My soon-to-be published story. Full version. Enjoy!
It was raining, it was Valentine’s Day, and my pizza was sure to be badly burned after being in the oven for the past thirty minutes. Trying once again to get ahold of my roommate while simultaneously flagging a cab, I pressed the call button and held my phone to my ear. After four rings, her voicemail picked up: “Hey, you’ve reached Abigail’s phone. If you’re getting this voicemail, clearly I’m either too busy to pick up or just ignoring you. If you believe it is the former, leave a message. If you think it’s the latter, don’t bother. I won’t listen.” A beep signaled, but I ended the call. After four attempted phone calls, I was beginning to think she was ignoring me. Or she’d managed to find someone to spend Valentine’s Day with. Abigail always found some way to not be single. The plastic bag with my pringles and loaf of bread was wet and beginning to dig into my hand. I sighed as I put my phone into my back pocket, looking out at the busy New York street. I should have known it would be a madhouse on Valentine’s Day. Just as I had resigned myself to walking the seven blocks back to my apartment (exercise, fun), an ostentatious-looking cab pulled right up. It was pink with purple hearts and an advertisement for some game show was on top. Once again, I sighed. Of course I would get stuck with the love taxi on the day of love. But I wasn’t too proud to get into the love mobile, especially not in this awful rain. My mother would screech at me for getting a cold during our weekly Skypes on Sunday. I pulled open the door and slid in. The locks immediately slammed shut and some Celine Dion song came blaring on. I looked up at the taxi driver, startled. He was grinning at me. “Welcome! Welcome to ‘Love on the Road!’ I am your host, and matchmaker, Jonah! What is your name, lady?” He pointed at me, then did jazz hands, then pointed again. “Uh, Lulu,” I said uncertainly. “Lulu! What a lovely name! Let’s see, what would go well with that? Stephen? Theo? Theodore? Definitely better. Well, we’ll just have to see what we can catch for you.” The man, Jonah? Turned back to the front and put the car in drive. He pulled out rather roughly into the traffic and weaved in and out. “So, tell me, Lulu, what is your ideal guy?” “Excuse me?” “Well, I need deets, girlie, if I’m going to match you up well.” “What? What are you talking about?” “Lulu, you’re on a gameshow. ‘Love on the Road!’ Ever heard of it?” he asked. I racked my brain. Abigail was big on gameshows, but I was more of a crimeshow kind of girl. Had she ever mentioned “Love on the Road?” “Um, maybe?” I responded. Jonah simply shrugged it off. “No problem! ‘Love on the Road’ is a game show where we take two random people off of the street and make them fall in love with each other in the span of this taxi ride,” Jonah told me cheerily. I stared at him. “Fall in love? After one taxi ride?” I said after a moment. “Well, at least agree to a date. We check up on our couples. Several of them have gotten married already, but we’ve only been going on for two years. About 90% of them stay together.” Jonah rattled on as we slammed to a stop at a red light. The cars in front and behind us honked in synchrony. “Everything in this cab is being live-streamed, and afterwards, my producers will edit and put it on television. So, not only will you be set up with the love of your life, you’ll become famous too!” Slyly, I leaned forward to check his passenger seat for pill bottles. “Oh! We’ve got a live one!” Jonah exclaimed. I literally heard the tires squeal as Jonah slid the taxi into an open spot in front of a tall man in a rain jacket. “Scoot over, Lulu darling.” I went to protest, but the door was already opening and I knew when I’d been defeated. I moved to the seat behind Jonah as the man got into the cab. “72nd Street and Nor―” “Welcome!” Jonah practically yelled. I’d been listening to his loud voice for the past ten minutes, but this made even me jump. “Welcome to ‘Love on the Road!’ I am your driver, and matchmaker, Jonah! To the front you’ll find a pocket where I accept tips. To the left, you’ll find the lovely Lulu, the future love of your life.” The man turned to look at me. My jaw dropped. It was Henry Donovan. