by Amy Sparling
I take a deep breath and make my choice. “I met this cute girl at the beach yesterday,” I tell her. She won’t find out this girl’s name, at least not now. I can’t trust her not to tell Bess, but I can trust her advice in general.
After I explain the whole humiliating story to yet another person, Maddie mulls it over, making this long “hmm” sound into the phone.
“Maybe she has a boyfriend,” she says.
I groan. “So it’s that bad? She reacted like someone who’s already taken?”
“Maybe not. But it is weird that this girl wasn’t all over you, like just about every other girl would be. I mean, you’re not as cute as Colby,” she says and Colby whoops in the background, “But you’re cute. If you’re being nice and friendly, it should attract any normal girl to you.”
“Maybe she’s not normal,” I say, desperate to get the blame off me. I can’t stand the idea that I’m not good enough for her. If she has a boyfriend, then I can wait until she’s single again.
But if she just doesn’t like me . . . I can’t do much about that.
“I think you should give it one last shot,” Maddie says after discussing it with Colby as if I’m not here on the phone able to hear everything they say. “If she truly isn’t interested in you, you’ll know by the second try. If she is, then you’ll also know.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, glancing up when my sister walks into the room. “That’s good advice.”
“Of course it is,” Maddie says, a smile in her voice. “See ya later.”
“Bye.”
I’m smiling when I hang up the phone. This whole thing had felt hopeless a few minutes ago, but now I’m a little inspired. I shouldn’t let Bess go so easily. I should at least give it one more shot, and if she so clearly blows me off again, then I’ll know. I’ll suck it up and admit that the beautiful girl on the beach wants nothing to do with me.
“You look weird,” Abigail says, reminding me she’s still in the room.
“Who let you out of your cage?” I say, in a pathetic attempt at an insult. I’m really off my game today because I can’t stop thinking about the girl in the hot pink shirt.
“Are you going to work?” she asks, ignoring my jab as if she were the older sibling and not me. Now that I actually look over at her, I see that she’s dressed in shorts and a Flying Mermaid shirt instead of her pajamas. Her purse is slung over her shoulder.
“Yeah, in a minute. Why?”
“I wanna come.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, get in the truck.”
She lets out a little squeal of excitement and rushes past me, through the kitchen, and out to the garage.
I roll my eyes. Abigail is thirteen, which means sometimes she’s a raging brat that I want to strangle, and other times she’s just a normal person I don’t mind being around. Today looks like it’ll be a normal day. That calls for a celebration I think, as I pour my coffee into a thermos. I reach into the fridge and grab a can of spray whipped cream, tilting it over the thermos and spraying some inside on top of my coffee. I usually drink it black, not because I like the taste, but because I’m too lazy to bother. But whipped cream definitely makes it better.
I screw the cap on and head out to my truck, where Abigail has already started the engine and is rocking out to some pop song from the passenger seat.
“Not happening,” I say as I climb into the driver’s seat. Immediately, I shut off that crap she’s listening to and put it on a rock station. “Passenger doesn’t pick the music.”
“But I love Selena Gomez.”
“Not in a million years,” I say. She crosses her arms and slumps into her seat, the angry little sister scowl she’s so great at appearing on her face.
We’re halfway to the beach when my sister stops playing on her phone and looks over at me. “So who’s the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The one you were telling Colby about.”
I stiffen, my eyes on the road. “How much of that did you hear, you little snooper?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she says, making this annoyed eye roll. “And I only heard a little bit. So who is it?”
“None of your business.”
“What’s her name?”
“Not telling you.”
She groans. “Well, I hope she’s not a bitch like Elise.”
“Watch your mouth. And she’s not.”
Abigail’s expression softens just a little. “Well she must be a bitch if she doesn’t like you. You’re a great guy.”
I look over at her and smile. “Thanks, Ab.”
***
The beach is calling to me more than ever. It’s a beautiful summer day, the kind that’s hot and sunny but not too hot and sunny. Normally I can feel the call to go surf from deep in my bones, but today that’s not what’s making me want time to hurry up so I can get off work.
Today I want to see Bess.
And Abigail must know it because she keeps giving me these little knowing grins and side eye glances. It’s annoying, my little sister knowing that I’m freaking out over a girl. I’m supposed to be the tough big brother. Nothing is supposed to mess with my head.
Something Bryce told me yesterday has been bothering me as well. He’d said that I’m probably just upset because Bess didn’t seem to like me back. It’s hard to admit, but yeah, girls do often like me. I hang with Colby and Bryce and the popular crowd at high school.
And although high school is officially over, that kind of popularity stuff sticks with you, at least in a small town like Louetta. Although I’ve had my heart crushed by the three serious girlfriends I’ve had over the years, I can’t remember a single time I’ve been rejected by a girl when I first met her. I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but it is what it is.
Bryce thinks the only reason I’m practically obsessing over Bess is because she rejected me. To Bryce, dating is a game and girls are trophies to be won and then set aside on a shelf.
