by CJ Adler
Max scrunches up his nose, in turn. “Not the best analogy, Aqueela.”
“The best way to study Jay is to dissect his brain,” I add, a stray strand of hair bothering me.
Max scratches his forehead before sending me a look of pity. “And you're okay with all of this?”
“I'm not entirely sure,” I admit, not wanting to push Jay to talk about it. If anything, he probably thought it was just the alcohol speaking.
“Then why are you not reacting more?” Max prods, knowing me all too well.
“What's the point? It's not like the mystery behind Jay is suddenly going to be solved,” I answer, giving him my very sensible point of view.
“You could always tell him how you feel about this you know. It's a very simple option. One that normal people take,” Max suggests, implying that I could be normal—the kid is a jokester!
I let out a long, over-the-top laugh while he stares at me with a quizzical expression. “Oh, Max, you poor, naive idiot.”
Max presses his lips into a thin line, impatient, as he gestures for me to go on.
“The last time I told Jay how I felt, he drop-kicked me down the stairs,” I inform him.
He stays quiet for a second or two before shaking his head, whistling under his breath judgmentally. “Your relationship is real strange.”
I glance around Bell's older brother's empty room. It's void of anything now seeing as it has been ages since it has last seen the vain, conceited monster. We were all shocked when he told us that he was leaving for college. It was…unexpected.
“Where's Bells?” I voice my thoughts.
“According to her, she and Jay are discussing important details on what you should wear,” he answers, stifling a chuckle.
“As if Jay is going to contribute to that conversation at all.” I snort, finding it to be comical.
However, I see why Bell would ask Jay for his opinion on the matter. He has good taste, at least in his own outfits. He's not sloppy like other teen guys. He's stylish without being metrosexual. He's well-kept and takes pride in his appearance.
“Whose room is this anyway?” Max asks me, surveying the bleak walls. “You don't want to know,” I say, saving him the details.
Some days, I do miss the walking explosive. It's a good thing he likes to make surprise visits on the most random of days. I also know that those days are the highlights of his sister's month. His room has become my secondary room whenever I sleep over. The house is just not the same without his arrogant presence. When he left, it wasn't just Bells who lost a brother.
Fortunately, Troy has just returned from Troy on his trojan horse for a pop in visit. It's actually quite unfortunate because, no doubt, he'll mock me on my newfound dilemma. That, or he's out killing Mason for devastating the highly strung Bells.
The door suddenly slams open and my eyes are met with familiar blue- green eyes, and this time they're not Bell's.
“Hope has arrived! Behold me and weep!”
I groan aloud at seeing him.
“Well, well, well,” he greets with a kilowatt smirk intact, “we meet again, Squirt. And is it just me or have I gotten hotter?”
I roll my eyes at his dramatic entrance, one of his many trademarks. He is literally not capable of just knocking and entering. It seems to surpass him and all his non-existent wit. “Hello to you too, Troy Story.” It's his nickname ever since he made me watch Toy Story with him a couple years back.
Troy's lips lift into a cheeky grin as he reaches out to ruffle my hair, well- aware of the fact that I despise it. He knows I'll forever resent him for messing with my hair. It's an unspoken rule: don't touch the hair. Simple as that.
“I'd slap you, but I'm a little tied up,” I say and motion down to my predicament.
Max has no idea how to tie ropes, so instead of just tying my legs and arms to the chair, he tied my entire body down, except for my face. I currently resemble a rope mummy. It even hurts to inhale.
“That I see.” He smirks, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Which reminds me, we've got to stop meeting like this.”
“It's not funny. I'm being tortured,” I complain.
He pretends to care, feigning seriousness. “It's a problem. It's a real problem.”
I eye him warily and that's when he takes his cue to burst out laughing. I roll my eyes and scoff under my breath. He hasn't changed.
“Now enough about you and more about me,” he says and then stops as a sudden thought occurs to him. “I meant to ask, who's the beefcake downstairs with my parent's lesser child? He's way out of Bell's league.”
Max and I answer simultaneously:
“That would be Jay Taylor.”
