Something New

by Amanda Abram

  “Hey,” Elijah said, looking up at me as I entered the room. “You’re back. Feeling okay?”

  “Yep,” I said with a nod.

  I ignored the funny look Lauren was giving me as I sat down on the loveseat, making sure to leave plenty of space for Dylan to sit beside me. But since Lauren was taking up a lot of my leg space on the floor, the only way Dylan and I were going to fit on the couch together was if I practically sat in his lap. Which wasn’t surprising. When it used to be me and Elijah on the loveseat, I would usually just drape my legs over his and snuggle against him in his arms and we didn’t take up much space at all.

  No way was I going to be sitting that way with Dylan.

  I nudged Lauren’s shoulder with my leg. “Scoot over.”

  “I’m already at the edge,” she claimed.

  “Why don’t you two sit on the couch, and I’ll sit on the floor?” Dylan suggested.

  Lauren pouted. “No way. The floor is my spot. Always has been, always will be.”

  With a sigh, Elijah got up from the armchair and motioned to it. “Dylan, you can have the chair. I’ll sit with Cassie on the loveseat.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, he was sitting down beside me, lifting my legs and gently setting them back down on his lap.

  “There,” he said with a warm smile. “Problem solved.”

  No. Problem not solved. This was how Elijah and I used to sit when we were a couple. And when we were a couple, it was fine. In fact, it was quite nice. But we weren’t a couple anymore. This was way too intimate, especially with the way his hand was still resting on my knee.

  Dylan quickly looked away and dropped down into the armchair, focusing his attention straight ahead at the TV.

  “What does everyone want to watch?” Elijah asked, using the remote to click on the Netflix app.

  “Romantic comedy,” Lauren replied without hesitation.

  “Denied,” Elijah said in a teasing tone. He turned to me. “How about you? What would you like to watch?”

  I looked at the options on the screen and saw nothing of interest. I didn’t feel like watching a movie, anyway. “I don’t care.”

  “Aw, c’mon,” Elijah said, casually draping his free arm around my shoulders. “There’s got to be something you want to watch.”

  “I think I’m gonna head out,” Dylan said suddenly, and we all turned to see him getting up from the armchair.

  Elijah blinked at him in confusion. “Already?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan raked a hand through hair. “I’ve got actual studying to do. And I forgot I told my mom I’d cook dinner tonight.”

  I stared up at him and wondered if any part of that excuse was true.

  “Oh, okay,” Elijah said, his voice laced with disappointment. “I guess it’s just me and the ladies, then.” He winked over at me.

  I forced a smile onto my face.

  “See you guys tomorrow,” Dylan mumbled before leaving the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Lauren turned around and grabbed the remote from Elijah’s hand. “We’re watching a romantic comedy. I know Cassie wants to, and now that Dylan’s gone, you’re outnumbered.”

  Elijah groaned. He knew she was right.

  Before turning back around, Lauren’s gaze lowered to where Elijah’s hand was still on my knee. “Oh, and the chair’s free again.” She pointed over to it as if commanding him to go sit in it.

  Surprisingly, he took the hint. Sliding out from under my legs, he got up from the loveseat and returned to the armchair.

  I love you, I said telepathically to the back of Lauren’s head.

  As if sensing my appreciation, she gave me a subtle over-the-shoulder thumbs-up as she navigated through the list of romantic comedies.

  Ten minutes later, after we failed to find a movie we could all agree on, we decided to just call it a night and try study group again next week.

  “There’s no point if Dylan’s not here, anyway,” Elijah said.

  “Save your excuses,” Lauren said, picking herself up from the floor. “We both know you’re ending this because you don’t want to watch a girl movie.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “You got me.”

  Lauren smirked. “Hey, maybe next time we can actually study. You know, like most other study groups do.”

  “What would the fun be in that?” he asked with a chuckle.

  The three of us filed into the kitchen so Lauren and I could retrieve our books.

  “Well, thanks for coming over, anyway,” Elijah said. He was speaking to both me and Lauren, but he was looking at me.

  “Thanks for having us over,” I said with a smile.

  “Looks like Dylan left his stuff here,” Lauren commented, pointing to his notebook on the table and his backpack on the floor.

  “Whoops.” Elijah picked up the backpack and put the notebook inside of it. “I can drop it off to him later.”

  “No need,” I said. “Lauren and I can swing by his house on the way home.”

  Lauren arched an eyebrow at me. “We can?”

  “Yeah. We’ll be passing by anyway.”

  “Okay, great.” Elijah zipped up the bag and handed it to me. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  I nodded and turned to Lauren. “Ready?”

  “Yep,” she said, flinging her own backpack over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Elijah.”

  “See ya,” he said with a grin. He followed us to the front door. “Goodnight, Cassie.”

  “Goodnight, Elijah.”

  As soon as we were inside Lauren’s car and buckled up, she said, “I’m thinking we shouldn’t bother reviving study group.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. Things just feel different now, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I did know. Better than anyone.