I hate that idea. I hate the mere thought of thinking that my fascination with Bess is just because she rejected me. That can’t possibly be it. I’m not some asshole who wants to add a ton of notches to my metaphorical headboard. (My real headboard is metal, and plus, my parents would straight up murder me if I carved a notch into any piece of furniture to keep track of how many girls I’ve slept with.)
I’m a good guy. I know I am. Abigail thinks so, too. I just want a real girl, a sweet girl, one to fall madly in love with and have forever.
I don’t just want Bess because she rejected me. I want to get to know her, see if she fits more items on my list. I want to feel her silky blond hair through my fingers and press my lips to hers.
I need to smell her floral perfume again, need to see her smile so bad it makes my stomach ache.
Although Abigail is legally too young to officially work at the shop, she pretty much runs the place when she’s there. She knows the register better than I do, and she can upsell every teenage girl on a pair of sunglasses and flip flops just by talking to them.
So when it’s half an hour until my shift is over, I find Dad near the wetsuits and ask if I can leave early.
“Sure, we’re pretty slow,” Dad says, organizing the wetsuits by size. “You have somewhere important to be?”
“Kind of,” I say, not wanting to give away the real reason I’m leaving. “I need to talk to one of the shop owners before they close.”
“Well get on out of here,” Dad says, waving me away with his hand. “Make sure you clock out early, though, punk. I’m not paying for that extra half hour.”
I thank him and dash into the back room, clock out, and grab my phone off the charger. A lot of shops on the strip close at six p.m. on weekdays, and I want to make sure I have time to find her.
I can’t just assume she’ll be walking on the beach today like she was yesterday. After being hit with a football, she might even be traumatized from the beach for a while.
My heart speeds up as I step outside, using the
customer door that faces the strip.
Bess hadn’t said where she works, just that it’s here. I’m going to find her by starting with the first shop and working my way down. In the logical part of my brain, I know I should come up with a reason for walking into her store, pretend like I’m there for something else and it’s just a coincidence that I happened to run into her.
But the lovesick part of my brain doesn’t have the time to come up with excuses.
I just want to see her.
Chapter 14
After a week of working at Aiden Jane, I’m starting to feel a little guilty for getting paid. Sure, it makes me leave the house each day and takes away my free time, but it’s not actually work. I’m having a blast being here and I’d actually do it even if I wasn’t getting paid. Of course, I don’t tell Julie that, because the paychecks are nice. Plus, even though I don’t need money now, I’ll need it when college starts.
Today we’re reorganizing the baby wall, which is a small part of her shop that sells gifts and items for newborns. Since this is my last summer before college starts, I try being all proactive and pretend that decorating the store is similar to decorating my future classroom. After all, the goal is to make everything appealing to the customers, and in classrooms, you want the kids to be excited to be there as well.
This tactic only helps me forget a little bit about Josh. Okay, it doesn’t actually help me forget at all.
I’m thinking about him constantly.
What exactly did it mean, him following me out to the parking lot the other day? Asking to hang out again sometime?
It’s all just a joke, right? But it sure seemed like he was going out of his way just for a joke. The thing about guys is that they don’t like going out of their way for anything, except maybe sex or sports.
Of course, maybe he still felt bad for hitting me with a stray football, and as much as that theory makes me feel stupid, it’s probably the correct one.
Maddie calls me on Skype when I’m home from work. I answer it while lying in bed, so my face is all distorted and gross from the angle of holding my phone in the air above my pillow.
Luckily, I don’t have to impress Maddie by looking cute 24/7. That’s one good thing about friends compared to guys.
“What’s up?” I ask her. The reception is a little blurry, probably because she’s so far away and the signal has to bounce around on satellites or whatever. Maddie’s formerly bright pink hair is now back to golden brown, cut shoulder length in a bob that looks cute on her. I remember when she dyed it pink over Spring Break in our senior year. Everyone suddenly noticed her for the first time, and she got really popular. Of course, it also helped that she became the new step-daughter of this hella rich guy from Shady Heights, the neighborhood of mansions on the other side of town. I’m lucky I was friends with Maddie before her rise to popularity, otherwise I would have been left behind.
“Remember when you suddenly got all popular?” I ask her.
“You mean the day my life went from horrible to wonderful?” she asks with a blurry smile. “What about it?”
“Well, I suddenly have one person noticing me, and it’s kind of making me insane and turning me into someone who over analyzes every single detail. I don’t know how you did it with lots of people. I can’t even handle the attention of one guy.”
Maddie laughs. “Fake it till you make it. That’s my only advice.”
I roll my eyes. “Very helpful.”
She leans in, her face getting huge on my cell phone screen. “So who’s this guy suddenly giving you attention?
“What makes you think it’s a guy?” I shoot back so quickly it sounds like I’m being defensive.
She gives me this conspiratorial grin. “Because if it was a girl, you wouldn’t be freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” I say with a little shrug as I hold the phone up in front of my face. “And it’s just some guy who said we should hang out sometime while we’re both working. Weird, huh?”
“It’s not weird,” she says. “He just likes you.”
I snort so hard I almost drop the phone. “He definitely does not like me.”
