“No it’s um, it’s totally fine. It’s uh … it’s not like … um …” Eloquent.
“She was a one-time thing. She’s not my girlfriend or something, just because she spent the night at my house.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I swallow hard, trying to take the crazy jealous rasp out of my voice. “Even if she was, why would I care about that? Date whoever you want.”
He does this terse headshake thing and clenches his jaw, staring, unblinking, at the road. What was I supposed to say? Don’t date anyone but me, even though you can’t date me? He can’t really be pissed about that.
I wish now that it was still warm enough to run to school. Then maybe this whole super awkward exchange would have been avoided. As it is, there are still a couple minutes left until we get to school, and the car is very suddenly suffocating. I lean my head against the window, wondering exactly when things got complicated between Drew and me. When exactly it happened that there were certain things we couldn’t talk about. When I’d decided that all my ridiculous abandonment issues were something I could attach to him. And when I had decided it was my right to be jealous, not because he slept with another girl, but because he hadn’t kicked her out of bed five minutes after. When, in my warped subconscious, had his bed become mine?
The silence is so uncomfortable that I know we can both feel it on our skin. Drew clears his throat and steals a glance at me. “So. You, uh, check your blog lately?”
The quick switch of subject is jarring, but welcome, and the relief is clear on his face when I grab hold of the change.
“Of course.”
“You’re getting pretty popular already, right? From the amount of questions you’ve been answering. And I’ve heard people talking about it in the hallways.”
A huge smile spreads across my face. “Really? People are talking about me? It hasn’t even been that long.”
“Yeah, sometimes. You must be making some actual money.”
I shrug. “I don’t know; I haven’t actually checked that in like a week.”
He furrows his brow. I guess it is a little weird, being that New York is why I started this thing in the first place. But whatever.
The car grinds to a halt as we reach the parking lot, and another silence, somehow even more awkward than the first one, pops up. I am so glad this ride is over. I step out of the car and shut the door behind me, making my way to the front door.
“Hey, R, I, um, have a couple things going on after school today. Can you get another ride home?”
He’s lying. But I don’t blame him. I don’t want to suffer through another ride with him either. “Yeah, no problem.”
Before I can say anything else, April comes running out the front doors and grabs me by the arm. “You! Are so sexy I thought maybe I was bi for, like, five seconds.”
I laugh and steal one last glimpse over at Drew, feeling like, somehow, the whole dumb argument (or whatever it was) should be resolved already. He just gives me a half wave. And we go our separate ways.
I’m probably imagining the looks in the hallways, and I’m certainly imagining the theme music and wind in my hair as I strut down the hall. Strut, strut, strut. Drew can suck it.
Seth waves at me as I enter cooking and I wave back and smile. Look at me, all not awkward and butt-bumping him all over the place. I take my seat next to him and he turns back to a crumpled paper, massacred with an eraser worn down to the metal. He chews on the end of his pencil, frowning so hard I think the lines from that single expression might be permanent.
It’s weird seeing him like this. “You okay?” I ask.
He grunts in response.
“Um … need help?”
He slams the pencil down and rubs his forehead, then shakes his head and stares at me with the most adorable puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen, including those of real puppies.
“Trigonometry, man. It’s the devil. I never thought I would bear so much ill will toward a shape.”
I nod, like I can relate, even though I can’t. Trig always came as easily to me as breathing. But still.
“I’m going to fail this class. I’m gonna fail it, wreck my GPA, kill my chances at a scholarship …” He groans and lets his head fall with alarming momentum to his table. It thuds and just rests there.
I sigh and grab the paper from under his cheek. It takes me about five seconds to find the error he’s making.
“I see what you’re doing here. You just—”
The bell rings and Mr. Cole clears his throat loudly, taking his place at the head of the class.
Seth takes a sidelong look at me and pulls a fresh sheet of paper out of his bag. He scrawls something on it, then passes it over to me.
I can barely read it—boy handwriting is like a different language. But after several laborious minutes, I make out:
Do you do any tutoring?
No. But I would happily tutor Seth.
Sure.
He looks at my note and smiles.
How much $?
I’ll trade you for cooking lessons.
He snickers and reaches across the table to shake my hand. Very official. I take his hand and try to ignore the wave of tingles that travels up my arm. He has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend.
How about today after school? I write.
He nods and folds up the note, then sticks it in his back pocket. Then we both look forward and pretend to pay attention to Mr. Cole.
Ride home acquired.
9. How to Get a Not-Date with the Hottest Guy in School
When cooking ends, Seth follows me out of class.
“Do you have a car?” he asks.
I give him a falsely solemn look and shrug. “Sophomore. I mean, I have a license. But no car.”
“Ah, the trials of the young.” He takes out a set of keys from his pocket and twirls it around his finger, smirking.
“Alas, we underclassmen truly are a pitiful breed. It’s why we keep you seniors around.” I lean back against the wall and smile, crossing my arms over my chest.
