Free Bad Girls in Love by Cynthia Voigt Page B

alone, what was the point?
    â€œWhy do you want my number?” he asked.
    â€œIf I want to call you up. So what is it?”
    â€œUmm,” he said. And then, “It’s unlisted.” And then, “My parents don’t want me giving it out.” Until finally she figured out that he didn’t want to tell her.
    And that was sort of embarrassing. But she refused to be discouraged. He just needed to get to know her better.
    And she finally did find out his phone number. There weren’t that many Macavitys in the phone book, so what she did was: Call each one until some man said, “Shawn’s out. Who’s this?”
    Mikey hung up. Fast.
    It was almost a relief to be at her mother’s for the weekend. It was a breathing space, like the changeover time in a tennis match, when you can sit down and gather your resources, think, get back in gear so when you return to the court you can blast through whatever defenses the opposition tries against you. Mikey was ready for a little time-out, to focus her mind and formulate a game plan. Despite her mother’s hot news item, that was what Mikey did.
    As soon as she got home on Sunday afternoon, Mikey planned to telephone Shawn. But her father wanted to talk. Luckily, he didn’t want to tell her much about the two dates he’d gone out on that weekend—to a movie on Friday evening (“Do you realize that according to Hollywood, I should be dating someone your age?”) and out to dinner on Saturday (“A bistro-style place, not as upmarket as the onesyour mother’s dates take you to”)—with two women he’d asked out but probably wouldn’t see again. “I don’t know, there just wasn’t anything going on between us, you know?” He didn’t expect Mikey to know and didn’t pay attention when she nodded her head, Yes, she did know.
    Equally luckily, he had to go to work. There was a project due to be completed by midweek and he’d promised to meet one of the members of his group at the office, if that was all right with Mikey?
    That was fine with Mikey. She’d have the house to herself for a couple of hours. She’d have the phone to herself.
    â€œMaybe we’ll order pizza for dinner. How does that sound to you?”
    It sounded fine to Mikey. She’d have full use of the kitchen, too.
    Then, “Everything go OK for you in the city?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, sure. I’ll tell you about it later.”
    â€œBecause I think she’s up to something,” he said.
    â€œShe is. Do you want to hear about it now?” she asked, hoping he’d say no. He didn’t disappoint her.
    By the time the door finally closed behind her father, Mikey had used up her scant supply of patience. Then she had to wait until she got calmed down about calling Shawn up: It would be just the two of them talking—almost the same as being alone with him. She felt jittery, the way she did before a tennis match, excited. She knew that pre-match jitters upped her adrenaline level, which gave her more energyand better focus, but for a telephone call, who needed them?
    Although, these jitters were more fun than the tennis ones. They had Maybe-maybe promises and what-ifs . Maybe today was the day Shawn Macavity would start to like her back. What if he asked if he could come over? Should she ask him to stay for dinner? What were they having for dinner? Not pizza, if Shawn was coming. If Shawn was coming for dinner she wanted to cook something really good. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.
    But first she was going to have to call him up. Get to call him up.
    There was no question whether or not Mikey remembered the number. The second she knew which Macavity it was, that number was memorized. So she sat down at the desk in their living room and took a diaphragm-deep breath, letting the air out slowly as she counted to twelve. Then she picked up the phone and