He looks confused.
“Get it? It’s … never mind. Church humor.”
“Right.” He frowns, shakes his head, and walks away. Not exactly the confidence-booster I need at the moment, but I take a deep breath and a swig of my soda and force my feet to move toward them. I snagged the invite to this stupid party, made the costume, and sat through an hour of bun-rolling. I plan to make darn sure Ty sees me in all my Princess Leia glory.
“Hey, guys,” I say, my voice unnaturally chipper. “Cute costumes. Very clever.”
“Well, hello, Alicea.” Becca gives me a once-over and leans into Ty. “Is that your real hair?” She reaches up to touch one of my buns, but I swat her hand away and turn to Ty.
“So what are you in for, troublemaker?” Again with the uber-perky voice.
Ty grins. “Good question.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Killer good looks,” Becca says, planting a kiss on his cheek.
Ty laughs, grabs her badge, and pulls her in for a real kiss. Eww. Not how this was supposed to go. My phone buzzes, so I mumble a “see you later” and turn to make my escape, though I’m not sure either of them notices. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a brilliant idea.
It’s Maggs, letting me know she’s on her way. Thank goodness. Now where is Aiden? I text him to meet me in the kitchen.
As I stand at the counter, soda in hand, trying to decide whether to spike it with one of the many options lined up before me, I hear my name.
“Alicea. What are you doing?” It’s Abi, and she’s glaring at me. She’s dressed as Tinkerbell, and she looks mischievous, sassy, and adorable.
“I was just thinking maybe some rum would—”
“No. It wouldn’t.” She wedges herself between me and the liquor and waves her star-tipped wand at my cup. “No boy is worth getting drunk over. Tell her, Roland.”
Captain Hook has appeared in the doorway. He raises both hands—or rather a hand and a hook—and shakes his head. “Leave me out of this.” Muttering something about how he prefers wrestling crocodiles to girl talk, he pivots—and, with a dramatic swoop of his cape—disappears.
Abi emits an exaggerated sigh. “See what I mean? Boys. Anyway, this isn’t about your beverage selection. It’s about you showing up here in that Princess Leia outfit. Super cute, by the way. But I see what you’re doing. You’re still hung up on Ty, aren’t you?”
I glance around to make sure no one can hear. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes, actually, I can. He dumped you a week before prom and has been serial dating ever since. What part of that do you find attractive?”
I tap my blaster rifle against my leg. I don’t need this from Abi. I get it enough from Brie. And from Maggs, who never actually says anything but I can tell is silently judge-y about it.
None of them understands.
They have no idea what it’s like to be mired in obscurity while secretly crushing on someone for years. A year ago, I was mostly hanging out on programming boards with people with names like WebNinjaBabe and ByteMeBrett. Getting a few “likes” on one of my posts constituted the pinnacle of my popularity, until one day, as I grabbed my pre-calc book out of my locker, I turned around to find the object of my obsession standing behind me holding a candy cane and asking if I’d like to go to a movie Friday night, and everything finally, incredibly, inconceivably fell into place for four and a half glorious months.
“You think I don’t understand?” Abi seems to have read my mind. “Trust me, I get it. Briggsy and I have had our ups and downs, but I’m here to tell you that having a boyfriend is only worth it if he’s the right boyfriend. You can’t settle.”
Settle? Is she insane? Dating Ty Walker would not be settling. Quite the opposite. “Listen, I appreciate the advice, but I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? Because I think you’re—”
She doesn’t have a chance to finish, because at that moment Aiden appears at her side. He’s wearing a white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a shiny black suit jacket, and sunglasses. His hair is slicked back with some kind of weird grease, and he’s holding a microphone. “What do you think?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I think I’m confused. Who are you supposed to be?”
“Marc Anthony. Come on. I look exactly like him. Well, except my hairline isn’t receding yet.”
I groan. “But that’s—”
“Hold on. Check this out.” He pulls what I assume is supposed to be a smoldering gaze and belts out the first few lines of “I Need to Know.”
