Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1)

by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

  “Nothing’s happening,” I say, but I doubt the words before they’ve even left my mouth.

  Because nothing has happened. But…I am attracted to her in a way I can’t even explain to myself. It’s not only physical anymore—although the tank top and shorts in my car the other night just about killed me.

  I flush at the memory of her hand skimming the line of my jaw, of the sudden impulse that jumped within me at her touch—the impulse to grab her and pull her close, to kiss her thoroughly.

  Yeah, fine. I’ve thought about kissing her—a lot. But I’ve also thought about things like how to make her laugh or how to get her to apply for the school she was talking about so that she can do what she really wants to do. And I don’t usually think a lot about things like that.

  I’ve specifically tried not to think about her thing for Jack, because I’ve discovered it makes me irritable.

  I look up to see Lydia looking at me contemplatively. “If you did like her,” she says, “and I’m not saying you do. But if you did, I think you have a fighting chance.”

  I try not to look too interested in this topic of conversation, because it would be embarrassing for her to know that I’m suddenly hanging on to her every word. “Yeah?” I say, keeping my voice nonchalant.

  “I promised her I wouldn’t repeat what she said earlier. But she thinks you’re cute. She says you get along great. And when I asked her what she liked about you, she smiled.”

  I scoff. “She doesn’t think I’m cute.”

  Lydia eyes me. “I think she does,” she says. She’s wearing her observant face. That one is always terrifying. I never know what she’s going to somehow intuit.

  “So?” she says. “What are you going to do? You’re supposed to be helping her get Jack to like her.”

  I snort. “He’s on his way there already. As soon as she showed up looking like that”—I gesture vaguely out of Lydia’s door, even though Mina is probably home by now—“his head started turning. He doesn’t need encouragement. Just the opportunity.”

  Lydia just nods, still watching me. “You know,” she says slowly. “We could—”

  “No,” I say, cutting her off with a shake of my head. “Mina and I are not going to be one of your projects. Absolutely not.”

  Lydia looks disappointed, but she just shrugs. “All right. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

  But I know perfectly well that that’s not going to happen.

  ***

  The rest of October passes in a haze of tests, papers, and ACT prep. I’m glad when November rolls around; it signals the nearness of winter break.

  Mina still tutors me, but it’s turned into more just hanging out with some tutoring sprinkled in. One Thursday evening she’s sitting on my bed, reading a book while I work through the English section of a practice ACT. I’ve taken several now, and my scores keep getting better—especially in the English and reading sections. I’m just about to start the next question when my phone rings.

  Mina shoots me a glare—she doesn’t approve of phones when taking tests—but I roll my eyes at her and answer anyway.

  It’s Jack. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey, Jack,” I say, adding his name so that Mina will know it’s him. I watch her look up from her book. Her hair is in some sort of braid, and she’s toying with the end of it. She does that sometimes. “What’s up, man?” I say.

  Mina grins at my use of what she calls “guy speak.”

  “I had a question about Mina.”

  My insides sink a little, but one look at Mina’s hopeful face convinces me not to fake a call on the other line. I really don’t want to talk to Jack about Mina. But that’s the arrangement, I guess.

  “You have a question about Mina?” I say, and Mina scoots forward on the bed, her eyes riveted on me.

  “Yeah. Are you guys together?”

  “What?” I say, blinking in surprise. I glance quickly at Mina, who’s looking at me.

  “You and Mina,” Jack says, sounding impatient. “Are you guys going out?”

  “No,” I say, shooting a glance at Mina. “We aren’t together.”

  Mina’s face turns red, and I can’t quite interpret the expression on her face.

  “Not even like…messing around or anything?”

  “No,” I say, more firmly now. Like Mina would ever do that. “Not even messing around.” I look at her again and have to stifle my laugh at the look of outrage on her face.

  “Oh, good,” Jack says. “I want to ask her out.”

