Maybe
it was too late. She just needed to find out.
Out of breath, she reached the blue awning of Brittany Hall on the corner of Washington Square and ran inside. In the dimly
lit lobby the security guard sat behind a desk, watching her try to catch her breath.
“Hi,” she panted. “I’m here to see Jack Piedmont. It’s an emergency.”
He pointed to a phone on the wall across from him. “Directory’s on the wall.”
She found his number and dialed. It rang until she got a voicemail. Deflated, she put the phone back on its cradle.
“Can you please tell him that Lizzie came by looking for Todd?” she asked the guard.
The guard matter-of-factly shook his head. “I don’t give messages,” he said.
Great
, she thought, walking out.
Still out of breath, she walked into the park. Dried brown leaves crunched underfoot. Birds twittered overhead. The morning’s
clouds had returned, making the sky a too-bright-to-look-at white. Wind cooled the sweat at her hairline and under her neck.
Her legs ached from the running. She needed water and a place to sit down.
She sat on a bench in between the dried-up fountain and the dog run and drew her knees to her chest. Todd would probably be
home tonight, if she could wait until then. Or maybe she would just hang out in front of his brother’s dorm until the late
afternoon. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t be able to go home until she saw or spoke to him. Her heart swelled. She loved
him, and he was in trouble. She prayed that he wouldn’t be moving back to London.
College students strolled by in groups, laughing and chatting, and across from her a street busker played “Fire and Rain”
on his guitar. Two enormous Great Danes on leashes dragged their owner into the dog run. She leaned against the wooden slats
of the bench and stared ahead of her, letting the New York afternoon unfold in front of her.
And then a miracle happened. At first she wasn’t quite sure it was him. His hands were thrust into his pockets and his shoulders
were hunched, and he’d changed out of the Chadwick black pants and tie into a T-shirt, black wool jacket, and jeans. But there
was the plastic bag from Shakespeare & Co. hanging from his wrist, and the iPod earbuds stuck in his ears, and his eyebrows
were knitted together in the same way they always were when he was lost in thought. It was Todd.
She yelled out his name. “Todd!”
He kept walking. He couldn’t hear her.
She slid off the bench and ran toward him. “Todd!” she yelled again, just in case.
She almost had to tackle him before he finally saw her. She grabbed his arm, almost like a mugger, and he jumped, pulling
out his earbuds. “Lizzie? Jesus!”
“How are you?” she asked breathlessly.
“What are you doing down here?”
“I… I heard about your dad,” she stammered. “Is everything okay?”
He took a moment to fully take in her crimped hair and the left-over raccoon eyeliner around her eyes. “I feel like I should
ask you that,” he said warily.
“I’m fine. I just came from school. I’ve been trying to call you.”
He frowned. “I thought you
weren’t
in school today.”
“I left the shoot. That guy Martin Meloy turned out to be huge jerk and a fake. I overheard him talking smack about my mom.
Saying terrible things. And I realized that this…” She touched her hair. “That
all
of this just isn’t me.”
She wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be the faintest hint of admiration in Todd’s eyes.
“And then I went up to school, and I kind of got suspended,” she added quickly.
“What?” Todd asked.
“And I got an F for the English project,” she went on, rambling, “which I knew was kind of coming my way, too, but that’s
okay. The point is, I heard about your dad. And I thought you might be with your brother so I came down here.”
Todd glanced down at the pavement. She hoped that she hadn’t made him feel worse. “Yeah. I knew it was coming. That’s why
I wasn’t in school for a couple days last week.” He looked up, a skeptical squint in his eyes. “Is that really why you’re
down here? I thought that you hated my guts.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t… hate your guts. Really. I don’t.”
He chuckled to himself. “You could have fooled me the other night.”
She swallowed and took a step forward. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I should never have believed that story about you
and Ava.”
“But you did,” he said. He hung his head and toed the ground with his sneaker. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are.”
Todd shook his head. “Really? Some of the stuff you said…”
Lizzie felt a twinge in her heart. “Please. I’m sorry. I guess I was just angry to begin with.”
“Angry?”