“That would be Aqueela's new flavor of the week.”
I whip my head around to glare at Max. As if Troy doesn't have enough on me as is.
Troy grins widely, his eyes glimmering up in mischief. “How…interesting.”
Then, as if only catching up now, he turns to Max questioningly. “Who the hell are you?”
He is incredibly slow.
Max laughs, not taking offense. “A friend of your sister's and an enemy of Aqueela's.”
I snort. “Yeah right. You love me.”
“What a coincidence.” Troy perks up upon hearing Max's explanation. “I, too, am an enemy of Squirt, and any enemy of Squirt is a friend of mine.”
Troy holds out his hand to Max expectantly as if royalty.
Max stares down at his hand in question before sparing me a glance, silently seeking my assistance.
I roll my eyes at Max in response. “It's easier if you don't ask questions, but basically, he's waiting for you to kiss his hand.”
Max blinks in confusion, staring at Troy's outstretched hand contemplatively.
“Hey!” Troy suddenly snaps his fingers in front of Max's face as if insulted.
“My eyes are up here.” He accidentally pokes himself in the eyes.
“Troy.” I send him a flat stare when noticing Max's discomfort. “You're so lovesick with yourself, that I'm actually sitting here wondering when you're going to propose and just get it over with already,” I insult him. “You have a serious problem.”
There's not a person on the face of the earth who is more egotistical than Troy.
He surprises me by actually acknowledging my words. “You're right, Squirt.” He turns to face the only object left in his room: one of his millions of mirrors. He stares at himself for a second or two before slowly running both hands down his face dramatically, in total despair. He pats his cheeks as if checking to see if they're real, biting down on his bottom lip. “Other than good-looking, what have I become ?” He takes unnecessary measures as always and panics , pulling at his perfectly styled hair in worry. “Squirt, what's happening to me?”
I open my mouth to speak but stop short when he takes matters into his own hands. He drops to the floor, on both knees, and tilts his face to the ceiling. “Who am I?!” he shouts aloud into the room as if expecting an answer, both his arms raised above his head.
He's always over-the-top in absolutely everything he does. I'm used to it, but Max, on the other hand, is most definitely not.
“Troy Bensten!” Mrs. J calls from somewhere outside of the room. “We've been over this much too many times before, Son!”
Troy opens his eyes as if having found his answer. He stares at the ceiling in awe. “Thank you.”
It's then that Jay chooses to walk in, having heard the commotion from downstairs. He leans on the doorframe and takes in Troy's position on the floor. His eyes dart over to me, one eyebrow arched, as he nods to a preoccupied Troy. “Who's the blockhead?”
“Better you don't ask,” I warn him ahead of time. If he were here just a second ago, he'd know.
Unfortunately for Jay, Troy hears his remark and is quick to scramble back up to his feet. “Who am I, you ask, why I am the cereal you take in your milk, I am the comfy pillow you rest your head on at night, I am the dreams that plague your mind
during the day.” He pauses in an attempt to build up suspense. “I am the very heartbeat of the golden sun that shines upon your lowly head. I am,” he concludes slowly, “Troy, Troy Bensten.”
Jay turns to face me, regret pooling in his eyes. “You were right. I'm sorry I asked.”
Max openly laughs, his discomfort turning to amusement. He holds his fist out to Troy, under the impression that Troy's only joking. “Nice one, dude.” A grin filters it's way over Troy's lips. “Thanks, No Name Brand.”
Max already gave him his name. Typical of Troy to not pay attention.
Nonetheless, I already don't like where this is going. The outcome of them being friends could be catastrophic on the world.
“It's Max, and are you going to leave me hanging?” Max asks, motioning down to his fist.
Troy stares at Max's fist before hesitantly raising his own fist to Max's. The second his fist touches Max's, he lets out a whimper and snatches his fist back, cradling it to his chest, a pained expression on his face as he scowls at Max accusingly.
“You're such a baby,” I mock him.
Unimpressed, Troy glares at me before his gaze zeroes in on Jay, a cunning smirk taking over his features.