  I’m not surprised by this phone call. Because these days Mina is putting active effort into how she looks, and today she’s…well, she’s having a good day. Jack was glancing in her direction all throughout lunch time, and I wish I could say he was the only one. But it was more than that.

  Today Mina flirted.

  It was at lunch. I went over to Lydia’s lunch table, and Jack followed, which was new.

  Really I was just using talking to Lydia as an excuse to talk to Mina, which I know is stupid. But Jack went and opened his mouth and asked Mina something about getting her to talk more.

  She just stared at him for a second—a second in which Lydia gave her a subtle nudge—and then she smiled in what I can only describe as a flirtatious manner. “That depends,” she said. “Ask me some questions worth answering and we’ll see.”

  Jack’s grin widened, and he stepped closer. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You’re going to make me work for it?”

  “You catch on quickly,” she said, still looking at him with some sort of expression I didn’t like on her. It sort of made me want to hit something. Or someone. Like maybe Jack.

  Jack just grinned at her for a second while my eyes went back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was happening. I did catch Lydia’s eyes, but her expression was entirely too smug for my liking. I ended up staring at my feet instead.

  When the bell rang, Jack thumped the table and said, “Well, talk to you later?”

  When Mina nodded, he turned and walked away, and I turned to Mina.

  “What was that?” I said. “That was flirting. You were flirting!”

  Mina frowned. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No,” I said automatically.

  Mina raised one eyebrow. “Of course I’m flirting. I’ve been practicing. I mean”—she lowered her voice—“it feels weird,” she admitted. “But I think I’m getting better, don’t you?” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

  So, yeah. She flirted with Jack today, and I’m still reeling. Clearly Jack is too, if he’s telling me he wants to ask her out.

  I swallow hard and stare at the eraser of my pencil as I try to figure out what to say. There’s somehow a stillness in my head that wasn’t there ten seconds ago, and I feel an irrational surge of annoyance at the thought of Jack asking Mina out.

  “Cohen?” Jack says, and I realize I’ve been silent for too long.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, man. Go for it. Ask her out.” Then, even though I don’t love the idea, I put the call on speaker so Mina can hear. Girls like to hear guys talk about asking them out, right? I sit up in my chair and set the phone on the bed. Then I look up at Mina.

  To my surprise, she isn’t smiling. She doesn’t even look happy. She just looks…disconcerted, maybe. Or worried. She’s biting her bottom lip. Why isn’t she happy? This is the whole point of Operation Jack.

  I raise my eyebrows at her, but she just waves my look away with one hand.

  “Yeah, I will,” Jack says, his voice blaring into the room. “Things with Virginia really aren’t going anywhere, and she’s starting to get irritating. She’s not the only hot girl out there, you know?”

  I can feel a headache coming on. “I know,” I say.

  “And Mina—she’s hot,” Jack says, sounding distracted.

  Crap. Speaker phone was a bad idea. What am I supposed to say to that? I can’t very well agree. Not while Mina is
right here. I lean forward to grab the phone, but Mina swipes it away so that I can’t turn the speaker off.

  We then have a totally silent argument that involves me gesturing for her to give me the phone and her shaking her head emphatically.

  Into the silence Jack says, “What, don’t you think so?”

  I give up on the phone and rub my temples with my fingers. “No, she is,” I say, wincing slightly.

  “Her hair,” Jack says. “And she’s got a killer body.”

  I wince again, but my voice is more fervent than I’d like when I say, “I know.” I glance at Mina. She’s just staring at me. “Hey,” I say, hopefully preventing him from going on. I really am not interested in having this conversation, and especially not with Mina here. “Hang on a second.”

  I hold out my hand for the phone again, and this time Mina passes it over. I cover the phone with my hand so Jack won’t hear me as I whisper to Mina, “What do you want me to say to him?”

  “A killer body?” she says, sounding incredulous. “That’s it? That’s so objectifying.”