“That you were even dating her. I didn’t understand.”
He peered at her, waiting for her to explain.
“I mean, she just never seemed right for you.”
He shrugged. “That’s why I broke up with her. Because I could never feel about her the way—” Todd caught himself, and then
he glanced at his watch. “Hey, I gotta go. I told my brother I’d meet him now. We’ll talk later. Cool?” He turned and began
to walk away.
“Todd,” she called out. “Tell Austin I said hi.”
He stopped. Slowly, he turned around. A quizzical smile lit up his face.
“And tell him that I love red velvet cupcakes,” she went on, her voice wavery. “And that that day I fell into his arms on
the street, it wasn’t really an accident.”
Todd didn’t move.
She walked toward him, slowly, softly, afraid her legs might give out underneath her. “And tell him that I think that he’s
the most beautiful writer in the world.” She stood so close to him now that she could reach out and touch him. “Tell him all
that stuff. Okay?”
He looked at her as if he’d fallen under some kind of spell.
“I read your story. Mr. Barlow gave it to me.”
She reached out and touched his arm. His jacket was smooth and scratchy at the same time. “I loved it,” she said. “I really,
really
loved it.”
She searched his eyes, still holding on to his arm. Leaves scraped along the pavement in the wind but she barely noticed them.
“This whole time I’ve wanted to be with you,” she whispered.
“But you left me that night,” he said. “You bolted.” Todd didn’t move. He didn’t smile. He just looked at her.
“I was just scared,” she murmured.
Suddenly Todd reached out and brushed a curl off her forehead. His hand rested on the back of her head. They were so close
now that she could smell his familiar Downy and soap scent, just like that very first day, when she had fallen into his arms.
Something was about to happen, she could feel it. He was about to kiss her. And this time, she was going to let him.
He leaned down. She closed her eyes. She felt the toes of her shoes touch the toes of his sneakers. His arm fell to her waist.
“You’re still here,” he whispered jokingly. And then his lips were on hers.
Everything else fell away—the wind, the guitar, the people walking by. He kissed her softly at first, then more deeply, until
her legs turned into stretchy Gumby legs. She was glad his arms were holding her or else she might have collapsed to the ground.
Slowly, he let her go. He kept his arms around her as she looked into his face. “So I think we need to agree on one thing,”
he said, his lips curling into a smile. “Let’s
not
write about this.”
“Yeah, good idea,” she said, nodding. “Mr. Barlow doesn’t have to know
everything
.”
He laughed, and then leaned into her once more. She melted back into his arms.
And as he pressed his lips on hers, she knew that what was happening now, right this moment, was more wonderful than anything
she could make up in her head.
It was almost five o’clock when she fit the key into the front door and slipped quietly into her apartment. She stood in the
empty foyer, listening. Inside the kitchen, she could hear CNN on the television and her dad humming to himself. They were
home from Paris. And had, she was sure, heard the news about her.
She dropped her bookbag on the floor and pushed open the swinging door, and there was her dad, making a sandwich. “Well, hello,
Fuzz,” he said, calmly spreading mustard over a piece of bread. “You look like you just escaped a bad sci-fi movie.”
“I kind of did,” she muttered, hobbling over to a stool.
From the bags of cold cuts strewn on the black marble counter, he took out some salami and cheese slices, laid them on his
bread, and then slapped the sandwich together. “So you’ve had quite a day,” he said. “Got suspended
and
failed an assignment. In English, no less.” He held up his sandwich as he pretended to salute her. “A two-fer. Not many fourteen-year-olds
can say that.”
“Dad, I’m sorry—”
“How could you be this irresponsible, Lizzie?” he said, cutting her off. “You are a
brilliant
student.”
“Dad, I know. I’m sorry. ” She folded her arms on the counter and hung her head. “There’s been a lot going on.”
“It was a mistake to let you get started on this modeling thing,” he said, taking a bite. “Your mother and I thought we could
trust you. Obviously, we can’t.”
Lizzie stared at the black marble countertop. This was worse than having to talk to Mr. Barlow. “Well, it’s over now.”