But isn’t that what I’ve been daydreaming about all morning?
“Yes he does,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“You don’t know anything about him,” I say, trying to prove my point. In reality, she does know him because he’s her boyfriend’s best friend. But I’m not about to tell her that because then she’ll confirm that there’s no way Josh Graham likes me. For now, it’s just fun to pretend that maybe there is a possibility for something truly amazing to happen to me.
I resist the urge to sigh. That’s my life. Floating through day by day on nothing but the daydream of possible amazing things.
***
I don’t bring healthy snacks to work today. I don’t bring anything. Losing weight only works if you stop eating junk. This morning I had an apple, and now I plan to work my butt off all day, moving and bending and lifting inventory as a form of working out. Then, for dinner I can have a salad. I would have gone all day without eating any calories, so my diet will be in kick starter mode. That’s the best part of having this job. If I were at home all summer, I’d be just a few feet away from the kitchen where all the snacks are. Now, at work, I’m stuck without the ability to eat food unless I leave. And I don’t plan on leaving.
Things are going really well by lunch time. I pretend that I’m not feeling very well and tell Julie I don’t feel like taking a lunch break. She takes her break and leaves me at the store, and I use the time alone to do squats and weight lifts with heavy boxes in the back room.
I’m feeling pumped. And awesome. And like I’ll be thin before I know it.
And then two p.m. rolls around and my stomach is singing a chorus of starvation songs.
This freaking sucks.
By three, I’m hunched over the front counter, my stomach clenching together in pain. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Fat girls like me love to eat, and our stomachs simply won’t let us forget it.
“You look awful,” Julie says, peering at me over a rack of souvenir shot glasses. “You feeling worse?”
Ironic how I skipped lunch by faking sickness, and now I really am sick. “I’m hungry,” I say, wincing as my stomach rolls into itself.
“You missed lunch,” Julie says. “Why don’t you run get something?”
“You sure?” I ask, but what I really mean is don’t let me leave. I’m not supposed to eat.
“Of course. You gotta eat.”
With a sigh, I grab my purse and take her advice, slipping out onto the strip. I figure I’ll get a salad from the pizza place a few shops over. I’ll get light dressing, and I’ll try not to eat much of it.
The smell of melted cheese and crispy pepperonis fill my lungs, making me dizzy with hunger the moment I step into the pizza place. My stomach rolls and growls and before I know it, I’m ordering a pizza.
“Pepperoni pizza, please,” I say to the short red haired guy behind the register.
No, no, no! my brain screams, but I ignore it.
“Small, medium, or large?” the guy asks, his finger hovering over the register buttons.
Small!
“Medium,” I say.
Guilt slams hard into me, but I push it away, reaching for my wallet to pay for my order before I get the good sense to cancel it.
I sit alone at a tall table near the window, watching people in bathing suits head to the beach, smiles on their faces and friends all around them. Guilt presses into me, but even as I wait for my food, I know I’ll only eat one or two slices. I’ll save the rest, give to Grandma or eat some for dinner. This will be okay.
The guy brings my pizza on a platter, and I mean to ask him for a to-go box, but be slips away before I can find the words. I eat a slice, and then two slices. Then I pick off the cheese and pepperoni from a third slice. Minutes fly by in just a few seconds, and before I realize w
hat’s happening, only one slice is left on the tray.
Tears fill my eyes. I can’t even try to hide them as I scramble off the chair, grab my purse, and leave.
I cry the whole way back to Aiden Jane, knowing it’s probably totally ruining my mascara. Of course, dripping mascara lines are the least of my worries compared to eating two thousand calories of pizza in one sitting.
Julie is talking excitedly with a customer near the back of the store, so I slip in undetected, toss my purse behind the counter, and hide behind a display shelf of sandals.
My shoulder is killing me, my stomach is so full it hurts, and I can’t stand being stuck here in my own skin. I’m embarrassed, ashamed, and grossed out.
Why am I such a failure?
I wipe at my eyes, knowing my mascara is all screwed up, but not finding enough energy to care. Get it together, Bess. Julie will see me any minute. I’ll lose my job. Or worse—she’ll want to talk about what’s wrong.
I take a slow, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. Though I’m still wracked with guilt, at least the tears have stopped.
I hear Julie say a cheerful, “Hi, can I help you?” and then it dawns on me that someone just came into the store and I’d been too distracted to pay attention to the bell chiming a few seconds ago.
“Does a girl named Bess work here?”
I recognize the voice immediately. Chills prickle over my arms, fear stabs into my heart. Josh Graham is here, and he’s looking for me.
And I’m sitting on the floor wiping tears from my eyes.
Chapter 15
Twelve stores, twelve nos. The number thirteen isn’t exactly lucky, but I’m hopeful anyway as I step into the girliest damn store I’ve ever seen. It’s called Aiden Jane, which is like a combo of a boy and girl’s name together, but there’s nothing but frilly, cutesy, glittery, girl stuff as far as the eyes can see. I’m hit with the powerful scent of a French vanilla candle as soon as I walk inside.
Ugh, the things a guy will do for a pretty girl.