by Amanda Abram
“Did I hit a nerve?” he called after me. He knew he had.
No, I didn’t own a bathing suit because, no, I didn’t know how to swim. I was familiar with the basics of it and all, I’d just never gotten good at it. Plus, my fear of the water didn’t help matters. Logan was well-aware of this because he and I used to spend summers together growing up. Because our fathers were so close, we used to take family vacations together every summer to Mr. Reynold’s cabin on the lake and he got to see firsthand how much of a sissy I’d always been around bodies of water.
So, I ignored him. It was the only effective way to eventually get him to leave.
As soon I was inside the house, I sighed and dropped my book and the letter onto the kitchen table.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Sophia said behind me. She and Chloe had followed me—meaning Logan presumably had left the premises.
“I won’t.” I turned around to face them. “I have more important things to focus on right now.”
Chloe nodded and grabbed the letter from the table. “Right. Like who Number 7 is!”
Number 7. The potential love of my life was associated with a lucky number, at least. That was a good sign, right?
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us on our trip?” Sophia asked. “What if Number 7 is a dud? Think of all the hot guys we’re going to be surrounded by in Orlando every day. I’m sure you’d be able to find one to have a summer fling with while we’re down there.”
That was the thing. I didn’t just want some summer fling, despite the fact I took a “summer fling” compatibility test. If I fell for somebody down in Florida, we’d have to part ways at the end of summer and never see each other again. That wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. Besides, my reasoning behind foregoing the trip went a bit deeper than that.
I was kind of terrified of flying.
I was afraid of most things in life: water, flying, a variety of bugs, heights, public speaking, clowns, growing old and becoming a cat lady, snakes, etc. I was basically every psychologist’s fantasy patient, but I was hoping to never end up in therapy. There wasn’t enough money in the world to pay for all the sessions I’d need.
“I don’t think this guy is going to be a dud,” I said. “He is theoretically everything I’ve been looking for. That’s the point of this test, right?”
“Yeah,” said Chloe, “but just because this guy might be everything you’re looking for, that doesn’t mean he’s the right guy for you. Sometimes, opposites attract.”
I gave her a dismissive wave of my hand. I didn’t do opposites. Matt would be the most opposite I’d ever go for, but since he was out of my league, it didn’t matter anyway.
“I’m staying here. I’m meeting Number 7, we’re going to fall madly in love and have a summer together that could easily be made into a romantic teen movie, and it’s going to be wonderful.” I smiled dreamily at my friends, who were looking at me like I’d gone crazy.
I gave up a dream vacation for the possibility of a dream romance. It was definitely crazy, I’d give them that, but it’s what I needed to do.
“Well, suit yourself.” Sophia threw her arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “Chloe and I will be thinking of you as we’re sipping virgin margaritas and ogling sexy, sweaty, shirtless boys on the beach.”
“At least you’ll have sexy, sweaty, shirtless Logan to ogle all summer,” Chloe said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Eww, gross.” I playfully smacked her on the arm.
Both she and Sophia were laughing.
“Oh, c’mon, Em,” Sophia said. “You can’t honestly stand there and say Logan Reynolds isn’t hot.”
“Actually, I can. And I did.”
The girls exchanged a glance and shook their heads. “Okay,” said Chloe, “you’re obviously insane—”
“Or in denial,” Sophia chimed in.
“Yes, or in denial. Either way, if you can’t admit Logan is hot, then we are bringing you to the emergency room right now because you are obviously going blind.”
I wasn’t going blind. I also wasn’t denying I thought Logan was hot—because he was. In addition to looking good shirtless, he had bright, sparkling hazel eyes, an infuriatingly charming smile, and wavy brown hair most girls would kill to run their hands through. But, as the old saying goes, beauty is only skin deep. Underneath, Logan was as ugly as they came.
This conversation had already outworn its welcome, so I changed it back to what was most important at the moment.
“Who cares about Logan? He’s irrelevant. All I care about is Number 7 and meeting him on Friday, and I can’t believe you guys aren’t going to be here to help me get ready for my date.”
“Well,” Chloe said, glancing down at her watch, “Sophia and I still have some time left before we need to get home to finish packing. Why don’t we go shopping for a cute outfit for you to wear on Friday, and then we’ll give you a few, quick make-up and hair pointers?”
It was a nice gesture, but I wasn’t exactly a do-it-yourselfer. These girls could spend an entire year teaching me the basics of mascara application or hair styling and I would probably end up even more clueless about it all in the end.
But I shrugged and agreed to go shopping with them. After all, starting tomorrow, I was on my own for the entire summer.
At least I’d have Number 7 to keep me company.
Chapter Two
EMMA
I examined my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door and thought to myself, not bad.
I was wearing a light blue sundress the girls had picked out for me at the mall the other day and a pair of white wedges that added a couple inches onto my height, which at 5’8” I didn’t need. Hopefully Number 7 was tall.