  “Elijah still has it bad for you,” she continued, “and if you don’t end up feeling the same way about him, things are going to get awkward. Fast.”

  I hugged Dylan’s backpack to my chest. “Laur, I thought I still had feelings for him. I thought I was just angry that he cheated on me and that the anger would eventually pass. And it has, mostly, but…”

  “But you still don’t feel about him the way you used to,” she finished for me.

  “Right.” I sighed and rested my head against the window. “Sometimes, I feel guilty for losing those feelings, but then I feel like an idiot for feeling guilty because he cheated on me. I’m not the one who is supposed to be feeling guilty here.”

  She nodded emphatically as she drove down the street. “Agreed.”

  I closed my eyes tightly. “And I feel bad for accepting his Winter Formal invitation.”

  “Hey, you accepted that invitation as friends, and he was okay with that. That boy knows he screwed up. While he may be hopeful that you two will get back together someday, I’m sure a part of him knows it’s never going to happen. He’s just taking what he can get at this point.” She smiled and glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “And I don’t blame him, because you’re awesome.”

  “Aw-shucks,” I said, playfully batting my eyelashes at her. “You’re making me blush over here.”

  She giggled and turned up the volume on the radio while she drove to Dylan’s house. A few minutes later, she pulled into his driveway.

  “I’ll let you do the honors,” she said, motioning to the backpack.

  I’d been planning on being the one to deliver it, anyway. Unbuckling my seat belt, I opened the passenger door and told her I’d be back in a minute.

  It only took him a few seconds to answer the front door after I knocked.

  “Cass.” He seemed surprised to see me standing there, but then his gaze lowered to what I was hanging onto, and a look of realization came over his face. “I left that at Elijah’s, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I said, handing the backpack to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking it from me. “You didn’t need to bring it to me. I could ha
ve gone back to pick it up later.”

  “It’s okay, we were on our way home anyway.”

  Dylan glanced over my shoulder at Lauren’s idling car. “You guys left already?”

  “Yeah, we couldn’t decide on a movie to watch, and then we all agreed it wasn’t the same without you there, anyway.” I paused and narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you really tell your mom you would cook tonight, or was that just a lie to get out of study group?”

  “It was all true.”

  “No way. You can cook?”

  “I’m no five-star chef, but I know my way around a stove.”

  “I have to see that. I don’t believe it.”

  “I can prove it to you. Why don’t you and Lauren stay for dinner?”

  It was an intriguing invitation—one I knew Lauren would want nothing to do with.

  But I did.

  “I’ll ask her.” I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Cassie?” she said cautiously. “Why are you calling me from Dylan’s doorstep?”

  “He just invited us for dinner,” I replied. I turned around so I could see her as we talked.

  “Why would we stay for dinner?” she asked.

  “Because he’s cooking it.”

  I could see her making a face at that. “Ew. No. I’m out.”

  “What is she saying?” Dylan asked me.

  “She’s a hard pass,” I informed him with a frown.

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “But you can stay if food poisoning is your kind of thing,” Lauren said with a sly grin.

  “What is she saying now?”

  I covered the speaker with my hand. “She says she would love to try your cooking, but she needs to get home.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, he crossed his arms over his chest. “She didn’t really say that, did she?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “No. She thinks eating your cooking will make her sick.”

  He made a face in the direction of Lauren’s car before returning his attention to me. “What about you? Would you like to stay? I can drive you home later.”

  There was no way I was passing up this opportunity. “Lauren?” I said into the phone. “I’m gonna stay.”

  “Okay,” she said. “It’s your funeral.”

  I smirked and ended the call. Turning to Dylan, I said, “I’m just going to go grab my stuff. Be right back.”

  He nodded as I took off down the front steps and jogged back to Lauren’s car.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked me as soon as I opened the passenger door to retrieve my backpack.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t actually think I’m going to get food poisoning.”

  “I’m not talking about food poisoning.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  She opened her mouth like she was going to say something but then clamped it shut and shook her head. “Never mind,” she said finally. “It’s nothing. Call me later?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, grabbing my stuff. “Bye, Laur.”

  “Bye,” she said with a small smile and a wave as I shut the door.

  After she pulled out of the driveway, I made my way back over to Dylan.

  “I promise my cooking is not that bad,” he claimed with a lopsided grin as I met him at the door.

  “Do I look worried?”

  He studied my face for a moment. “Kind of.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Not at all.”

  I brushed past him into the house. “Okay then, Meyers,” I said, dropping my backpack onto the floor and placing my hands on my hips. “I’m starving. Show me what you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Whoa, Dilly, you’ve got mad knife skills,” I said, watching in awe as Dylan sliced through a tomato with an impressive combination of speed and precision.

  He stopped mid-slice to glare at me. “What did I say about you calling me Dilly?”

  I tapped my chin with my finger, pretending to think about it. “That you like it?”

  Dylan just rolled his eyes and returned to his task.

  “But in all seriousness, Dylan, I’m impressed.” I pulled out my phone and tapped on the camera, aiming it at the cutting board.

