Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

  “Emely,” she moaned, dropping her knife on her plate. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “No idea,” I sighed, setting my roll down without taking a bite. “It’s not that easy, is all. And honestly I kind of don’t care what he looks like—at least, as long as he’s not hideous or something.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes, I am! I know it’s unrealistic to expect him to write like my dream guy and look like him, too. I’m focusing more on his core values, and since I already know what those are, I don’t absolutely need a picture of him, right?”

  Yeah, right. Pretty soon even I won’t buy this anymore.

  “Emely, you’re already lowering your standards!” she said and squinted at me.

  “Alex, let’s be realistic,” I said. “If Angelina Jolie isn’t looking back at me in the mirror, it’s not like I need to wait for Brad Pitt.”

  “You’re out of your mind, girl,” she said, shaking her head. “How does that brain of yours come up with crap like that?” She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. “First of all,” she continued, “if you see Angelina Jolie looking back at you in the mirror, you should expect to hear umpteen different kids whining and crying in the background. Second,” she said grinning, “forget Brad Pitt; Johnny Depp is way hotter anyway.”

  “I appreciate your extremely helpful advice,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. She had a point, though. Johnny Depp was hotter.

  “No worries,” she said, still grinning.

  “Seriously, though, Alex. What is the deal lately? Have I changed somehow? Why are more guys interested in me all of a sudden and at the same time than have been interested in me since high school?”

  “Easy: because it’s long overdue,” Alex replied. I pretended not to hear as I continued my rant.

  “I mean, fine, Luca hardly knows me. Your brother only wants sex—and pursues it constantly. And Domenic also seemed interested. So what’s going on? Did I miss something?” I raised both my hands in the air. “If things keep going like this, there’s a chance I might yet start feeling like someone could love me.”

  Alex laughed. “God forbid!” she said sarcastically. “Have you talked to Domenic again?”

  “No, I keep putting it off.”

  “Who says you even need to talk to him?”

  “I know you don’t think much of him. But out of politeness I should text him or something at least once.”

  Alex shoved the last bit of breakfast roll into her mouth. “Out of politeness? Politeness is the bastard child of bullshit, and as far as I’m concerned you can spare yourself the trouble.”

  “I don’t know how you’re always so certain.”

  She brushed the crumbs off her hands over her plate. “Where is the problem? It’s a very simple calculation: you don’t want anything from him, so don’t bother getting in touch.” She shrugged as I rolled my eyes and sank down in my chair.

  “It’s not that simple, Alex. He brought me home, so it might be a mistake not to get in touch with him at least once.”

  “Girl,” she said, “he was just being friendly because he wanted to screw you!”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Excuse me?” she said and laughed. “If there is one thing I can tell about a guy, it’s when he’s got only one thing on his mind. And when a guy like that is eyeing my best friend, who has the words ‘I need to get laid’ written across her forehead, it’s not like I need to stretch my imagination much.”

  My mouth fell open. “Alex!”

  “What?” she said, shrugging. “It’s true. You’re in desperate need. And believe me, boys can smell that from five miles away.” I puffed out my checks, shocked she would say something like that. Weren’t friends supposed to make you feel better? For the love of God, what did Alex not understand about that?

  “For your information,” I said, “in desperate need is the last thing I am! Things are going fabulously for me, actually.”

  Alex eyed me. “You really believe that?”

  “Yes, I do!” I said, averting my gaze. In doing so I happened to look over my shoulder at the clock. “Why didn’t you tell me it was so late?”

  Alex looked at the clock herself. “What’s wrong? You still have a good twenty-five minutes to make it to your class.”

  “Normally that’d be plenty of time,” I said, “except my bus left five minutes ago.”

  “Oh . . . ,” she said. “Obviously, that’s not good.”

  If I jogged the whole way, I could probably make it . . . then I remembered my vow never to jog again! Plus, I’d arrive at class sweaty, without time to change. Assuming I even made it to campus alive.

  Skipping my lecture was not an option, however, because this one was especially important, and I didn’t feel like having to chase down twenty different people, trying to find someone who would share their notes with me.

  “Elyas could drive you,” Alex suggested.

  I snorted. “Wow, great idea!”

  “Well, what else are you going to do? You won’t make it on foot, I don’t have a bike to lend you, and a taxi would cost too much.”

  “Is he even here? Why hasn’t he been out here annoying me?”

  “I didn’t mention our breakfast plans to him, and evidently he never clued in,” she said, shrugging.

  I looked at the table and grumbled. Everything inside me fought against it, but at the same time I knew I didn’t have another choice. I had no words to express how frustrated I was. Someone or something in the universe was out to get me, that much was certain.

  Cursing under my breath, I pushed my chair back and stood up.

  “I guess I’ll go humiliate myself and ask him, then,” I announced. God, how could it have come to this: having to ask him, of all people, for help? And not just that. No. I would also be forced to spend time with him.

  I ambled down the hallway, losing more self-respect with each slow, shuffling step.

  I knocked on his door and heard him call out “Yeah?” from inside.