I snatch the microphone out of his hand. “Aiden. Not Marc Anthony. Mark Antony. As in, the Roman guy. As in Antony and Cleopatra.”
“Oh, crap.” Aiden’s eyes flash with panic. “I figured maybe Maggs was coming as J Lo. So she’s Cleopatra?”
“Well, she’s Katy Perry dressed as Cleopatra, but, yeah.”
Abi laughs and walks a three-sixty around Aiden. “Forget it. You make a hot Marc Anthony. Go out there and own it.”
“What? No.” I point at her. “You’re the one who said we have to make Maggs think he’s her destiny.”
“Oh, man, this is a disaster.” Aiden runs his hand through his hair. “Ugh.” He groans as he holds out his shiny fingers toward me.
“Gross.” I push him toward the sink. “What is that stuff, anyway?”
“Coconut oil. It was all I could find. My mom uses it on her face.”
Abi leans in and sniffs his head. “Yum. Coconut-y.”
Aiden washes his hands and dries them on his pants. “Let’s forget this whole thing. It’s hopeless.”
“Wait!” I grab his arm as he starts to leave. “Maggs is going to be here any minute. You can’t let one little misunderstanding ruin everything.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not just that. It’s Maggs. She’ll never notice a guy like me, and even if she does, how long would it last? A week? Two weeks?”
“That’s not necessarily true. Not if it’s meant to be. If two people belong together, they’ll end up together.” I’m not sure whether I’m trying to convince him or myself. “Listen. I have an idea.” I sling my blaster rifle over my shoulder and motion to him and Abi. “Come on. Let’s find Jack.”
“Strawberry Shortcake? Forget it.” Aiden backs away from the bed sheet Jack is holding as though it’s contaminated.
“Suit yourself.” Jack tosses it onto a shelf in the linen closet and saunters away. We’d asked if he had something Aiden could use to create a toga. The only sheet he was willing to sacrifice belonged to his sister when she was eight.
“Come on. It’s not that bad.” I pick it up and unfold it. “If you wear it inside out, you can barely see the cartoons.”
“Um. No.” Aiden looks at me as though I’m crazy.
I turn to Abi for support, but even she appears skeptical.
Aiden points at me. “If you think I’m wearing that, you’re insane. And you are the worst Boyfriend Whisperer ever.” He backs away slowly, then turns and runs as though Strawberry Shortcake and I are conspiring to jeopardize his manhood.
As he rounds the corner of the hallway, he smashes into Maggs, who tumbles backward on her heels until he catches her.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” He steadies her, his eyes wide. “You’re … wow. Great costume.”
Maggs looks stunning in a beaded dress, with a series of tiny bejeweled braids framing her face and dark black liner forming dramatic dips and swirls around her eyes. Very exotic. “Thanks,” she says. “Who are you?”
Aiden’s expression falls. “You don’t know? Seriously? You don’t recognize me?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
He turns and continues down the hallway, calling over his shoulder. “Aiden. Aiden Jackson. You sat next to me in civics last year.”
“That’s not … ” Maggs starts to call after him, but he’s already disappeared into the next room. She turns to Abi and me. “That wasn’t what I meant. Of course I know he’s Aiden. I just
don’t know who he’s dressed as.”
“He’s supposed to be Mark Anthony. Minus the receding hairline.”
“Oh.” Maggs looks perplexed, which I suppose makes sense, because who goes to a Halloween party dressed as a middle-aged pop star? She points to the sheet, which I’m still holding. “What’s that for?”
Abi laughs and eases the sheet from my grip. “It’s nothing. It’s … holy crap. How did I not notice that earlier?” She points to Maggs’s elaborate headdress, which has a huge rubber asp coiled up in it. “I’m going to need you to keep your distance.”
Everyone knows Abi is terrified of snakes. Rumor has it one got into her car last year, and she almost drove off the road when she saw it. Still, I suspect her alarm is at least partly feigned—a diversion—because as she’s talking, she balls up the sheet, throws it into the linen closet, slams the door, and takes off down the hallway.
