7 Clues to Winning You

by Kristin Walker

  He asked quietly, “You think so?”

  I searched his face for any sign of falsehood or manipulation. All I saw was vulnerability and self-doubt. Exactly how I’d felt for the entire past two weeks. I grabbed the edge of the Dumpster for balance and stood in front of him. “Definitely,” I said.

  Luke skimmed his fingertip back and forth over a rusty patch between us on the Dumpster rim. “You know, Blythe, I’m usually pretty good at pegging people, but I’ve got to admit that I had you all wrong. You’re nothing like I thought you were.”

  I let out a laugh. “Going off what? My father? And a picture of me picking my nose?”

  Each time Luke’s finger skipped over the rusty patch, it slid a little bit closer to where my hand rested on the rim. “Being a nose picker is pretty disgusting,” he teased.

  I came right back with, “You say that while standing on a mashed head of slimy, brown lettuce. Surrounded by garbage. In a Dumpster.” Luke broke out laughing, so I took it a step further. “And I have the picture to prove it.”

  Luke inhaled sharply and his mouth fell open, but his blue eyes glinted behind his glasses. “Oh, do you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “So watch your step.” I tried to keep a stern expression, but my face kept springing into smiles.

  “Or else what?” he asked, grinning.

  “Or else I’ll use it.”

  “For what?”

  “World domination.”

  “Ah, I see. What happens then?”

  “Then I’ll make you my personal slave and you’ll do my bidding, including—but not limited to—bringing me all the choicest selections from your Dumpster-diving missions.” I was flirting. I didn’t care.

  Okay, I did.

  He crossed his arms and stuck out his chest, chuckling. “And what’s in it for me?”

  I struck a pinup pose against the side of the Dumpster with one arm in the air. “Me, of course! You’ll worship me and do anything to make me happy because you’re so enchanted with my dazzling beauty and flair for iambic pentameter.” I dropped my arm and waited for him to laugh and deny it. To pretend I was ridiculous. But Luke didn’t say a word. He didn’t even blink.

  He stayed silent long enough for the atmosphere between us to shift. I couldn’t figure out in which direction, though. I froze. Not so much froze as struggled with deciding what I should make my body do, even though my cheeks were blazing away on their own. I didn’t dare risk a lady look. That would be phony. And I didn’t want to shut him down. Just in case.

  Just in case.

  Luke edged closer and started brushing his fingertip briskly over the rust spot again. “So Blythe, let me get this straight …” He watched his finger slide back and forth. “Are you saying that I’ll get to be part of your evil plan for world domination?”

  He studied his finger intensely. Too intensely. So I studied him. I saw blood rise in his cheeks. Saw his breathing quicken. His hand tremble.

  Was this real?

  I said quietly, “If you want to be. Yes.”

  His finger slid all the way to my hand and stopped, touching me as softly as a shadow but lighting up every nerve in my body. He trailed his fingertip along the length of my index finger. “And do you want me to be?” he asked. His voice was deep, like a whisper and a growl all at once.

  I drew a tight sinew of air into my lungs and whispered, “Yes.”

  Luke’s finger went still. So did the rest of him, except for his chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. My own breathing was jagged. My pulse rang through me like a kettledrum. I was on fire and ice cold at the same time.

  “Good,” Luke said, still fixated on our fingers. “That’s what I want too.” After one breath longer, Luke’s hand glossed across mine and wrapped around it tightly.

  I could’ve lived my entire life in that moment. I could’ve spent eternity swimming inside the feeling of Luke touching me like that. It took all of my strength to tear my eyes off our hands and look Luke in the face. Because I needed to see him, and I needed to know if he saw me. If he wanted me.

  His focus trailed up the length of my arm and rested at the hollow of my throat. Each breath seemed to bring him barely closer. He lifted his face, and I got my answer at last.

  First, Luke’s eyes met mine.

  Then his lips did.