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My high school was the stereotypical high school you find in most angsty teen TV shows. There were the popular people, the goths, the nerds, Chess Club, the drama geeks, the whole enchilada. I was one of those strange people who lingered on the outside of the groups, never quite fitting in, like the stereotypical main character in an angsty teen TV show. Henry Donovan was a popular to the “T”. Of course he was handsome, with his dark hair and eyes. He was a regular Mr. Darcy, minus the antisocialness. He was the star lacrosse player, starred in every drama production, and read to children with special needs every Tuesday. He had the perfect parents, the perfect younger sister, the perfect body (as irritating as it is to admit), and was the perfect gentleman. And, he was the editor of the school newspaper. This is when I began to hate him. While I may not have exactly fit in anywhere, I always felt at home in the school newspaper. Mr. Pepper loved me, loved my articles, loved how I was ready to accept any challenge. I’d been sucking up for my entire highschool career, had Pepper practically eating out of my hand. I was first choice for editor. Then Henry freaking Donovan stepped it up sophomore year and when our previous editor graduated, instead of me being named the first ever junior editor, it was him. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he had to go and date my best friend, Gina. Needless to say, just like every other dousche-y popular jerk before him, he broke her heart. The next day, I broke my hand by punching him in the face. Not even a scratch on him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hell, no.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Henry broke into a grin. “Lulu? No way. It’s been forever!” he said happily. I grimaced. Jonah turned around in his seat, even though we had already merged into traffic and were going at least 40 miles an hour. “You two know each other?” he asked. I could hear the eagerness in his voice. “We went to highschool together. I was the editor of the newspaper, and she was a writer,” Henry explained. I gritted my teeth together. “Yeah. You know what Jonah, let’s find a different fish. Or better yet, drop me off at the nearest curb. I’ll crawl back to my apartment if I have to.” “Crawl?” Henry stared at me. I could hear the smirk in his voice. I wanted to smack it off, but I also didn’t want to deal with the medical bills. “Am I really that bad, Luls?” “A nickname? Oh, is this a former romance? Am I going to be able to rekindle the flames of love?” Jonah wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I fought the urge to throw up. “No,” I said, deadpan. “I dated a friend of hers in highschool, but Luls and I never got really close,” Henry said. “Quit calling me that,” I snapped. Henry laughed. “You can’t seriously still be mad about that,” he said knowingly. “I deserved that position,” I argued. “And I didn’t?” “Hey!” Jonah cut into our little shouting match. “My viewers want romance, not a fight club. Remember the rule?” “Don’t talk about fight club?” Henry asked. “No! The rule is that you have to agree to a date before you’re allowed out of the taxi cab of love.” Jonah drew out the word “love,” letting it roll on his tongue. It made my skin crawl in context with Henry Donovan. “Fine, we’ll go on a date. Whatever,” I said. Anything to get out of this cab faster. “Not so fast, Lulu. Since it’s Valentine’s Day, we’re hosting the date as well. So, don’t think you’re going to get out of this easily.” I groaned and slumped back into the faux-leather seat. “Fine. Whatever.” “You sound like you’re fifteen,” Henry commented. “Shut up,” I snapped. Silence followed for all of fifteen seconds before Jonah began his match-making attempts. “So―” he began. I cut him off. “What are you even doing in New York anyway?” I demanded angrily. Part of why I loved New York so much was that no one from my high school had plans to move here. Or so I thought. “I live here,” Henry answered. “Why?” “Why? Um, because I wanted to.” “‘Because you wanted to.’ Seriously? You called me fifteen?” “Well,” Jonah added from the front. “You are acting a little juvenile.” “Shut up,” I told him. “You really like that phrase,” he muttered. I turned my glare back to Henry. He didn’t even blink. “My job had me move here,” Henry said. “What’s your job?” I asked. “What’s yours?” he fired back. “Well, right now I’m writing for the New York Times,” I said. Henry actually looked impressed. “Really?” he questioned. I blushed. “Well, yes. I mean, I’m working on it. I do work there, it’s just I’m not really published or anything.” My voice got softer as I continued talking. I’d always assumed that I would be somebody big and famous seven years after high school. Instead, I’m more like a paid intern. But I’d eat my left sneaker before I admitted that to Henry Donovan. “And you? What’s your job?” “Well, I actually managed to get a job working for Rolling Stone Magazine,” Henry said. My jaw dropped. I quickly closed it, but I knew that Henry, and everyone watching this stupid live-stream, saw it. “Oh,” I squeaked. “That’s cool.” “Yeah, it is,” Henry agreed, nodding his head. I hated when boys did that. It was so annoying. Jonah decided that this was a good time to cut in. For once, I agreed with him. “So, Henry, are you dating anyone?” Jonah asked. Henry shook his head. “Not at the moment, no.” Jonah’s grin lit up the cab. Then, I realized that he’d turned on some weird pink, strobe lights. “Perfect.