by Amy Sparling
And I guess I have been—she’s the one who finally changed her mind.
Ella’s tongue runs across my bottom lip and I shudder. She grins and I lean over and press my lips against her neck, trailing kisses back to her beautiful face.
She squirms. “That tickles,” she breathes.
“What, this?” I murmur against her lips as I slide my thumbs down her neck while I hold her head above my own.
She grins and squeezes her eyes tight. Goose bumps rise across her neck and can’t help but feel incredibly proud of myself for getting her so turned on.
Her eyes open slowly and she leans up on her elbows. The fog around us seems to lift as clarity returns while we stare at each other. Her eyes go wide and she pushes off of me, scrambling to her feet.
I sit up and try to shrug off the feelings that have manifested all throughout my heart as Ella stares at me like I’m some kind of monster.
“We can’t do this.” Her lip trembles as she looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time. She points a shaking finger at me. “We’re not friends,” say says, breathless.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I brush my jeans as I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The sudden head rush from sitting up so fast has my vision spinning.
“Ella, wait,” I call out as she storms across the room. But she doesn’t go to the door, she stops at my weight bench and turns, leveling a glare at me.
She swallows and her shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” she says, staring at the floor. “We can’t do this. This can’t happen.”
I walk over, keeping a safe distance from the girl of my dreams even though all I want to do is press her against the wall and make out like the world is ending. “Why?”
Her eyes meet mine and there’s fire behind them. “Because I hate you.”
She’s said it before, but it hurts the most this time. “Yeah, I know,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. I guess deep down, I knew her newfound feelings wouldn’t last. “I’ll go now.”
Chapter 12
Waking up in the Poe’s house is an immediate reminder of everything I’d fallen asleep to forget. The tornado, the embarrassing school crap with Kennedy . . . and Ethan. I roll over and the air mattress squeaks. I pull the borrowed blanket up over my face and sigh into it, wishing I could scream.
How could I have been so stupid? That kiss was purely an act of lust. I was a little tipsy, he was totally hot, it couldn’t be helped.
The only good to come from that epic mistake was that it strengthened my resolve. I now know more than anything that I want to avoid him in every possible way. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll spend every waking second in this room or in the pool house with my parents. Or I’ll just stay gone as long as possible. Maybe I’ll take up an after school hobby or get a job since I can no longer bake cupcakes on the weekends for some spending money.
Ethan’s bedroom door is closed when I head toward the stairs, my backpack slung over my shoulder. The football guys are always late to school. Every football player I’ve ever had in first period always runs in just when the bell rings, or a few seconds later. I figured Ethan would be the same way, so I woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual so I can get the hell out of here without seeing him.
My parents are sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Poe at the breakfast table and they all say hi to me when I walk in. It’s like having four parents in some alternate reality.
“Hey,” I say, leaning over Mom to grab one of Mrs. Poe’s fresh baked blueberry muffins.
“These have flax seed and almond flour,” Mrs. Poe says. It’s seven in the morning and she’s dressed better than the other adults in the room. “Antioxidants and super healthy for you.”
I hold up the muffin. “Thanks, sounds good.”
No it doesn’t.
“You’re up early,” Mom says. She sips her coffee. “Doesn’t school start at eight?”
“Yeah but I have a project to work on. Wanted to get there early.” It’s called Project Avoid Ethan.
“Um,” Dad says, rubbing his chin. “I’m afraid I have to take your car to work from now on.”
My heart stops. “What?” I say, although it comes out more like a choke of desperation.
“Sorry, Punk.” Dad frowns and I can tell he really is sorry. Probably more because he has to drive my girly car with the Harry Potter stickers on the back than sorry that I’m stuck without a ride, but still. “It’s only until I can get a new car. The car insurance will be paying out soon, so don’t worry.”
I heave a sigh. Dad’s truck isn’t worth much and if they’re getting a check for the value of it, they’ll probably spend it on our new living situation. And honestly, getting out of Ethan’s house is better than having my car back. I put a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You can keep it as long as you need.”
Maybe I can get a ride from April. The last thing I’ll do is take the bus as a senior. I’d rather steal a bike and pedal all the way to school than be seen stepping out of the big yellow dork taxi.
“You’re a good kid, Punk,” Dad says, patting my hand.
“Why do you call her Punk?” Dakota wrinkles her nose as she enters the breakfast area and grabs a muffin.
Dad chuckles. “It’s short for Punkin. That was her nickname as a kid.”
Dakota nods and peels off the paper liner. “That sounds better. I thought you were calling her a real punk.”
Mom holds up her coffee. “It works on two levels, I think,” she says with a wink.
Mr. Poe chuckles and rises from his chair. “I’m headed off to work. Ben, the cable guys are coming over today to make sure the TV in the pool house works.”
“You don’t need to go through so much trouble,” Dad says. “Really, we’re grateful for the bed to sleep in. We don’t need a TV.”
Mr. Poe waves a hand. “No trouble at all for a friend.” Then he kisses Mrs. Poe on the lips and Dakota on the forehead before leaving.