  CHAPTER 17

  SOMETHING RUMBLED NEARBY, AND WE SPLIT APART, startled. “Dammit,” he said, almost more to himself than to me. “The garbage truck. Come on.” He took my hand. “This guy hates me. He says he’ll dump me with the trash if I’m ever in this thing again when he gets here.” I clambered out, my hands still trembling, and Luke passed me all the food we’d collected. I kept one eye on the truck as it stopped at another Dumpster along the way, then barreled down the alley toward us. Luke grabbed a few more boxes of pasta and jumped out just as the truck roared up. The driver glared at us as he swerved to align his vehicle with the Dumpster.

  I gave the driver a sweet wave—which he didn’t return—before helping Luke load the groceries into the back of his pickup truck. He slammed the gate shut, and we leaned against it, watching our Dumpster get tipped into the back of the garbage truck. There was still so much food we hadn’t gotten to.

  “At least the landfill rats will eat well tonight,” Luke said.

  “I wish we had more time,” I said.

  “We got twice as much as I normally do, thanks to you. Want to help out again next week?”

  Was that a date? Did he just ask me out on a garbage-picking date? “Obviously,” I said. “As if I’d let you keep all this fun to yourself.”

  He grimaced at my gunk-covered wedges. “Next time, maybe don’t wear two-hundred-dollar shoes.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “A lady always Dumpster-dives in designer heels. That’s how all the Meriton girls do it.” I was drawing out the conversation. I wanted us to linger there. I wanted to fend off the inevitable moment when we had to separate.

  “Ha,” he said. “The day I see a Meriton girl Dumpster-diving is the day I eat slimy brown lettuce.”

  “Well, that day is today, because I was ankle-deep in there.”

  Luke looked at me and said, “You’re not a Meriton girl.”

  It felt like a compliment.

  “What am I then?” I asked. I had to make myself breathe.

  Luke rubbed a smudge off my cheek and let his thumb rest there for a few seconds. “You’re Blythe.”

  When Luke said my name, it felt like my muscles slipped off my bones and puddled on the road like jelly. At first I thought it was just because he was touching me, but that wasn’t it. The thing that turned me to jelly was the realization that Luke truly did see me. He not only wanted to see me; he saw me.

  Up to that moment, I think I’d lost track of who I was. Was I the new girl? Was I the principal’s kid? Was I the booger girl? Was I a bad girl? Was I the same person I’d been at Meriton?

  I had tipped off balance, and when Luke said my name, it was as if he’d steadied me and reminded me who I really was.

  A spiking electric charge was fixed between Luke’s eyes and mine, pulling us in. Drawing us closer together.

  The garbage truck let out a long, blaring honk, and we leapt apart automatically.

  The driver started ranting and pointing at my car, which was still in the middle of the alley where I’d stopped. The guy couldn’t get through, and he wasn’t happy about it.

  There was no time for a decent goodbye. I kind of said, “I’d better …” and Luke sort of mumbled, “… should get going,” and we just backed away from each other. We waved, and I jogged over to my car. I jumped in the front seat and cranked the engine. I glanced on the passenger seat and saw that my iPhone was full of texts and voice mail messages. Then I remembered.

  Tara and the girls. I’d forgotten all about them. I was supposed to have met them at the mall an hour ago.

  Crap.

  I called Tara right away, but it went straight to voice mail. I
sent her a bunch of texts, but she didn’t respond. I knew Tara well enough to understand that this meant she was mad. I raced over to the mall and checked everywhere, but she was gone. I drove over to her house, but no one was home. I felt horrible.

  Kind of, anyway.

  Besides having zero regret about spending the afternoon with Luke, deep down I was kind of relieved to have forgotten about Tara. That probably made me a terrible person and lousy friend, but it was the truth. Hanging out with her was getting odd. It seemed like neither one of us wanted to hear about the other’s life and problems. She didn’t get what I was going through over at Ash Grove, and I was sick of hearing the dirt on everyone back at Meriton. So I wasn’t exactly distraught about not meeting her. But I was bummed that I’d let her down. When Tara was mad at someone, she’d just cut the person out. I wasn’t sure how long I could go without a best friend. I sent her an apology e-mail on top of my texts and voice mail messages.