“I know,” he said, coming to stand opposite her. “We heard from Martin Meloy.”
She had almost forgotten about Martin. Of course he would also be furious with her. She looked up, swallowing with trepidation.
“You did?”
“He said you walked off the shoot,” he said sternly. “That you wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars of their money. That
you were difficult, unprofessional. That in twenty years, he had never had a model do that.” His face suddenly lifted into
a smile. “And I for one couldn’t be more thrilled. Of course, I didn’t come out and say that to him, your mother was the one
on the phone with him—”
“She was?”
Bernard walked over to her and took her hands. “I know you’re a level-headed girl. At least, most of the time. So I want to
know what happened there. Did the photographer do something? Tell me, Fuzz. I’d like to have as much ammunition against him
as possible. They had no business letting you be there without a chaperone, either. I’d like to wring that guy’s neck—”
“Where
is
Mom?” she asked, before her father got too worked up.
Bernard paused. “She went down to see Natasha. Something’s come up.” He turned back to the cold cuts and started zipping up
the plastic bags. “She’s been dropped by L’Ete.”
“What?” Lizzie almost jumped off her stool. “They
dropped
her?”
Bernard nodded. “That was why they wanted her to fly back. They wanted to do it in person.”
“But why? Why would they do that?”
“They wanted to go with somebody younger,” he said casually, putting the food back in the fridge. “Some nineteen-year-old
Brazilian model.” He closed the refrigerator door and stared out the window at the city skyline. “It’s a cruel business,”
he finally said.
“Is she okay?” Lizzie finally asked.
“She will be. But she knew this would happen eventually. That’s why she started her line.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “Anyway,
I think this is what she was trying to protect you from. You need a thick skin to do what she does. Sometimes I don’t think
we give her enough credit.”
Lizzie nodded. She was sure now that she didn’t.
“So what happened this morning?” he asked, more firmly this time.
Lizzie bit her lip. She hadn’t been hurt by what had happened, not directly, at least. But having to explain it now, in light
of her dad’s news, made her queasy.
“I just realized that Mom was right,” she said. “I’m not ready for it. It’s not who I am. And the sooner I got out of there,
the better.” She hopped off the stool. “Where is she right this second?”
“Oh no, no, no,” her dad said. “You can go straight to your room. You’re going to be grounded a very long time.”
“I want to tell her I’m sorry. And, well, I could use a hug.”
Bernard glanced at the clock on the microwave. “She said that she’d be stopping at a cocktail party for
Vogue
. She’s probably just getting there.”
“Where?”
Bernard gave a defeated sigh. “I’ll call Natasha,” he said.
Lizzie went to her room and changed out of her uniform into a turtleneck sweater and jeans. It wasn’t the most
Vogue
-friendly outfit, but it had been the closest thing within reach. It was comfortable. And most importantly, it was her.
Before she walked out, there was one more thing that she needed to do. She went over to her desk and woke up her Mac. In the
folder labeled STORIES on her desktop, she went down the list of titles until she found her original short story for the contest.
She clicked on it. As soon as the first, familiar page came up on the screen, she knew she should have stuck with it from
the beginning. She’d told herself that she was making the story better. Instead she’d just been afraid to expose her insecurities.
And all she’d gotten for that was a big fat lost opportunity.
She left the story open on her screen. She’d work on it when she came home. And when it was done, maybe she could give Todd
some serious competition for next year’s contest.
She took connecting subways down to the East Village and emerged onto the Bowery forty minutes later. When Lizzie had first
been born, this street had been lined with seedy tenements and drug dealers—now it was lined with trendy bars and boutique
hotels. Lizzie crossed the streets toward the tall, squat concrete hotel building. A red carpet had been laid in front for
the paparazzi. The few photographers still hanging around outside chatted with themselves as she walked past. Nobody recognized
her. Lizzie smiled to herself. She felt like herself again.
She climbed the stairs in her banged-up Steve Madden boots and thought about her mom. The whole way downtown, she’d tried
to think of what to say to her. How did it feel to be fired from a job, not because you didn’t do it well, but because you
didn’t look as good anymore?