“Well. That seemed extreme.” Maggs frowns as she watches Abi’s retreating figure.
“You look amazing,” I say. I reach up and finger one of her braids.
“Thanks. Your buns are holding up nicely.”
I smile, but Maggs sees through it.
“Sorry about Ty and Becca. They look ridiculous.”
“She literally has him chained to her. Which I’m pretty sure is not proper police protocol.”
“Nothing about that girl is proper.” Maggs grabs my hand and leads me back toward the party. “It’ll pass. His flings always do. Forget about those two and let’s enjoy the party.”
But I don’t. I don’t enjoy it at all. Both of my missions tonight have failed, I’ve been labeled the “Worst Boyfriend Whisperer Ever,” and these stupid side buns are starting to give me a headache. My only consolation is knowing I have an entire survey full of Ty’s deepest thoughts and secrets at home waiting to be explored and exploited. Princess Leia didn’t let a whole army of Stormtroopers stop her from achieving her missions, and I’m certainly not going to let Faux-Officer Becca Marsh keep me from mine.
Cuppa Joe is packed on Sunday afternoon. I’m supposed to meet Darius here to work on our project, but the only seat available is a loveseat covered with pink and blue hearts in a back corner. Wonderful. I decide to hang out by the door for a few minutes to see if anyone leaves. The elderly couple sitting near the register look as though they’re almost done, and the kid with the earphones zoning out by the window appears to have finished his coffee hours ago. Would it be rude to—
“Hello, Bright Angel.” Darius’s voice startles me.
“Hey.”
“Ready to declare how much we heart each other?” He puts his hands together in a heart shape and flashes a goofy smile.
My cheeks grow warm, so I glance away. Unfortunately, my gaze falls squarely on the loveseat.
“Ah, perfect.” Darius says, offering a dramatic wave toward it. “Shall we?”
I paste on a smile. He wants to see me squirm, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “If thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I’ll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Someone’s finally read the scene.” He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the seat. “Can I get you a coffee, or maybe some hot chocolate?”
I look at him in surprise. “Sure. Though I’ll take a chai. Hazelnut, please.”
I watch as he walks to the counter and places our order. The barista laughs at something he says, and he pushes the ever-falling shock of hair away from his eyes. Outside of school, he seems less like a misfit. It makes me uneasy. The fact is, I have no idea who Darius Groves is. Is he the smartass from my calc and lit classes? Is he the idiot who was expelled from his last school for fighting and nearly suspended at ours for pulling a guy’s shorts down? Is he the aspiring artist who embraces imperfection? Or is he the charmer buying me a chai tea and chatting up the barista while he waits for our order?
And how the heck did I get matched with any of the above?
“Here you go, Bright Angel.” Darius sets a steaming cup in front of me.
“Thanks. And please stop calling me that.”
He feigns an innocent expression. “Why, pray tell?”
I roll my eyes and groan. “You are so sixteenth century.”
“So you prefer ‘hottie.’”
“What? No.” I kick him, which is a mistake because it emphasizes how close we are sitting on the too-cozy loveseat. “Let’s get this over with.” I scooch to the edge of the seat and power up my tablet. “Abi has agreed to help with the first scene, the one where you come up and try to talk to me. After she shuts you down, we can turn on the slide show with the texts.”
“Sounds good.” Darius nods. “I think you should text me first. You know—apologizing for your friend’s rude behavior. You could maybe find a ‘sorry’ emoji.”
I glare.
“What?”
“You agreed to do the texts. I agreed to go with your idea of the prom queen and the loser. It’s called a compromise. So you don’t get to keep mocking the texts.”
Darius’s teasing grin fades, and his eyes soften. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop.” Just as I start to believe he means it, he pulls the sides of his mouth down and bugs his eyes in an exaggerated frown-y face.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Yeah. But I made you LOL.”
“Shut up.” I’m not sure which annoys me more, the fact that he’s ridiculing me, or the fact that he’s making me laugh at him ridiculing me.
We spend the next hour roughing out our script. He mostly refrains from mocking, and I have to admit, he does come up with some good lines. Once we’re finished, I offer to type up the slides and create a PowerPoint presentation.