  I took a deep breath and entered. Elyas was in a black armchair, holding in his hands a book, which he clumsily hid behind his back when he saw me. He had no shirt on, and the button and zipper on his jeans were open as though he had just gotten up and slid them on. His upper body was . . . athletic—bordering on sexual harassment, really. I quickly looked away.

  “E-Emely,” he stammered.

  “What are you hiding?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing important.”

  “Harry Potter?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, more confidently. “Naturally it’s nice to see you, but honestly I’m a little surprised. What do you want?” He shot me a charming smile and waited for me to answer.

  “Enjoy this moment, because it’ll never happen again,” I grumbled, leaning on the doorjamb, still avoiding eye contact. “I need to ask you for a favor.”

  He leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “Really?” he said. “Anything for you, dearest.”

  Though I would have struck him dead on the spot, I just didn’t have time. I can do this, I told myself, and squeezed the horrific words out of my mouth: “CouldyoudrivemetocampusImissedthebus.”

  “Huh? I can’t understand a word you said.”

  I moaned. “I, uh, wanted to know . . . if you could drive me to campus. I have a lecture at one, and I missed my bus. Please,” I added awkwardly.

  His mouth formed a smile before he stood and approached me. He stopped only inches in front of me, so I had to look at him. I reflexively crossed my arms.

  “I’d love to,” he whispered, looking deep into my eyes. “Give me five minutes so I can shower first. Then I’ll drop you off at campus.”

  I bit my lip. “Couldn’t you
shower afterward?”

  “You said your lecture isn’t until one, right?”

  I nodded as he glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. “It’s quarter to, now,” he said. “I’ll be ready in five minutes, and you’ll be on campus in another five. Don’t worry, you’ll be on time.”

  “OK, thanks,” I muttered. His eyes slowly grew more intense, almost to the point where I couldn’t stand it anymore. The longer I stood there, the more uncomfortable I felt, starting to feel exposed. Still, I didn’t look away, because it would have been fatal to let him detect the slightest insecurity.

  “Was there anything else?” he asked.

  I blinked. “Uh . . . no . . . why?”

  “Well then, will you let me past?” He raised an eyebrow and gestured with his hand. “Or did you want to join me?” He smiled again. “In that case we might be a little rushed if we want to make it to your lecture on time.”

  My eyes grew big as I realized that, stupid me, I was standing in his way and hadn’t made any effort to move yet. I took a step backward in shock, and because his shit-eating grin kept getting bigger and bigger, I had to cover up my embarrassment somehow.

  “Thanks, I’ve showered already,” I said in a bitchy tone, turning on my heel and heading back to the dining area, where Alex was waiting for me.

  “So? Is he driving you?”

  “Yeah,” I snarled, flopping down on the chair.

  “Well that’s good, right?”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  She laughed. “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that.”

  “Just to be sure, maybe you could lend me one of your pepper sprays?” I said, imagining myself squirting it at his stupid turquoise-green eyes.

  “Come on. It’s nice of him to drive you.”

  “I guess,” I muttered.

  “And when you collapsed in the park, he could have just left you lying there.”

  I stared at her. “He told you about that?”

  “Yeah, yesterday,” she said with a giggle. “I was going to suggest that you and I go jogging together, but he told me that probably wasn’t a good idea. I kept grilling him for information until he finally came out with it.”

  “Oh, great,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “Now you’re making fun of me, too, behind my back. Haven’t you ever heard of something called solidarity?”

  “We weren’t making fun of you,” she said. “All we did was giggle a little. You do have to admit that the story is kind of funny. We weren’t laughing at your expense, though, I swear,” she said, to which I replied with a grumpy “Yeah, yeah.” I could imagine very well how that whole scene went, but why was I getting so upset? I couldn’t blame anyone else for my collapsing in the park, and if I were in Elyas’s position, I wouldn’t have waited for it to come up before mentioning it. So I guess Elyas hadn’t blabbed.

  Great! Was I giving that jerk credit now for something good? Things were going from bad to worse!

  Alex had just topped off my coffee when a freshly showered and, thankfully, fully dressed Elyas appeared.

  “Shall we?” he said, smiling at me, and I made my way to the front door. Elyas’s wet hair shimmered in the sunlight from a nearby window, and his T-shirt clung more tightly than usual to his still-damp upper body.

  His T-shirt clung more tightly to his upper body? Ugh! I rolled my eyes at myself, wondering if maybe I was in “desperate need” after all.

  He held the door open for me, and since that was both unnecessary and presumptuous of him, I didn’t thank him. I just walked straight out instead.

  “You’re welcome,” he said after me, but I was already hustling downstairs. Sadly, my lead didn’t last long. He caught up with me in no time and then walked right beside me.

  I already knew that five stories could drag into what felt like an eternity, but today it felt like we would never reach the ground floor.

  Before Elyas had a chance to open the front door for me, I pushed it open myself and strutted out. Since I didn’t have the slightest idea where his car was parked, I instantly looked like an idiot. Not only did I head in the wrong direction, but—wait for it!—I also stumbled, to his tremendous amusement.

