Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [126]
“Live a little, Len,” I said, expertly rolling the cone through the chocolate sprinkles before handing it over.
Len inspected it as if he were an African bushman who had never encountered something so puzzling. So cold. He took an apprehensive lick, and sprinkles tumbled to the floor. The chilly sweetness spread over his tongue. He grinned like a kid.
“It's good,” he said.
“I know,” I replied.
“Thanks, Jess,” he replied, before turning around and walking away. I couldn't see his face but I just knew that he was still smiling, even after he was out of sight.
the fifteenth
One of my high school coworkers (Clueless Crew version 2.0) who can't be trusted to work at night told me that some “totally sketchy dude” keeps coming around looking for me. I needed more specifics.
“Sketchy how?”
“He looked like he hadn't taken a shower for, like, ever,” she said in between the pops and cracks of her gum. “Cute, though, if you like the dirty type.”
“Plain white T-shirt?” I asked. A feeble question, that. Marcus could have given them up long, long ago.
“Cornell T-shirt,” she replied.
Len.
Apparently, he came back to the stand the day after his first appearance, and the days after that. But I was always working the night shift so I kept missing him. Finally, last night, he figured out that he should come after dark.
“Hey!” he yelled over the roar of the crowd.
“Hey!” I yelled back. “Too busy to talk. Call me!”
Ever the reliable one, he called me at home the next morning.
“I. Um. Forgot to pay.”
“Pay for what?”
“The. Um. Cone.”
I laughed. “It was a freebie, Len. No need.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he said. “It was. Um. Really good.”
“We take deep pride in our products and customer service at Wally D's Sweet Treat Shoppe.”
“It's a very. Um. Smart business model,” he replied.
“Right,” I said, sensing he had more to say. “Is that the only reason you called?”
“No,” he said.
And then he took the next half hour to ask me if I felt like joining him for coffee or engaging in some other outing, which would be completely platonic because he is still wounded and is in no shape to enter into an emotional relationship with anyone right now. I tried very hard not to laugh at his earnestness.
“Sure, Len,” I said.
And so, that's how I ended up going out with Len tonight.
My mom caught me getting ready to go out, a primping ritual that consists of taking my hair out of its topknot and shaking it out until my scalp doesn't hurt anymore.
“Do you have a date tonight? It's about time you got back out there.”
“Actually no,” I said. “I'm going out with Len Levy. Remember him?”
“Len Levy? The Len Levy who broke up with you to date a lesbian?”
“He didn't know she was a lesbian at the time, Mom, but yes. The same.”
She pondered this for a moment. “You know,” she said, tapping her fingernail on the Restoration Hardware catalog. “I always liked Len.”
“I know, Mom, I know.”
“Is he still premed at Cornell?”
It is one of life's inexplicable ironies that my mother is more invested in Len's Ivy League education than my own. “Uh . . . I have no idea,” I said.
“How can you be going out with him tonight and not even know his major?”
Again, this was of strange importance for someone who had never had a college major. Thankfully, the doorbell rang before I pointed this out to her. My mom scurried to greet him.
“Len!” she gushed. “So lovely to see you! Come in! Come in!”
Len had showered since the last time I saw him. He looked clean and clean-cut in a sky blue Le Tigre polo and pressed khaki shorts. Through the glass in his wire-rimmed specs, I could see that the whites of his eyes were still pink with sadness, which somehow only enhanced the intensity of his green eyes.
“No really, Mom, we have to get going if we're going to . . . uh . . . catch our movie,” I said, glancing at my watch. “But before we do, Len, would you please tell my mother what your major is?”
He turned to my mother and said, “Biological Sciences.”
“And what is your GPA?” I asked.
“3.82.”
“And what do