I gulp knowingly. Uh-oh.
“So, Bro,” Troy starts, “this guy over here—” he gestures to Max, having forgotten his name yet again, “—tells me that you're Aqueela's new flavor of the year.”
He's using me as the topic of his small talk. Once again, this is all Max's fault because he has yet to master the art of keeping his mouth shut.
Jay falls quiet before forcing a grin, looking anywhere but at me, feeling the awkwardness too. He eventually manages to clear his throat. “Well, if she's picking flavors then I must be bubblegum.”
I merely smile, taken aback by his thoughtfulness.
“Are you Bella's brother?” Jay asks Troy, changing the subject.
“If you're referring to that thing I call a sister, then yes, you're correct. Unfortunately, I'm related to that flesh-eating beast.” Troy flashes his usual smug face, taking great delight in himself. “As you can see, I'm the child who got all the good genes. You'd never think that she's my sister.”
I don't miss Jay drawing his eyebrows up in confusion.
Of course, Max laughs and the small talk between the two continues, Troy using my head as an armrest all the while. The weight of his arm is giving me a migraine, especially since my head injury from both stairs has yet to cease in pain levels.
Fortunately, Bells arrives on time to put him in his place. She frowns when she spots her brother's arm resting atop my head. She goes to swat him away, but he moves before she can, which only ends with me getting whacked in the face instead.
“This girl just doesn't catch a break,” I hear Jay murmur as he winces for me, concerned.
“I'm so sorry!” Bell gushes, her hand in front of her mouth as her eyes cloud over with guilt.
“It's alright.” I brush the matter off and grin in spite of the searing pain. “I'm used to it by now.”
Bells immediately blames her brother as if it's second nature to her, “This is your fault! You're such a child, Troy! Grow up!”
Just to prove how much of gigantic kid he is, Troy mimics her in a high- pitched tone and imitates her with girly gestures, flinging his arms here and there for emphasis.
“Let's be serious, you guys,” Max jokes, trying to ease the atmosphere between the siblings, “Aqueela had it coming.”
Bells blatantly ignores him, slapping her brother upside the head instead.
“Troy, I swear—”
“Troy, I swear!” Troy cuts her off, yet again taunting her. “Mom!” Bells suddenly shouts, no longer able to tolerate him. “Mom!” Troy shouts back, in turn, not threatened in the slightest.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Jay shake his head and sigh quietly to himself as if he'd rather be anywhere but here.
“Mom! I know you can hear us!” Bells calls again, aware that her mother has a tendency to tune them out when they're arguing.
When there's still no reply from Mrs. J's end, Troy smirks in victory. “I'm her favorite. She wouldn't take your side anyway,” he gloats, satisfied.
“I'm calling Daddy then,” Bells says, grabbing her phone, a sudden smirk of her own filtering over her lips. She knows her brother's weakness. We all do. Mr. Bensten always comes down hard on Troy. He thinks of Troy as some kind of failure and never hesitates to remind of the fact.
“Can you both quit it!” I shout, exasperated with their bickering.
“Fine,” Bell agrees. “Stay tied so that I can do your make-up real quick.”
Do I have a choice?
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Bell goes to open the door for my date while I scramble in a panic to get ready. Max and Troy both prove to be useless. Fortunately, Jay, managing to keep me calm, unties me and tells me to just go without make-up.
As I'm about to leave with Dylan, I send Jay a smile. He meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow.
I open my mouth to say something, wishing it was him. Before I can say anything, Dylan's already talking animatedly, tugging me right out of the front door with him.
Chapter 20
Lighten Up
I fidget with my hands, bored, as Dylan drives. I can't help but be a little apprehensive. I'm not the dating type. In fact, this is my first real date. Usually, I'm that girl that people go out of their way to avoid. Nonetheless, I'm done trying to change myself for people who will never be worth it.
We ride in silence until we reach our destination. I'm about to open my door and step out but Dylan beats me to it, taking me by surprise as his hand intertwines with mine. I don't bother analyzing it as Dylan leads me into some over- the-top, fancy restaurant.
