Page 75 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
This, obviously, is problematic. My emotions are all over the place—I’m fine one second and off-kilter the next. I was going to text Cyrus this morning to ask him about something completely unrelated to India, but I was worried he’d ask how things were going with her, so I didn’t.
I’m avoiding my best friend, just because I’ve been hanging out with his sister. I haven’t even done anything wrong. I haven’t kissed her or hugged her or asked her out. I’ve donenothing.
But I still feel guilty.
I’m going crazy. That’s what’s happening here. That’s the only reasonable explanation for what I’m experiencing.
Because I don’tlikeher. I don’t want to date her. Of course I don’t. She’s Cyrus’s sister. She’s too young. She’s not my type.
At this, two things pop into my head: the memory of India digging through her toolbox in her garage, and the thought I had weeks ago when I was first trying to convince her to help me.
I’m much more interested in the spark—the x-factor—than a prescribed list of characteristics.
I remember thinking that, and it was true at the time. But I’ve changed my mind. So what if I have a spark with someone? That doesn’t mean anything. I could have a spark with lots of women. There still need to be other factors in place.
Like the woman in question needs tonot be India Marigold.
I grimace in irritation as I drop my bag on the floor next to my desk. The chair squeaks when I sit down in it, and somehow that annoys me too.
I just think it’s stupid, this online dating thing she wants to try—that’s all. Yes, I sent her a list of pick-up lines, but she can do so much better than giving access to any weirdo with an internet connection. Besides, how much can you really get to know a person without meeting them?
If I had a sister, I wouldn’t want her to join a dating site. So it makes sense that I don’t think it’s a good idea for India, either. She needs someone she can be with in the real world—someone who will buy her carrot cake and take her for a run when she needs to let off steam. She needs someone who will understand that she hates being vulnerable, someone who will answer the questions she wants to ask but is too afraid to for fear of revealing how much she cares.
Those aren’t qualities you can find on a dating site questionnaire. There’s no database for that sort of thing.
“Felix?”
“What?” I snap without thinking.
“Uh, Herb wants to start our meeting,” poor Donnie says—one of the two current interns, a timid guy with gangly limbs and giant glasses. He fiddles with his hands as he stands next to my chair.
“Sorry, Donnie,” I say tiredly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I was spacing out.” I glance over at the open door on the far side of the office where I know everyone is gathered, chatting. “I’m coming.”
Donnie nods, but he still looks a little skittish as he hurries back over to the table.
Crap. I need to get it together.
So I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, forcing India Marigold and her dating woes out of my mind. It’s none of my business who she dates or how. She can do whatever she wants, and I’ll support her the same way I would support any other friend of mine who wanted to date some creeper they met online in a random chatroom full of potentially seedy men.
I wince; I’m going to need to work on that mindset a little bit.
“Sorry,” I say to Herb after I enter the room and take a seat at the table. “I didn’t mean to hold us up.”
“No problem, no problem,” he says, waving his hand jovially at me. He appears to be in an especially good mood—I cannot relate—as he smiles around at us. “Since Felix is with us now, we’ll go ahead and get started.” He breaks off, shuffling sideways to the edge of the whiteboard, which is turned around for some reason—we’re all looking at the hardboard backing. “Veronda?”
From across the table, Veronda nods eagerly; then she hurries out of her chair and up to the front, where she takes a spot on the other side of the whiteboard.
“We are thrilled to present to you,” Herb begins, and then he and Veronda begin turning the whiteboard to face the group again, “the official outline for our upcoming TV spot!”
There’s a smattering of semi-enthusiastic applause, which Herb eats up; his smile grows impossibly brighter as he and Veronda get the board in its proper position. Then he points to the large words he’s written in fading green marker:HISTORY OF THE FOUR-LEAF GAZETTE.This heading is in the center of the board, a little lopsided, the handwriting becoming smaller by the time Herb got to the end of writing it. Coming off the heading are several more ideas, all of them surrounding the original:First mayor elected; Bicentennial Pageant; Estes Park earthquake; 1952 presidential campaign.
It’s the Bicentennial Pageant subheading my eyes linger on as a vague sense of unease creeps over me.
“This idea was presented by Veronda, and I think you’ll all agree it’s perfect—a history of our little paper, viewed through the lens of some of the things we’ve covered. From our first mayor to natural disasters to celebrations”—Herb taps each item in turn—“we’ve got a bit of everything here.”
“Why the 1952 election?” someone asks, and Herb bounces on the balls of his feet.
“That was the year that Dwight D. Eisenhower made Denver his campaign headquarters,” he says with excitement. “Our noble predecessors did a whole feature about it.”