“Omigosh, you look beautiful,” Chloe gushed from the screen of my laptop. She and Sophia had insisted we video chat before my date, so they could give me last-minute tips, tricks, and advice.
“Thank you,” I said, turning around to face them.
Chloe and Sophia were both on the screen, huddled together on a bed in what I was assuming was Chloe’s Aunt Jessica’s guest bedroom. The two girls were staying with her for the entire summer, but they didn’t mind. Jessica was in her mid-twenties and incredibly cool, so it was basically the same as not having any adult supervision at all.
Even though they hadn’t even been gone two full days yet, I couldn’t help but note that Chloe’s skin was already three shades darker. She was so lucky she tanned easily. Sophia was naturally tanned all the time, but still got that sun-kissed glow after spending the day outdoors. I, on the other hand, could spend four minutes in the sun without UV protection and end up looking like a boiled lobster.
“Are you going to kiss him at the end of your date tonight?” Sophia asked, staring at me intently.
My breath hitched in my throat at her question. To be honest, I hadn’t given any thought to the possibility there might be kissing tonight. After all, it wasn’t like this was a real date. It was more of a pre-date, or whatever.
I shook my head. “Guys, this isn’t an official date. We’re just going to get to know each other.”
Chloe snickered and said, “What better way to get to know each other than by sticking your tongues down each other’s throats?”
I rolled my eyes as both girls broke out into a fit of giggles. My friends could be so immature sometimes.
“I’m going to close my laptop if you two don’t start behaving,” I warned them.
“Sorry,” they said in unison, but I could tell they weren’t sorry at all.
I glanced over at my alarm clock next to my bed. “I should probably get going. I want to get there a little early. Get a good table.”
“All the tables at Dream Bean are the same,” Chloe said, but I ignored her.
“You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“You wouldn’t do anything,” Sophia pointed out.
I shut my laptop before they could sa
y anything else.
I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door and turned to see my mother standing in the doorway, looking at me with wide, teary eyes.
“My precious baby, getting ready for her first date,” she gushed. Seriously, she was about to cry.
“It’s not a—” I started to say, but I didn’t feel like going through the whole explanation again about how this wasn’t a date, so I didn’t. Instead, I gave her a quick spin and asked, “How do I look?”
“Like the most beautiful girl in the world.” Mom entered my room and made her way over to me. She’d been almost as excited for this “date” as I’d been, and I knew why.
My parents met and fell in love in high school. They started out as casual friends their freshman year, moved onto best friends their sophomore year, and then started dating their junior year. By senior year, they were officially high school sweethearts. On the night they graduated, my dad proposed to my mom and she said yes. They were only eighteen, so they took it slow. They decided to wait until after college to get married, figuring if they could make it through a long-distance relationship, they could make it through anything. One week after they graduated from college, they got married. Four years later, after my dad graduated law school, they had me. And now, fast-forward eighteen years, my parents were even more in love with each other than they were back then. At least, that’s what they claimed.
This was what Mom wanted for me. She wanted me to meet someone in high school and have a lifelong epic love story like her and my dad. But I was going to be entering my senior year in the fall and so far, there were no prospects. Nobody but Number 7, who could turn out to be, as Sophia put it, “a dud”.
“Do you think your mystery man could be Matt?” Mom asked. She’d always been privy to my crush on him.
I gasped. “Mom!” I hissed through clenched teeth, afraid Matt would be able to hear her from all the way across the street, even with my bedroom windows closed.
“What? It’s a valid question.”
“It’s not,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m almost one hundred percent sure Matt didn’t even take this test. He doesn’t have to. He could have any girl he wants.” I paused and smoothed out the front of my dress. “Besides, I’m in the process of getting over him anyway.”
I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she let it go.
“So then, who do you think it could be?” she asked, as though she actually knew who went to my school and would recognize whatever name I threw out.
“I have no idea,” I said with a shrug. I hadn’t given much thought to who it could be. There were quite a few boys at my school who liked to read, who were kind of shy and reserved like I was, who I’m sure deep down also yearned for some good old-fashioned romance (although they would never admit to it). It could be any one of them. Or none of them. I just knew it wouldn’t be Matt.
Even though he currently, as far as I knew, did not have a girlfriend, there were always potential ones eagerly waiting in the wings. Cheerleaders, mostly. So, unless he took the test for no other reason than to help fund Project Graduation, I could consider the chances of Matt being Number 7 as being slim at best.
“Well, whoever he is, he’s a lucky boy.” Mom took a step closer to me and sized me up from head to toe. “Did you put this makeup on all by yourself?”
Geez, I suddenly felt like a little kid who had just used the potty for the first time without help. That’s how proud my mother sounded.
“Yes, I did,” I mumbled, turning around to look in the mirror. I tried looking at myself the way a teenage boy would, and I instantly began to wonder why it was I’d never been asked out.