“That would be great,” he says. “Why don’t you send them to me for a final proof?”
I eye him warily. “A final proof? Meaning, so you can take out all the awesome emojis?”
“I will take out zero emojis.” He pulls a super-serious expression and holds up three fingers. “You have nothing to fear. Scout’s honor.”
“Fine.” I shut down my tablet. “I’ll send you the slides. And thanks again for the tea.” I smile and wave goodbye as I weave through the tables toward the door, but the chai churns in my stomach. Because Darius Groves is many things, but I’m guessing a Boy Scout is not one of them.
Grand View’s gym during the girls’ basketball season opener is as loud as a freight train. Lexi is one of the top forwards in the country and has led our team to the state championship game for the past three years. Tonight we’re playing our rivals, Pine Bridge.
Maggs, Brie, and I came straight from our Tuesday afternoon dance class. As we stroll down the edge of the court searching for a spot in the packed bleachers, I scan the crowd for Ty. I can’t help myself. It’s a compulsion, like checking my phone for texts after the bell.
Finally, Maggs points toward an opening at the end of the court. “We can sit over there.”
“Cool. Let’s grab—” The words catch in my throat as I notice who’s sitting just above the empty spot. Darius. I haven’t told Maggs or Brie yet about running into him at the gallery or about meeting up with him at Cuppa Joe. Neither of those were a big deal. One was a total accident and the other was for a school project—a project I have also somehow failed to mention to either of them.
“Ooh, yes, that’s perrrrfect.” Brie glances at me, and I’m not sure which are wider, her eyes or her grin. She rushes up the steps before I can protest.
“Oops. Sorry.” Maggs offers an apologetic smile. “I didn’t see him sitting there.”
Wonderful. I trudge up the steps, semi-hiding behind Maggs. Maybe Darius will want to ignore me as much as I want to ignore him. Or maybe he’ll at least have sense enough to play it super casual. Say hi and leave it at that.
“Hey, Bright Angel,” he calls before I even reach the seat. I swear he couldn’t have shouted it any louder if he’d had
a megaphone.
Brie and Maggs both stop and turn to stare at me.
Omigod. I glare at him and am about to say something very rude and perhaps slightly crude and definitely not family-friendly when I notice the little girl sitting beside him. She appears to be about nine or ten years old.
My mouth snaps shut.
“Why did he call you that?” the girl asks, studying me with great interest.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Darius answers for me. He places one hand over his heart and reaches the other toward me. “Those eyes, two of the fairest stars in all the heavens. Her cheeks, so bright they would—”
I slap his hand away. “We’re doing a project together. For school. He’s teasing.” I glance at Maggs and Brie as I take my seat, my expression daring them to utter a word.
“My brother loves to tease.” The girl scooches down a row and squeezes between Maggs and me. “I’m Jaycee. What’s your name?”
“Hey, kiddo.” Darius taps her on the shoulder. “Get back up here.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. I smile at her. “I’m Alicea.”
She extends her hand, and I shake it. “Nice to meet you, Alicea,” she says. “I love basketball.”
“Oh? Do you play?”
Jaycee nods. “I’m a forward. Like Lexi.”
“Ahhh, so you’re a Lexi fan?”
She nods again, her eyes wide. “She’s, like, a total baller. She’s one of the best in the whole country.”
“She sure is.”
“Do you know her?”
“I do.”
Jaycee’s eyes grow big. “For real?”
“Yep.”
“Think you could introduce me to her?”
“Jacqueline.” Darius tugs at the back of her shirt.
“She’s fine,” I tell him. I turn back to Jaycee. “We can try to catch her after the game, before she goes to the locker room.”
“Ooh.” She looks back at her brother. “Can we, please?”
Darius gives me a smile so warm, genuine, and unlike the smirk I’m used to seeing that—for a moment—I forget how much he annoys me. “We’ll see,” he says. “If you can manage not to pester us for the next four quarters and listen to everything I say.”
The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0 Page 5