  When I got home, I hid my ruined shoes under the passenger seat with my spoiled history textbook and sneaked into the house barefoot. My capris and top were filthy too, but they were dry-clean only, so I couldn’t do any covert laundry. I dashed upstairs and stripped down before anyone could see me. I shoved the clothes into a shoe box at the back of my closet until I had a chance to take them to the cleaners. I jumped in the shower and scrubbed the Dumpster funk off me.

  I put on some clean sweats and skipped downstairs. The only person there was Dad, huddled over some paperwork at his desk in the family room. “Where are Mom and Zach?” I asked.

  Dad jumped when I spoke. “Blythe! Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Luckily, he hadn’t seen me either.

  He went back to scribbling. “Mom took Zach to get … clothes … or … a … baseball mitt … helmet? Something.”

  I intended only to think, “Wow, pay attention much, Dad? You don’t even know where your wife and son are,” except that it poured out of my mouth instead. My mouth had been going wild lately. Like a ventriloquist’s evil doll.

  Dad shot me a classic Principal Mac scowl. “Pardon me, young lady?”

  I threw my head back and forced peals of laughter out of my gullet. Then I grinned like a circus clown and exclaimed, “I’m just kidding!”

  Dad’s face softened. He turned back to his papers. “You’d better be.” He clucked, then chuckled.

  Sixth rule of lying: If you say something that brings you trouble, pretend that was actually the lie. Lie and say you were joking before, and aren’t you funny? It’s a quick escape from a sticky situation. It’s the liar’s trapdoor.

  “Whatcha workin’ on?” I chirped. I was probably taking the fake-good-girl role a little far, but I was new at this.

  Dad didn’t even notice. “A letter to the school board,” he said without looking up. “Part of my application for superintendent.”

  Lovely.

  “Are there plans for dinner?” I asked.

  Dad waved his pen in the general direction of the kitchen. “It’s fend for yourself again. Sorry. I was supposed to barbecue a brisket, but …” He bent over his paper again and never finished his sentence.

  I grabbed a bowl of cereal and hid in my room for the rest of the evening. I’d had enough one-on-one with Dad, thank you very much. What was the point anyway, when one was lying and the other one was ignoring?

  Later that night, just before I crawled into bed, I checked my in-box one more time to see if Tara had e-mailed me. She hadn’t. But Luke had. I clicked madly to open it. Inside was a single quote:

  My kind Blythe,

  I can no other answer make but thanks,

  And thanks, and ever thanks.

  I Googled the quote. Twelfth Night, act 3, scene 3. Shakespeare again, with my name inserted. I couldn’t believe how perfect Luke was. No, not perfect. Because he wasn’t perfect. But might be perfect for me.

  My plans to avoid guys until I got to Bryn Mawr suddenly seemed naive and unrealistic. Cruel, even. How unfair to deny me this opportunity for happiness. Besides, what did I know about relationships? Nothing. Shouldn’t I get some experience with them? Who’s to say my dream guy couldn’t be someone I met pre-college, anyway? Why did I even come up with that dumb rule in the first place?

  The answer was, because I’d never met someone like Luke. A guy who spun me in so many directions yet drew me to him at the same time. Whose deep blue eyes seemed to pierce through me and see my most closely held secrets, and I didn’t mind. I wanted him to know me, everything about me. And I wanted to know everything about him. Flaws and all.

  Luke and I already knew we both were flawed. We’d each proven it more than once. But that was okay. We didn’t have to be perfect. Take our first kiss. How gross does it seem to have your first kiss in a filthy back-alley Dumpster? But I’m telling you, at that moment, it was the most perfect spot on earth. Nothing in the world extended beyond the perimeter of our bodies.

  My heart started pounding just thinking about it.

  There was no way I could possibly fall asleep.

  I paid for my late-night daydreaming by sleeping through my alarm the next morning. I woke up with less than fifteen minutes to get all the way to Ash Grove by the first bell. I yanked on some old black sweats and pulled my matted hair into a messy bun. I didn’t have time for makeup. I’d have to try to slip into the girls’ bathroom at school the first chance I got. The problem was, I totally forgot to bring my makeup. I was headed into a full-on day of ugly. I didn’t want Luke to see me like that. I’d been so happy about not needing to be perfect with him, but a girl needs her dignity. So as much as it killed me, I hid from him that morning.