  “Look, Mina, you’re hot. Okay?” I say, finally giving up on being embarrassed. “You’re attractive. People are going to notice. We can argue about it later. What do you want me to say to him?”

  “You’ve never said that before,” she says, still staring at me.

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t like it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And in what situation would it have come up? Now, what do you want me to say to him?”

  “You think I’m hot?” she says.

  “Yes,” I say, stressing the word. “Now last chance—what do you want me to say to him?”

  “Tell him about my personality,” she says vaguely. Her eyes are still locked on mine.

  “Fine.” I uncover the phone and say, sounding more irritated than the situation probably warrants, “She’s smart and funny and nice. You’ll like her. I’ll text you her number. Hey, man, I have to go. Sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I hang up before he can respond.

  The silence filling my room is deafening. I pick up my pencil and start working on the test again. That’s how much I don’t want to look at Mina right now—I jump willingly into the ACT.

  Until I hear a sniffle from my bed.

  I look at her just in time to see her wipe a tear from her cheek, and I put down my pencil with a sigh. I stand up and then sit next to her on the bed. “I thought you would be excited about this,” I say, my voice quiet. “Isn’t this what you want? You flirted today. What’s wrong?”

  Seeing her cry is doing something uncomfortable to my insides. I move instinctively, and before I know it my arm is around her and I’m pulling her close into a hug. I stroke her hair absentmindedly. Why is she upset? Did I say something wrong?

  “I don’t want to just be ‘hot,’” she says into my shirt. “I don’t want that to be the reason Jack likes me. I don’t want to be hot at all. That word is just a way to sexualize people.”

  “Jack just doesn’t know you very well,” I say. I hesitate. “And I’m sorry I said you were hot.”

  She pulls away. “Is that why you’re hanging out with me?” she says. She actually looks heartbroken.

  “No,” I say quickly, and it’s true. I take her hands in mine. “No. Not at all. I mean, yeah—I like to look at you. Which I say as your mentor,” I add hastily as my cheeks heat. “But I like you as a person. I like hanging out with you, tutoring aside. It has nothing to do with how you look. It really doesn’t.”

  She looks down at our hands. “You promise?” she says finally.

  “Yes,” I say, tugging her close again. “I promise.” And I wish I could make her believe me, because the idea of Mina walking around thinking people only like her for her looks is just so sad. She’s funny. She’s blunt—I never have to wonder where I stand with her. She doesn’t play games. She’s smart.

  What’s not to like?

  Crap.

  I’m in trouble.

  22

  Mina

  It’s nice of Jack to talk to Cohen before asking me out, actually. Am I little offended that he thinks I would just “mess around” with someone? Sort of. But it’s like Cohen said—Jack doesn’t know me yet.

  But he will get to know me. Because this is what I’ve been training for. I can vaguely talk about football. I can put on makeup. I’m wearing clothes that fit. And tonight I will fully practice flirting in the mirror. Flirting with myself can’t possibly be worse than trying to flirt with Cohen on command. And it clearly went okay today, even though it was a bizarre feeling—like trying to dance to a fast-paced song where I don’t know all the steps. But I’m sure it will get better.

  My phone rings while Cohen still has me pulled to his side. I’ve stopped crying—thank goodness—but neither Cohen nor I have moved.

  Cohen scoots away from me quickly as I pull my phone out. Praying that I don’t sound like I’ve been crying, I say, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mina. It’s Jack Freeman.”

  My eyes widen, although I’m not really sure why I’m surprised. I glance at Cohen. He’s now settling into his chair and staring at the practice test on his desk, although his pencil isn’t moving.

  “Oh, hi, Jack,” I say, my voice remarkably calm for someone about to be asked out by her long-time crush.

  Cohen’s head whips up at the mention of Jack. His eyes narrow slightly. I wonder if he knows he’s doing that. He’s being very weird about the Jack thing today.