I was certainly no supermodel, but I was also no troll either. I guess you could say I was “girl-next-door” pretty—which usually translated into “average-looking”—but I was okay with that. Chloe and Sophia were both considered to be traditionally beautiful, and while that landed them tons of boyfriends, most of those boyfriends were only interested in them for one thing and one thing only.
And right now, that thing was not what I was looking for, so my played-down physical appearance helped to at least keep the horndogs away.
Unfortunately, it kept the rest away as well.
“Well, you did a great job.” Mom pulled me in for a quick hug.
“Oh, there you two are.” The sound of my dad’s voice from the doorway broke us apart. He had appeared out of nowhere, holding a camera.
“Hi, Pumpkin,” he said to me with a grin and a wink. “I thought I could maybe get a few shots of you before you go out on your big date?”
I groaned. My parents could somehow manage to embarrass me even when there was nobody else around to witness it. My dad wanted to take pictures of me because this was my first “date” ever. It would no doubt get posted on all his social media accounts under the “Emma’s Firsts” category (yes, that was an actual thing), along with old scanned photographs of me taking my first steps, me enjoying my first Christmas, me riding a bike for the first time, and even—horrifically enough—me taking my first bath. Don’t get me wrong, I loved how much my dad doted on me (it’s what happens when you’re an only child), but sometimes it bordered on stifling.
“No, Dad,” I began to protest as the flash of his camera hit my retinas.
Dad checked out the image on the camera’s screen and grinned. “Oh, this is a good one. You look so annoyed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I am. Do you guys think maybe I could finish getting ready in peace?”
Mom strolled over to Dad and placed a hand on his arm. “Jake, let’s leave Emma alone.”
He held up his camera once more. “Not until she gives me one good shot. C’mon sweetie, one little smile? Pretty please?”
It was often hard to turn down my father’s requests. He’d mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes, which I’d always thought was something that only worked for little kids. But no. When Dad widened those big, brown orbs, tilted his head to the side and pushed out his bottom lip just the slightest, you were done. You’d do whatever he asked. I’m sure it helped him in the courtroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d won a few cases with that look.
So, I gave the man what he wanted: a small, genuine smile for the camera.
“Great,” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to go Instagram this.” He started to leave my bedroom but then turned back around and added, “Oh, and Emma, be back by eleven. And if you decide you want a second date with this boy, we’ll have to meet him first, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I motioned to the door as a hint for both my parents to leave.
“Okay, sweetie,” Mom said after my dad was gone. “If you need any more help getting ready—”
“I don’t,” I said as politely as possible. “But thank you.”
It was embarrassing how excited my parents were for this. The sad thing was, they should have already experienced this first-date excitement years ago, when I was fourteen or fifteen, not when I was nearly eighteen. It made me feel like a child.
After my room became parents-free, I took one more glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Hopefully Number 7 liked what he saw.
Chapter Three
LOGAN
“Got a hot date tonight?”
I glanced over at my stepmother as I entered the kitchen. Rachel was sitting at the table feeding my baby sister, Abby. Or, should I say, attempting to feed her. There was currently more baby food on the table, the floor, and Abby’s face than had made it into her mouth. But it was mashed peas, so who could blame her?
“Something like that,” I muttered, walking past them to the refrigerator. I figured I was going to need a snack before my date, since it was going to be at a lame coffee shop where all they sold was puff pastries and lattes. I’d never understood the appeal of either.
“You don’t usually dress up for dates with Grace,” Rachel said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, leaving a smudge of green goo behind on her forehead.
She was referring to the fact I’d thrown on a freshly ironed button-up shirt, a pair of jeans with no designer holes in them, and I’d tamed my sometimes-unruly hair by putting a little gel in it. Yes. For me, that was dressing up.
I grabbed a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the freezer and a spoon from the silverware drawer. “Yeah, well, the date’s not with Grace.”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You two broke up?”
I shoved a heaping spoonful of ice cream into my mouth before answering. “Not exactly.”
She frowned. “Logan, you’re not cheating on her, are you?”
“Not exactly.” I swallowed the ice cream and realized I wasn’t hungry after all, so I put it back in the freezer.
Here’s what went down when both Grace and I received our test results on the same day and opened our envelopes together while sitting side by side on my living room couch: she blew a frigging gasket.
When Grace saw that our numbers didn’t match—I was a 7 and she was a 13—her face got so red with anger that I actually feared for my life. Of course, she automatically assumed there was something wrong with the code. Or that somebody in the Computer Club was out to get her and intentionally paired us up with different people to spite her. Or that they simply put the wrong number in the wrong envelope.
I had a hard time keeping a straight face through her tantrum, which must have lasted a good half an hour.
Should I have felt bad about what I did? Maybe. But did I? Not really. After her meltdown on the couch, I considered telling her the truth and trying to play it off as a harmless prank, but I wisely decided against it. Grace wouldn’t have found it funny. Grace didn’t find many things to be funny, ever.
“So, you’re going on a date, but not with your girlfriend?”
“Sometimes-girlfriend,” I corrected her.