He narrows his eyes. “Our cars? Now, that can’t be the only reason.” That half grin is still on his face when he leans over me, hand pressed just an inch or two above my shoulder. My heart starts going crazy. Is this … are we flirting? I think … there’s no way.
I blink at him, suddenly forgetting what we were talking about in the first place. He looks at my clearly confused-but-thrilled eyes and blinks himself, then glances over at his own bicep, like he hasn’t realized he was doing “the lean.” Then he straightens and looks around, clearing his throat.
“Anyway, yeah. So, you want to just hitch a ride to my house then?”
He’s avoiding looking straight at my eyes, which confirms (unbelievably) that we were totally flirting.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll just meet you out front. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A black Lexus.”
I raise an eyebrow, somewhat impressed.
“I know, it’s lame. But I got it from my dad and … anyway, I have a couple quick things to take care of, but I can meet you in the parking lot in ten. Cool?”
“Cool.”
Over his shoulder, I can see his girlfriend heading toward us. She slows and smiles brightly at me, and I feel this overwhelming flash of guilt, like discussing tutoring was something really wrong. Taylor is one of those popular people who is popular for a reason; she’s kind of unhateable.
“Hi,” she says, giant smile still plastered on her face.
Seth wraps his arm around her waist and nods at me. “Hey, Tay. This is—”
“Renley Eisler. I know. Cute hair.”
“Thanks,” I choke out, wondering when exactly Taylor Krissick learned of my existence.
She waves this little Miss America wave and spins around, practically pulling Seth behind her. I’m not sure how that’s possible, since he’s the one with his arm around her, but she’s very clearly leading their descent down the hall. I see her perfect pink expressio
n darken the second they swivel, and Seth stiffens, looking in the other direction. Interesting.
And as soon as they’re out of my line of sight, I text April everything. She responds with nothing but a winky face. Of course she does.
I walk out the front door, following the sea of bodies into the courtyard, then break off from the crowd, going to sit against the red brick of the school building, inhaling that grass-just-before-fall smell. I stick a headphone in my ear and halfway listen to something kind of lame and mainstream that I secretly adore, and I watch. I’ve got nothing else to do for the next ten—more like eight—minutes.
Across the way, I see Drew walking down the sidewalk, fists shoved in his pockets, looking sad. Or mad. It’s impossible to tell with him most of the time. And, just like I thought this morning, he does a 90-degree turn and heads straight for his car in the front of the lot. Something going on after school. Freaking liar. I stare daggers at the back of his head, almost hoping he’ll turn around. But then he does, and I’m embarrassed that he saw me looking at him like one of us was the spawn of Satan. (I’m not sure which one, in this scenario.)
He scrapes his lower lip with his teeth and then shakes his head, turning around and sticking a key in his car door, jiggling it.
I roll my eyes and look the other way, waiting for my hotter ride with a sexier car to show up. Eventually, he and America’s Next Top Model emerge from the school, his arm still glued to her waist. He gets to his car, and I don’t get up. Taylor backs up just slightly, freeing herself from his arm, and she looks … pissed. She starts gesturing in a giant but controlled way, like those whisper-yells you do sometimes to imitate a scream when people are watching. Seth doesn’t even react. He just stands there, arms crossed, leaning against the Lexus, saying nothing. Eventually, she throws her hands in the air and bows her head a little, then leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He looks the other way, so her lips just barely brush his jaw, and she stomps off in her high heels. That much force on that small a surface area looks extremely painful.
When he gets in his car and starts the engine, it doesn’t scream like Drew’s car, which is a welcome change of pace. I get up and walk slowly toward the pick-up area, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. He waves when he sees me approach and leans over and pops the door open. I get inside and click my seatbelt into place, throwing my backpack over into the backseat.
“What are you listening to?” Seth asks.
“Oh.” I’m immediately embarrassed by my less-than-hipster music choice. “Nothing, it’s just something stupid.”
“Hey, no judgment here. You listen to your pop rap dance-house stuff, whatever.”
I grin and take the headphone out of my ear, then take a look around his car. It’s clean, super clean. And it smells like strawberries and sugar. I bet there’s a girly air freshener stowed somewhere in here.
“What are you looking for?”
“The scent thing you definitely got from Bath and Body Works. It’s somewhere around here.” I pop open his glove box, then realize afterward just what an invasion of privacy that is.
“Dude, are you snooping in my car while I’m right here?”
I know my face is like a cherry—it’s one of the things I hate most about myself. Anything somewhat embarrassing, and bam. Bright red. And probably sweaty.
He laughs, which lessens the cherry-red to a kind of bubblegum pink; I can feel the shade change in the heat on my cheeks.
“You are an interesting person,” he says, still chuckling.
“Fair enough.”
“The candy smell thing was from Taylor, by the way. And I’m pretty sure it’s called Visions of Sugarplums. She’s, uh, my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I gathered that,” I say, crossing my arms instinctively, trying not to appear jealous.
He glances over at me, then back at the road, and I see a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He definitely noticed.
“We’ve been together for six months now. I mean, this time.”
“Oh.” I don’t really know what else to say to that.
“And you, you’re with that kid Drew, right?”