  He gave the phone a curious glance. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m filming this to show Caitlyn,” I replied. “She is going to freak out when I tell her you can cook. I’ve told you how obsessed she is with cooking shows, right?”

  “Yes, you’ve told me. I’ve also witnessed it firsthand.” He grinned as he finished with the tomato and slid it off the cutting board into a bowl full of lettuce. “I’m supposed to watch the season finale of Baker’s Dozen with her, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right.” I aimed my phone at his face. “So, what are you making tonight?”

  “Lasagna,” he replied. He pointed to the large pot on the stove. “I was about to put everything together when you showed up.”

  “Lasagna, huh?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “That seems ambitious.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Nah. My mom has a fairly easy recipe from back when she used to cook.”

  I lowered my phone and turned off the camera. “Well, I’m still impressed. I think the extent of most teenage boys’ cooking abilities is putting together a ham sandwich.”

  A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Well, I’m not most teenage boys.”

  “No, you’re not,” I agreed. I walked around the kitchen island to join him on the other side. “So, is there anything I can help you with?”

  He glanced around the room before saying, “How are you at putting stuff into boiling pots of water?”

  “Not to brag, but I’m kind of a pro,” I said with mock arrogance.

  “Well, great. You can add the pasta to the pot while I brown the beef.”

  “Okay,” I said, grabbing the box of lasagna noodles off the counter and opening it. “I would be honored to work alongside the renowned Chef Meyers.”

  Dylan gave my arm a light, playful nudge. “Are you just going to spend all night teasing me about this?”

  “I have to,” I said with a smirk.

  For the next fifteen or so minutes, we worked side-by-side at the stove, boiling the lasagna noodles, heating up the sauce, and browning the beef. When he started assembling everything in a baking dish, I stepped back, leaned against the counter and just watched.

  “So,” I said casually, “when are you planning on asking Claire to Winter Formal?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Sometime this week.”

  “Cool.” I lowered my gaze to examine the hem of my shirt. “So, are you going to make some big romantic gesture when you ask her, like Elijah did with me?”

  “Oh, hell no,” he said with a snort. “I mean, that was sweet and all, but that type of thing is not my style.”

  I didn’t think it was Elijah’s style, either, but he had proved me wrong.

  “Why weren’t you involved in that, by the way?” I asked.

  Dylan said nothing as he finished the pasta layer he was working on. When he was done, he turned his head to look at me. “Honestly? Because I thought it was a bad idea.”

  I was surprised by that. “Why is that?”

  “Because that type of stuff isn’t your style either. You hate being the center of attention.”

  He was right. I hated attention. But how did he know that about me when my own ex-boyfriend didn’t?

  “Besides,” he continued, “that’s too much pressure to put on someone. You are way too nice to turn him down in front of a cafeteria full of his friends.”

  “Do you think that’s why he did that? Because he knew I’d have a hard time saying no to him in front of everyone?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “That’s not—I mean, I’m not saying that’s why he did it. That was just my perception of it and why I didn’t want to be involved. That�
�s all.” He paused. “Is that why you said yes? Because you felt you had to?”

  I still didn’t know why I’d said yes, but now I wondered if that had been the reason after all—because I didn’t want to humiliate him in front of his friends after he obviously put a lot of time, effort, and thought into the whole thing.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Or maybe it is. I’m not sure.”

  Dylan began layering again. “It doesn’t matter, though, as long as you’re okay going with him.”

  “I guess.” Wanting to change the subject, I peered over at the lasagna forming in the dish. “That looks good.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully it is good. I’m trying to impress you.”

  “Oh yeah? What if I end up hating it?”

  “You won’t.” He handed me a bag of shredded mozzarella. “Would you like to do the honors of topping this bad boy off?”

  I took the bag from him and reached in, grabbing a handful of cheese. “I would love to.”

  He watched as I began to sprinkle it over the top and smiled. “You know, Mrs. Andrews should give us extra credit for cooking dinner together like a real married couple.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “Why don’t we take a selfie with the lasagna and show it to her tomorrow?”

  I was joking, but Dylan grabbed his phone off the counter anyway and proceeded to hold it out in front of us.

  “Smile,” he instructed. But instead of smiling, I shoved a handful of shredded cheese into my mouth at the exact moment he took the picture.

  “You’re such a dork,” he chuckled, using his thumb and index finger to zoom in on my face.

  “Sorry.” When I was done chewing, I said, “Let’s take another one. I’ll take it seriously this time. I promise.”

  He looked skeptical but held up the phone again anyway. “Okay, smile on the count of three. One, two—”

  Before he could say “three”, I grabbed another handful of cheese and this time, instead of shoving it into my own mouth, I attempted to shove it into his.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing my hand away and wiping off a few stray pieces of shredded cheese that had stuck to his chin. “You promised.”

  I doubled over in laughter. “I lied.”

  In a fit of fake rage, he grabbed the bag out of my hands, lifted it over my head and then turned it upside down, spilling the rest of its contents onto my hair.