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A word of advice: don’t trust a man driving a pink taxi. He will attempt to set you up with your nemesis (whether it be one-sided or not. Apparently, Henry never felt threatened by me, the jerk) and accidentally give you food poisoning by ordering bad Chinese take-out. I finished signing the paperwork at the hospital. Getting my stomach pumped was not on my to-do list today, but then again, neither was being essentially kidnapped. I sighed as I made my way to the waiting room, wondering how long it would take Abigail to get here. I pulled my phone out of my pocket just as Henry plopped down in the seat next to me. Even after getting his stomach pumped, Henry looked gorgeous. He made me so angry. “So,” Henry said after I’d glared at him for a minute, “great date, huh?” “Oh, yeah,” I replied sarcastically. “Best night of my life. Guy of my dreams.” Henry let out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, it wasn’t so bad.” I stared at him. “We got food poisoning while being interrogated about our love lives,” I said, deadpan. My cheeks burned as I thought about how Jonah asking us how many partners we’d had. Not something I wanted to talk about with a guy I despised. “Well, yeah, that wasn’t great. But it was fun seeing you again.” “Right. Sure. Whatever.” I turned my attention back to my phone, hoping he’d get the message. He didn’t. “So, it’s still Valentine’s Day,” Henry continued. I sighed. “Yeah. It is. Big deal.” “You don’t like Valentine’s Day?” “I don’t see a point in it. Isn’t having a relationship all about loving each other every day? Why do we need one day to celebrate that? To buy candies and flowers and go out to movies or dinner or whatever? Why do we need a special day to celebrate the person we love? Shouldn’t that be every day?” I ranted. Henry was silent, staring at me strangely. “You’re right,” he said finally. He turned to face forward and I did the same. I scared him off. That’s good, right? “Obviously,” I said after a few minutes with neither of us saying anything. What was I doing? I wanted the conversation to end! Didn’t I? “Yeah. So, let’s go on a date next Saturday,” Henry said. I looked at him so fast I heard my neck snap. “What?” I asked. “I said I’d like to see you next Saturday. Do you still like to bowl?” “Yeah, but―” “Lu, I like you. I know some stuff happened in high school, but that was high school. I’d really like to see where this could go because I think it could go somewhere special.” “But―” “I mean, what are the odds of us getting in the same love cab on Valentine’s Day? Fate has to be saying something. Let’s listen.” Henry was looking at me so earnestly, I couldn’t think. All I could see were his dark blue eyes, I’d always thought they were brown, and for some reason my mind went blank. “Okay,” I heard myself say. His answering smile was bright enough to power the Taxi of Love. “Bowling?” I found myself smiling in return. “Bowling.” After the funeral was over, Adrian and Clare returned to the professor’s old home, now their new home. Adrian was kind to her, allowing her to stay in the only home she knew. He held the door open for her and she thanked him as she went inside. They sat, side-by-side, on the couch as people once again came up to them and expressed their deepest condolences. They brought lots of food: casseroles, Adrian said, and pies and salads and lasagnas. Clare worried that they’d expect her to eat all of it in front of them, but the people simply dropped off the food and left with an expression of sorrow.
Adrian was taking the professor’s death harder than Clare was. At least, he was showing it. He cried often. She could hear him through the thin walls when he thought she was asleep. Clare wished she could cry. The professor was good to her, and he knew her secret. She was his secret. Clare missed the professor terribly, but it was hard to cry without tear ducts. She'd learned that on Fridays. |
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