I shake my head. “Seriously? Drew?”
“I thought you guys were a thing.”
I let out an exasperated laugh. “Yeah, no. Drew and I have never been a thing. Not with all the girls he screws on a nightly basis. No, thank you.”
“Well, that was … blunt. So no you-and-Drew then.”
“No.”
And that little smile again that makes my insides flutter. Dumb. He just said he and Taylor had been together for half a year, which is a long time. Even if there does seem to be a little trouble in paradise, that’s no reason to be jumping for joy. They’ve broken up and gotten back together a thousand times since middle school. They’re the golden couple, and the golden couple stays together till they graduate, then they get married and have beautiful golden babies.
“And you and Taylor. You guys …” I trail off when I see his shoulders sag at the mention of her name. “Okay, never mind.”
“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s just that lately, we—what am I saying? You don’t care about my relationship problems; I barely know you.”
That stings, even though it’s true. I stare out the window, somewhat disenchanted with the ride-tutor situation now that Taylor has been brought to the forefront of both our minds. But at least I’m not the only one she seems to have doused with a bucket of cold water. I shouldn’t be pleased that Seth isn’t thrilled with his relationship, but whatever. I am.
Seth turns to the right and I straighten when he enters a neighborhood I’ve only ever driven by and lusted after. It’s not full of McMansions or anything, but the houses are nice. Way nice. Way nicer than any of my friends’ houses.
He stops in front of a stucco one with a stamped concrete driveway and a perfectly manicured lawn. I get out of the car and smooth my hair and shirt, feeling totally out of place, like I need to de-wrinkle to fit with the picture before I step in.
He doesn’t seem to notice my unease and walks ahead of me to his front door. He pushes it open and holds it for me, which is nice, and I try not to stare when I head toward the entry.
There’s a little silver thing hanging on the right side of the doorway at an angle. I cock my head and glance at it.
“Mezuzah,” he says. “Not a poorly installed doorbell.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” I say. I was, in fact, thinking extremely fancy doorbell for tall people.
We step farther inside and he says, “One sec, Renley, I just need to tell my parents you’re here, so they’re not pissed.”
He walks through the tiled entryway down a corridor, then disappears. I whip out my phone and type.
April, I’m in Seth Levine’s living room.
Ooooooh. Have you gone into his BEDROOM yet? ;) ;) ;)
You are such a slut.
I’m not the one in Seth Levine’s bedroom.
I roll my eyes. I write, NEITHER AM I.
She sends back a bunch more winky faces and a couple obscene emojis that really should never have been invented. I slide the phone quickly into my pocket as Seth walks back in.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Would you happen to have Dr Pepper?”
He takes two out of the fridge and acts like he’s going to throw mine to me. This is a move he will regret, because I will dodge something heavy flying at me, even if I could feasibly catch it.
“Kidding,” he says, and he takes a seat at the table. “I make a point of not hurling projectile sodas at girls when they come over.”
I don’t know why a little thrill courses through me when he says that. I am a girl. I am over. Maybe it has something to do with him calling me a girl, not, like, a tutor. ’Cause he sees me as a girl, which, coming back full circle here, is what I am, so who gives a crap?
I sit in the chair next to his and pop open the soda, then take a drink. Sweet, almost burning. I w
ill never get over my love of Dr Pepper. Ever. He takes a drink from his, too, and looks at me expectantly.
“So … do you have your trig book?”
He blinks. “Oh yeah. Tutoring. Duh. One sec.” Then he runs out the door. Presumably, he left his backpack in his car. Did he actually forget that was why I was here?
He comes back in, looking sheepish, then sits down next to me. He drops his bag on the floor next to him and procures his massive trigonometry book, his notebook, and his abused homework.
“I just need to warn you, I suck at this. Hardcore.”
I don’t even think before I say, “Well, it wouldn’t be fair if you were good at it. There’s a rule against being hot, a cooking extraordinaire, and a math whiz. Not fair to the other guys.”
He grins widely, mischievously, but then drops his gaze from my face, twirling the chain around his neck nervously. A chain I’m sure, suddenly, is from Taylor. Stupid. But the grin never goes away, even when we’re discussing the thing he hates most in the world. And that has got to be a good sign.
NOVEMBER
10. How to Go Parking with a Guy
I’ve been running to school the past several days. It’s dumb, because it’s really starting to get cold outside, and I know that if I showed up to Drew’s house, he would give me a ride. And I could always just take the bus, but, honestly, I live super close to school—close enough I hardly break a sweat—and I’d rather run in the cold than deal with the bus.
After like four days of this, though, it’s starting to get old, and I can’t even remember what exactly we were even fighting about. I know it had something to do with a college girl.
I glance out the window and see that there’s no light on in Drew’s room. It’s after ten so that could mean he’s sleeping or getting laid or doing nothing. I take a chance, and pull my cell out of my jeans, then scroll through the messages one last time, just to be sure I haven’t missed any from him. I haven’t. That kind of pisses me off, so the text I send him may not come off as sugar sweet.
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