  The only people who didn’t seem fazed by my homeless-chic look were Cy and Jenna. In fact, Cy complimented me on it at lunch.

  “I dig the suicidal vibe you’ve got going, Blythe. Much better than the sexless Barbie look.”

  “Sexless?” I repeated. “I usually look sexless?”

  Jenna gave Cy a sharp elbow. He stammered, “W-Well, yeah, but … in a sexy way. Like … you know … innocent or something. Like a sexy schoolgirl.”

  “You are so full of crap,” I said.

  Cy looked down at the cafeteria table. “Yeah, I totally am.” He brightened up and pointed to me. “My point is, you look like a real human being today, not a pod person.”

  Jenna shook her head in disbelief. “You are so not making her feel any better, Cy. Just shut your piehole.”

  He lifted her chin and leaned toward her. “Why don’t you shut it for me?”

  Jenna kissed him hard and sloppy.

  “You two really need an NC-17 rating tattooed to your foreheads.” I stabbed at my yogurt. They didn’t stop. “I’m trying to eat here,” I said. Finally, they dragged themselves apart. Cy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Gross. I snatched a napkin from the dispenser and held it out to him. “At least use this.” Cy took the napkin and tossed it over his shoulder. I rolled my eyes and ate my yogurt.

  “You should let me do your makeup,” Jenna said. “Want some eyeliner?”

  I scrutinized the thick black smears around Jenna’s and Cy’s eyes with the heavy black lashes and the pale skin underneath. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I was desperate for makeup. I scooted over and Jenna hoisted her black messenger bag onto the bench. It was covered with stickers and buttons for bands or ironic advertisements or anarchist slogans. She must’ve been collecting them forever.

  She dug inside the bag and pulled out a small black case. She unzipped it and dumped a dozen eyeliners, mascaras, and lip glosses onto the table. They all were expensive, designer-brand cosmetics. I plucked up one of the liquid liners and stuck it in her face. “Jenna! This one eyeliner is like thirty bucks!”

  She blushed, but Cy said, “Didn’t she tell you she was, like, mega-wealthy?”

  “Uh, NO,” I said. I smiled and circled the mascara in front of her. “Kind of undermines your whole meth addict look, you know.”

  Jenna sna
tched the eyeliner and motioned for me to lean forward. “Tough shit. This stuff works way better.” She pulled the skin at the corner of my eye and began applying. “Besides, I stole all of this from my mother’s makeup kit. Look up.”

  I trained my eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, I see. So stealing the makeup cancels out the fact that you’re rich and privileged enough to afford it?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Okay, stop talking or I’m going to accidentally blind you.”

  I sat stone still while Jenna worked her designer cosmetic magic. Ten minutes later, she had transformed me into a genuine bad girl. Blythe McKenna: social outcast and teenage delinquent.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror of her $25 pressed powder. I looked more like the evil queen than Snow White, but I have to say, it wasn’t bad. Jenna’s technique was flawless. “Jenna, you’re like a makeup wizard,” I said. “Unbelievable. My eyelashes look amazing.”

  “Yeah. The trick is to scrape most of the mascara off the brush, then work the bristles into the roots of the lashes and draw it up,” she said.

  “God, you girls and your girly-girl talk,” Cy said. “Let me know if you’re going to start comparing your periods so I can shoot myself first.”

  Jenna tossed each piece of makeup one at a time back into the case. “You’d better watch your mouth, Cy Mason, or I won’t do your eyes or cut your hair and you’ll look just like your dork cousin Larry.”

  Cy held up his hands in surrender. “Never mind. Forget what I said. I’d actually love to hear all about your periods. Are your cramps bad? Do you like tampons?”

  Luckily, the bell rang.

  I thanked Jenna and got my things together. We filed out of the cafeteria, and I kept my eye out for Luke since I sometimes ran into him here. I thought I caught sight of him back in the crowd, but if he saw me, he didn’t recognize me. Most people didn’t. I was suddenly anonymous, and I liked it.