  With rose-colored cheeks, I followed him in the other direction. I didn’t have time to admire the car today. Elyas already had the motor running before I buckled up. God, how I loved that sound, more and more each time I heard it.

  Elyas stepped on it, as I’d come to expect, so my worries about making it on time were instantly swept away.

  That is, until we encountered red lights every hundred yards the entire way.

  “Sorry,” Elyas apologized at one of them, dropping his hands into his lap as I tried to use the power of my brain to turn the light green—to no avail.

  “I think, this once, not even you can do anything about it,” I told him.

  “How gracious,” he said with a sarcastic smile.

  I gave up hoping I would still make it on time, so I leaned back and watched the city go by. It occurred to me that this would be the perfect opportunity to squeeze in some research.

  “Say,” I began, as though I were about to inquire about the weather, “what kind of a guy is that Sebastian?”

  Elyas looked at me for a second. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I said, shrugging. “He just seems nice, so naturally I was wondering how that could be if he’s a friend of yours.”

  He flashed me a fake smile before his skepticism returned. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “What do you want to know?” He wrinkled his forehead.

  “Everything, I guess,” I said. “For instance, I’d be interested in knowing whether, like you, his main interest is disseminating his sperm throughout the world. Or whether he actually takes women seriously—though I’m sure you wouldn’t understand what I mean by that.” Elyas gave me an inscrutable look before the light turned green and he drove forward.

  “Do you like him?”

  I smiled. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Not for me,” he said, smiling back, “but I think Alex might consider stabbing you in the back with a knife if you did.”

  Goddammit, I didn’t expect her name to come up. How did he know about all that? I decided to play dumb.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Well,” he sighed. “Maybe because she practically bounds into his arms every time he says hi.”

  If Elyas already knew about Alex’s crush, he must not have anything against it.

  “Hmm,” I mumbled. “This complicates matters tremendously.”

  “Oh, come on. Like she didn’t tell you about it weeks ago. Women—and Alex in particular—constantly go on and on about stuff like that.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Voice of experience,” he said, grinning, apparently feeling like an expert on women. I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re asking me all this because Alex wanted you to pump me for information, right?”

  “No,” I said. “Honestly, I’m worried about her. She is so naïve about men. And even though Sebastian makes a good impression, I don’t like that he’s a friend of yours.”

  Elyas snorted and briefly looked my way. Apparently he thought I had been joking, and now wanted to see if I was serious. Lo and behold, the tacit answer in my eyes told him: dead serious!

  “That’s your problem?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “But mean old Elyas is being pretty nice to you right now, isn’t he?”

  “Just because it’s been more than five minutes since your last smart-ass comment doesn’t mean you’re anywhere near ‘nice,’” I said. He smiled in his usual smug way and looked ahead again. I steeled myself for a typical stupid response, but none materialized. Instead, he didn’t say
anything for a while. Then he came back to our original topic.

  “As far as Sebastian goes, you can relax. He’s a nice guy and, no, his main interest is not disseminating his sperm throughout the world. Satisfied?”

  I shrugged and wondered whether I should take Elyas’s assessment at face value. We were talking about his sister, though, so I decided he must be on the up and up.

  We didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, and when we made it to campus at ten minutes after one, I put my hand on the door handle.

  “Jesus Christ, just wait a second!” he said, holding me back. “Why are you always in such a rush to get away from me?”

  “I think you know the answer to that. Plus, my lecture started ten minutes ago, and I hate having everyone stare at me when I come in late, as though I’m about to sing a solo or something.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to walk in late today no matter what, so one more minute isn’t going to change that.”

  I sighed, settled back into the seat, and wondered why in the hell I was staying in the car. “Whatever you want, make it quick, then.”

  He hesitated as though he had to carefully pick the right words. “What are you doing tonight?” he finally asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What are you doing tonight?” he repeated.

  Was Elyas asking me out?

  “Working,” I said curtly.

  “And tomorrow?”

  “All right, what’s going on?”

  “I’d just like to talk, is all. Nothing more than that,” he explained. If I hadn’t heard those words come out of Elyas Schwarz’s mouth, I don’t think I would have believed he said them.

  “I think we see each other plenty as it is,” I replied, opening the car door. After I got out, I turned back to him. “I’m sorry; it’s been lovely, but I really need to go now. Thanks for the lift.” With those words, I closed the door and rushed toward the lecture hall.

  I’d just like to talk, is all. Nothing more. I snorted. What an idiot.

  Shaking my head as I ran, I reached the lecture hall several minutes later, fully out of breath. Of course everyone turned to look at me when I opened the door, and I looked at the floor as I made my way down the aisle in search of a free seat. Once I found one, I slid down as low as possible and didn’t muster the courage to sit up straight until everyone’s attention had returned to the professor, who stood in front on a small stage, discussing poststructuralism—a framework developed in the 1960s for interpreting literature. It turned out to be as complex as it sounded.