I make a glass of orange juice from the fridge and try not to feel weird when my instincts have me reaching for the cabinet to get a cup. They’re still in the same place, just like I remember.
I struggle against the waves of nostalgia stirred up by this simple cabinet. “Hey, Mom? Where’s my toothbrush?”
She told me yesterday that she’d left me a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom since weren’t using the free hotel ones anymore. But last night there was nothing in my bathroom and I could hear Ethan downstairs with his parents so I just fell asleep with gross teeth. Now I can’t avoid it anymore, but at least Ethan is still in his room.
Mom’s head tilts. “I left it in the bathroom.”
“It’s not in there.”
Mrs. Poe says, “Which bathroom?”
“The one in the hallway,” Mom says, reaching for another muffin.
“Oh that’s the wrong one,” I say. I finish my orange juice and rinse out the glass. “The rec room has its own bathroom.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t know that.” Mom laughs. “How did I not know that?”
Mrs. Poe snorts. “Samantha, you know we were never allowed in there. It was a kids only zone for years.” Then she launches into a story about how the contractor messed up and made the bathroom two feet shorter when the house was built.
I slip out of their reminiscing and follow Dakota back up the stairs. “Hey, you should come to my room when you’re done,” she says over her shoulders. “Just, you know, if you have time.”
“Okay sure,” I say. I step into the hall bathroom and a burst of hot steamy air hits me. Ethan must have just taken a shower which means I probably barely missed seeing him. I let out a slow breath, relieved that this bathroom has two doors, one that separates the sink area from the shower area. If he’d left the shower door open, then all the humidity would have totally ruined my hair.
The new toothbrush and a box of toothpaste are on the counter. I ignore the men’s hair gel and the other two toothbrushes in a ho
lder near the sink but the thing is, once I’ve seen the gel, it’s impossible to ignore it. The memory of how good his hair smelled last night makes me grit my teeth. Why does my best friend-turned-enemy have to be so hot? It’d be so easy to hate him if he was repulsive.
The second bathroom door opens and a cloud of humidity fills the room. My heart leaps. He was in the shower this whole time.
“Sorry, I’m leaving,” I say, grabbing the toothbrush stuff.
“You’re welcome to stay.” Ethan flashes me a sideways grin as he walks by, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair falls in black streaks across his forehead. My eyes immediately drop to his abs and then I look away, but catch his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He grins. “I’ll get dressed in my room.”
And then he’s gone and I’m left panting, my fist gripped around the toothbrush so tightly the package rips open.
Damn.
In the rec room’s bathroom, I brush my teeth like a zombie, my body going through the motions but my thoughts are elsewhere.
April doesn’t answer my three phone calls and I’m starting to panic about how I’ll get to school. The school bus is not an option. The other option—well, I refuse to think about that right now.
Remembering Dakota’s request, I knock on her bedroom door and she waves me inside. “What’s up?” I ask, glancing around her room. It’s changed a lot from her Barbie doll and Dora the Explorer days. Now the walls are painted lavender and are decorated with black and white photos of European landscapes. It’s still pretty girly, though.
“Okay so, I don’t want to like, hurt your feelings or anything,” she says, and it sounds like a question. I lift an eyebrow, watching her do her eye makeup in the mirror above her dresser. “I just, well, I know you lost all your clothes and stuff,” she says.
I roll my hand. “What’s your point?”
Her shoulders fall and she turns around, giving me this smile that looks weird because only one of her eyes are lined in black. “I heard about how Kennedy told the whole school you wore the same thing twice.”
“What?” My eyes squeeze shut. “But you’re in junior high. How did you hear that?”
She bites her lip. “Kennedy’s little sister has a big mouth.”
I press my palm into my forehead. “This is so stupid. It’s bad enough that I lost everything in the stupid tornado,” I mutter.
Dakota says, “That’s why I called you in here. Okay, I know it might be stupid and you can totally tell me to shut up but, like, I think we’re the same size.”
She’s taking forever to spit out whatever she’s trying to say. I lift an eyebrow. “So . . .?”
“So I was thinking,” she says, sweeping her hand toward her walk-in closet. “If you want to borrow some of my clothes you can. I mean, I’m sure they’re all lame but I have jeans and stuff. It might help?”
I look down at my ensemble—the same jeans I’d worn the day the tornado ripped my house to shreds, and a black t-shirt I’d bought for five bucks at Old Navy this weekend.
“I could use some jeans,” I say.
Her half-made-up face brightens. “Awesome! Help yourself.”
After finding a pair of skinny jeans that fit me perfectly, I’m feeling loads better about going to school today. I’d told myself I didn’t care about wearing the same jeans, but now that I’m not, the relief is huge. Kennedy had, after all, pointed it out to the entire school. I can tell myself I don’t care what people think but in the end, I’m glad I’m wearing different jeans.
However, only one problem of the day is solved. I still need to get to school.
Ethan appears in the kitchen just moments after I come back down to ask Mom for a ride. I know she works in the opposite direction of the school but I’m desperate.
Before I can ask, Ethan barrels into me—okay well, his arm barely touches mine, but it feels like I’m being barreled into—and grabs a muffin. He takes a massive bite, and turns to me. “Ready?”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
He jiggles his truck keys. “School? Let’s go."
