understand why you’re acting so uppity. Is it really so terrible that I’m doing something spontaneous and out of character? Seriously. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  I got off my soapbox, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Emmett suddenly became intensely interested in measuring the depth of his latte foam with his wooden stirring stick, while I looked over his shoulder and studied the abstract collage art on the wall.

  “Look, can we please just let it go and move on?” I asked after a minute.

  Emmett looked up, a forced grin plastered across his face. “Sure, consider it forgotten.”

  We hung out at Allegra for another fifteen minutes more before heading out, Emmett explaining that the yearbook had put him behind schedule on preparation for finals and he had to get back to work. I knew the truth, though. Emmett and I were in murky waters. Even though I knew I hadn’t changed, it was clear that Emmett wasn’t so sure. And as we said good-bye on the street corner, I had to wonder if the Starbucks incident was going to have bigger repercussions than I ever could have imagined.

  There are many things I enjoy doing on a Friday night. Circling around Capitol Hill in Molly’s VW Beetle fruitlessly searching for a parking spot was not one of them. On top of that, we were late, and I was a nervous wreck.

  While getting ready back at Molly’s house, I had come up with a half-dozen excuses for calling off the date, from being infected with the swine flu to the death of my pet goldfish, but Molly was having none of it.

  “You see, the thing is, I don’t actually think I can do this.” I was sitting on Molly’s bed watching her carefully apply fake eyelashes. They looked great. “I’m being serious here. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “You’re not going to throw up,” Molly said. “You’re just anxious. You’d feel this way even without the Hungarian thing. I mean, it has been a while since you’ve gone out with a guy who’s actually interested in you, right? Anyway, I’ve got a barf bag in my purse, just in case.”

  I gave Molly my signature blank stare, perfected after years of living with Henry.

  “But what do we really know about these guys, anyway? What if Julian is some lech who just wants to go out with me because he thinks Hungarian girls are easy?”

  “Well, I’m actually hoping Spence is a lech who thinks Seattle girls are easy.” Molly laughed flirtatiously.

  “That reminds me, don’t you dare leave me tonight!” I said. The last time we’d gone out on a double date, Molly had ditched me early on, leaving me to fend for myself with unquestionably the most self-absorbed drone on the planet.

  “I give you my word,” Molly replied. “Look, don’t worry … I’ve got your back! And don’t forget—you’re from another country, so, really, you can just relax and let the Americans do the talking. Just smile a lot, laugh at Julian’s jokes, look intriguing, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

  But now that Molly was squeezing into a tight parking spot and the point of no return was upon us, I wasn’t so sure. Molly shut off the car and adjusted the daisies peeking out of her dashboard vase before turning to me excitedly.

  “It’s showtime!” she sang.

  We walked the two blocks to the club and heard the drumming pulse of the music before we hit the front door. I closed my eyes and stopped for one last second, trying to banish my nerves.

  The dark club was teeming with people, and the multicolored strobe lights made it hard to see two feet in front you. Molly and I found the bar and snagged a stool to lean on, a buoy in a stormy sea. We hadn’t been at the club for more than two minutes when Spence materialized.

  “Hey,” he said with a smirk he obviously thought was sexy. “You guys made it. Come on over—we have a table.” Molly gave Spence a flirty smile and reached for his hand as he led us through the hordes of people to a little round table off to the side.

  “Where’s Julian?” Molly asked as we sat down, straining to have her voice heard above the music.

  Spence pointed toward the deejay booth at the front of the club. There was Julian, standing behind a table strewn with electronic equipment. Clad in jeans, a T-shirt, and headphones, he looked just like he did on his Facebook profile picture. It was obvious by the look of focus on his face and the way his body moved with the rhythm that he was completely engrossed in what he was doing. We listened as he seamlessly cross-faded one track to another, injecting a new energy into the place. The music was fantastic and unusual, alive with beats and rhythms I’d never heard before. By the energy of the people on the dance floor, I could already tell Julian was great at what he did.

  I stole another glance at him and felt my stomach flip when he looked up, smiled, and signaled he’d be done in five minutes. I smiled back shyly and whipped around, my knee beginning to unconsciously bounce like a Mexican jumping bean, the only thought in my head the repeating theme of Oh my God, why am I doing this, oh my God, why am I doing this …

  Molly must have sensed my mood shift, because she calmly rested her hand on my knee. I looked into her eyes and she steadily returned my gaze, willing me to relax. I took another deep breath and turned my attention to the dance floor, giving Molly a chance to talk to Spence and allowing me to think about something other than what I would do when Julian sat down.

  A few minutes later Julian’s voice came on over the sound system. He thank
ed everyone for coming out and pitched an upcoming gig before turning over the booth to another deejay. And then, there he was. Sitting down. At our table. Next to me.

  “Hi there!” said Julian.

  “Hallo,” I said softly.

  “You made it. I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he said.

  I laughed nervously, shrugging my shoulders. I was hoping to keep the talking to a minimum, praying Julian would assume my English comprehension wasn’t great and not engage with me too much.

  “I’m all done with my set,” Julian said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “Do you guys want to stick around here or go somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think?” He turned to check in with Molly and Spence, but they had just gotten up and headed to the dance floor.

  Julian turned back to me and shrugged. “I guess we’re staying here.”

  I smiled, studying his face. I had seen him so briefly during the Starbucks incident, plus I was so focused on internally freaking out at the time, I really didn’t remember much about his appearance, other than thinking he was extraordinarily cute. Clearly, I had a good memory.

  Tonight Julian looked even better than I remembered. He was a typical Seattle boy in some ways—tall and lanky, with longish brown hair—although his fashion sense was slightly more urban and edgy than the standard Northwest fare. He wasn’t quite punk or Goth (no guyliner or anything), but he definitely had his own unique fashion aesthetic. His eyes were a light, grayish-green, and I found it hard to turn away from them once they were focused on mine. He had beautiful skin, a slightly crooked smile, and red, full lips. As I looked at him more closely, I realized this guy was more than good-looking. He was drop dead gorgeous. Which made me all the more skeptical. What was he doing with me?

  “So, how long have you been living in Seattle?” Julian asked.

  “Since September,” I answered in my practiced accent. “And you?”