I glance down at my clothes insecurely. I won't fit in here. I'm underdressed. It's a good thing I don't care.
It's as if Dylan seems to know what I'm thinking. He smiles down at me in reassurance. “You're fine.”
I shake my head. “But I'm—”
“Fine,” he interrupts me. “You're perfectly fine.”
I nod, watching him ask about the table he booked for us. The waiter says something, in turn, before he leads us to the reserved table far away from the hordes of snooty people. I stop before the table and look around, taking in the secluded spot that is lit with candles.
This really isn't my scene.
Dylan pulls out my chair for me before I get the chance to sprint back outside. I reluctantly sit down and force a smile, somewhat grateful for the effort. He takes his place across from me, pushing a menu my way.
I fumble as I flip through the pages of the menu, not sure what it is exactly that I'm currently reading. It might be written in Morse code. All I know is that everything is incredibly expensive and I'm incredibly hungry.
Why the hell is everything in Greek?
Dylan places his order as he and the waiter continue to wait on me to make up my mind. I glance up sheepishly from my menu to find Dylan smiling at me, seemingly patient. As for the waiter, not quite.
“You ready to order ma'am?” the good-looking waiter asks, impatient and somewhat grumpy. He's probably around my age, maybe older.
I nod carelessly. “I think I'll just have a water and a hamburger—”
“She'll have a Zymarika too,” Dylan finishes for me, directing a helpful grin at me.
“And to drink?” the waiter questions, jotting down my order.
Dylan fixes his gaze on me. I shrug, clueless, taking my time to think it through. All the while the waiter taps his foot impatiently.
“I'll take a coke,” I finally say. Judging by the responses of both Dylan and the waiter at the basic order, I'm quick to decide against it. “I mean, I'll take a chocolate milkshake.” Again, same response. “No, no, wait! I'll take the fudge, choco moco espresso.”
“That's not on the menu,” the stupid, mean waiter responds harshly.
Jeez, someone is having a bad day. He
's only allowed to complain once he's been tied up and taken hostage.
“How about just an espresso to-go?” I question, unable to de-cide.
“But this isn't a 'to-go' order. You're sitting,” the waiter points out, irritation clouding his pretty brown eyes.
“Okay,” I stutter, “Uhm, jeez, this is strenuous exercise, no pressure...um...a—”
Before I can finish my words, the waiter suddenly flips out. I watch, startled, as he throws down his notebook and badge, shouting at the top of his voice. “I quit!”
I flinch at his two words before he barges out the restaurant, attracting a large audience. It's when everyone turns their gaze to our table that I feel myself sink deeper into my chair, avoiding their accusing stares.
Clearly, that guy wasn't in a great mood to start with. I guess I just pushed him to the extreme. Great, now I feel almost awful.
Dylan notices my foul drop in mood. He tugs on my hands to get my attention again. “Hey,” he soothes gently, “that was not your fault. He was being a jerk.”
I spare him a small smile, thankful.
The manager approaches us soon after the incident. He apologizes on the waiter's behalf, saying that it was indeed not my fault. The waiter, apparently, is having a sucky day in general. However, I still feel accountable.
Is it weird to feel pity for someone you don't even know?
We're given a new waiter, a much politer one, who takes my orders with patience.
I break from my thoughts when, from the corner of my eye, two tables away, I notice three people in disguise. These three people are hiding behind a large, black menu in order to cover their faces. However, every once in a while one of them peeks over in my direction. That's when those three sets of eyes become familiar.
My stomach twists into knots as Bells, Max, and Troy all come into view. Bell catches my eye and holds a thumbs-up, a large grin on her face.
Meanwhile, Troy's making kissy faces, winking at me. Max is wiggling his fingers at me in some type of stalker wave of greeting.
Shoot me.
I should have known that they'd spy on me. It's not like them to let me enjoy myself without them. Nonetheless, there's a pair of blue eyes missing from the trio. I can't help but wonder where Jay went.