Chapter 13
Never in my life have I seen someone so horrified as when Ella realized she’s stuck riding to school with me. The expression on her face was fleeting, but it rivaled that of my sister’s when she has to get a flu shot. I guess she didn’t get the memo last night. Last night Mr. Lockhart had asked me if I’d mind driving her until she gets her car back. This morning, it seems like everyone was aware of that fact except for her.
Guilt grips me as we drive to school, neither one of us daring to break the silence. I shouldn’t have let it go that far yesterday. Hell, I shouldn’t have offered to drink with her, especially since she seemed a little freaked out by it. She’s right about one thing, about me becoming a football player and changing into one of them. Back in the day, I would have never pictured drinking underage, at home or not. It just didn’t seem smart. Now I drink all the time with the guys, at parties, and at home where my parents don’t ever say anything about their liquor supply being slowly depleted. Have I really changed as much as Ella thinks I have? Sure, I spend weekends at parties instead of hanging out in the rec room, but isn’t that what all teenagers do?
My mind drifts into a fantasy of what life might have been like if Ella and I had stayed friends throughout high school. I would have still tried out for football because of my dad, so I would have made all the same friends. Would she have come with me to watch the games? Were we doomed a long time ago to grow into separate social cliques or would we have stayed together?
“Where are we going?” Ella asks when I turn off the main road.
With my hand on the steering wheel, I extend a finger to point straight ahead. “Donuts.”
“Uh, you just had a muffin at home.”
I give her a side-eyed glance. “Correction: I just had a healthy muffin at home. I eat them every day to keep Mom happy but then I stop for a donut.” I pull into a parking spot and put my finger to my lips. “Don’t tell her,” I whisper.
Ella grins. “Try not to take too long. School starts in fifteen minutes and regular students like me don’t get free tardy passes.”
I’m not sure what she means by that, but I cut off the engine. “Then let’s hurry.”
“I’m not going in,” she says, studying the zipper on her backpack.
“You’re not hungry? Those muffins are not appetizing.”
She shrugs. “I don’t want to waste money on donuts.”
“But you didn’t say you weren’t hungry so come on, I’ll buy.”
She sighs through her nose and looks out of the passenger door. I nudge her with my elbow. “You can still hate me, Ella. Me buying you a donut won’t change that.”
Her lips quirk into a smile but she forces it to go away. “Fine. You can buy me one donut. And a coffee,” she adds with a smirk. “And I’ll still hate you.”
It doesn’t really feel like she hates me so I grin. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mrs. Kim’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling when we walk into Kim’s Square Donuts. “New girlfriend?” she asks, eyeing me conspiratorially. Before I can say anything, she puts her hand up to her mouth to block the words she totally doesn’t say quietly. “I like her. She seems nicer than the other one.”
I nod, wishing I had a time machine to erase the last few seconds and go back to when Ella was in my truck and tell her she can stay there and wait on me. There’s no way Ella didn’t hear that because Mrs. Kim doesn’t ever speak quietly.
“You want the usual?” she asks, reaching for the glazed donuts.
I nod and remind myself how to speak. “Yeah, and uh, whatever my friend wants.”
Ella steps up to the glass, gazing over the varied selections. “The donuts are square,” she says, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s cool.”
“Easier to make,” Mrs. Kim says. “Plus it’s more donut than the circle ones for the same price.”
Ella nods. “I like that. I’ll take
one glazed, please”
“And a coffee?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Nah, it’s cool. I was just messing with you.”
“And a coffee,” I tell Mrs. Kim.
She leans over the counter and makes this exaggerated wink. “This girl is nice. I like her better.”
My lips twist upward before I can help it. “Yeah, I do too.”
Ella clears her throat. When I look over there, she’s staring at her shoes, a grin the size of Texas on her face.
Mrs. Kim rings up my order and I nudge Ella in the shoulder on my way to the register.
“I still hate you,” she whispers.
“I know.” I hand her a coffee and the bag with her donut.
“This is really good,” Ella says after the first bite. We’re back in the truck and less than a mile away from the school, which really sucks because I’m not ready to leave her just yet.
“They’re seriously the best in town. And the shop is so small and hidden that barely anyone knows about it.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” Ella says, looking over at me with what appears to be a genuine—not an I hate you—smile.
“You’re welcome. And get used to it. I go every day.”
She flinches, holding the donut a couple inches from her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You will be riding with me for a while, right? I’ll buy our breakfast every day. It’s the least I can do for someone who hates me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t take your charity donut and coffee money. It was just this once.”
“It was a dollar and fifty-seven cents,” I say. “Not a big deal.”
“You don’t have to take me to school. I’ll figure something out.”
“You can’t ride the bus, El. That’s social suicide.”
“Duh,” she says, bursting into laughter. It’s sweet, seeing her carefree and having fun, laughing at my comment but not belittling me for it.
“Well how are you getting to school before you get your car back?” I ask as we turn into the parking lot. “You have a pair of invisible wings I don’t know about?”