  And Cohen thinks I’m hot. I’ve stored that away for further analysis later, because I can’t even think about it right now when I’m already so confused about my other feelings for him. Usually the word “hot” rankles me. And I still don’t love it. But from Cohen…it’s almost flattering. As is the fact that he’s never said it because he knew I wouldn’t like it.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tomorrow night,” Jack says, and my thoughts are pulled away from Cohen—who’s still staring at me with eyes narrowed, by the way. Jack’s voice is smooth and confident.

  I swallow. “Yeah,” I say. Then, realizing I don’t sound as excited as I am, I try again. “Yeah! That would be great. What did you have in mind?”

  “I wanted to take you to dinner. Do you like Italian?” he says.

  Um, who doesn’t like Italian? Carbs for days. I am all about that.

  “I love Italian,” I say, smiling. I was wondering where my smile was. I’m glad it showed up.

  Cohen rolls his eyes, and I wave my hand in a gesture that somehow means, “Leave me alone and don’t make fun of me.”

  “Great!” Jack says, sounding genuinely happy. “Can I pick you up at six?”

  I nod, but realizing he can’t see me, I say, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “Awesome. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mina.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  We hang up, and I look at Cohen. “Your silent commentary was highly unnecessary,” I say to him.

  “Sorry,” Cohen says, his eyes back on his practice test again.

  “You don’t sound sorry,” I say, my voice dry. “You sound annoyed.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “All right, well, since you’re not going to ask, I’ll tell you. We’re going out tomorrow. He’s taking me to dinner at some Italian place—”

  “Florentino’s,” Cohen says, cutting me off. He sighs. “He’s taking you to Florentino’s. It’s nice,” he says, eyeing my outfit. “No jeans.”

  “How do you know he’s taking me there?” I say, frowning at him and leaning back against his headboard.

  Cohen rubs his temples like he has a headache. “Because that’s where he likes to take dates. It’s romantic.”

  I swallow. I honestly don’t know what to say that. There are so many possible responses running through my head.

  I choose the first one that I can latch onto. “How many girls has he dated, do you think?”

  Cohen eyes me, looking wary. “Does it
matter?”

  “I guess not,” I say. Then something occurs to me. “How many girls have you dated?”

  Cohen shakes his head immediately. “I’m not answering that.”

  “Come on,” I say. It’s suddenly important to me to know this. “It has to be a lot.”

  “I’d think the same looking at you, but you haven’t dated anyone,” Cohen says.

  I ignore the flush in my cheeks. “Not a lot, then? I know you went out with Virginia”—Cohen shudders—“but we’re not counting she-devils, so I can’t think of anyone.”

  Cohen laughs, and some of the tension I didn’t even realize was here dissipates. “Three,” he says finally, looking at me with amusement. He leans back in his swivel chair and props his feet up on his bed.

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s it?”

  “Yep,” he says, a smile crooking the corner of his mouth. “Just three.”

  I swallow. “And how many girls have you kissed?”

  Cohen’s smile fades, and an intensity I’ve never seen enters his eyes. He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to tell you that.” He hasn’t moved an inch, but his posture isn’t relaxed anymore—he rests stiffly, his body tense.

  “Okay,” I say. My voice is barely above a whisper, and I feel like crying all over again. The number has to be high for him to not want to tell me.

  “Because I don’t want you to think less of me,” he says, his eyes still boring into mine.

  I can’t look at him. “Oh, Cohen,” I say, rubbing my eyes and willing them to stop prickling. “I’m not going to judge you. But you don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

  But right now, in this moment, I want it to be my business. I need to get out of here. My brain is clearly malfunctioning, and I need sleep.

  I need to hold it together just long enough to get out of this room.

  “I have to go,” I say, gathering my things and dumping them unceremoniously into my bag. “Finish your practice test.”

  I don’t look at Cohen, but I see him nod from the corner of my vision. I can also see that he’s watching me.

  But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Instead I just yank my bag over my shoulder and all but barrel out of the room, closing the door firmly behind me as I leave.