Stay real,
Aubrey
The moment I hit “send,” guilt flooded through me. This had to be an unethical use of my authoritative position. Plus, Amber may be in a bad place, but she wasn’t a total doormat. There’s no way she’d take Beth to a party just because Aubrey asked her to. Clearly, my ego had clouded my judgment. I just hoped my spontaneous request wouldn’t raise questions about my column or, even worse, about Aubrey’s true identity.
****
At 3:16 p.m—yes, sixteen minutes late to our tutoring session, for which I was volunteering my services for free—Jake Taylor, my long-time crush, pushed through the library’s entryway. He sauntered in wearing jeans, a blue Golden State Warriors t-shirt, and a baseball cap worn backward.
My heart unwittingly went pitter-patter.
I hadn’t talked to Jake in years, so I felt more than a little nervous. Daniel Baker still hadn’t showed up. Aubrey would never put up with such tardiness, especially if she were helping them on her own time for free. But, as Poppy, I waited—and knocked out my biology essay I might add. I was nothing, if not efficient with my time.
Jake spotted me right away and took a seat at my table. “Hey, Poppy. How’s it going? Mr. Erickson sent me for help with U.S. History to bring my grade up, or whatever.”
“Hi—” I was about to impress Jake with a witty greeting when I saw something flash by outside the window. Then, the on-site police officer ran full speed down the sidewalk toward the student parking lot. Seconds later, the principal—a petite woman with short salt and pepper hair—and two male teachers followed in hot pursuit. Very odd.
“Oh, man.” Jake turned away from the window and pulled his cap around, tucking the bill low on his forehead. His grin grew wider and it looked like he was trying to stifle a chuckle.
“Hope that’s being covered by the newspaper,” I mumbled, and then cringed. Those were the words I’d chosen to say to my newly single long time crush?
Jake burst out laughing, which was not exactly a good sign that he’d missed me all this time, had seen the light, and realized I’d make a wonderful girlfriend (and potential future wife).
Oh, magnificent. Was I still crushing hard or what?
The crinkles around Jake’s eyes reminded me of a younger version of him, back in elementary school when he used to tug on my braid. His hair was a darker shade of blond now and he used some kind of hair product in the front to make it stand up, but looking at him still made my heart start thudding. It was all I could do to find the breath to form words. “What’s, uh, so funny?”
“Nothing. Just—” He shook his head and bit his lip. “Nothing.”
“Okay . . .” I waited, still hoping for a miracle, but he didn’t confess a reciprocated crush or his regret that we hadn’t stayed in touch all these years. Probably a far-fetched fantasy on my part. Time to get back to reality. “Let’s get started with our tutoring session.”
“Good idea,” he said, but made no move to open his book. Instead, he slung his arm over the back of his chair.
I couldn’t help but stare at the definition in his biceps—his arms certainly hadn’t been that buffed when we were seven. Wait . . . what was that white stuff smeared on his arm? “You have something on your bicep—um, I mean arm,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Uh-oh, can’t have any evidence.” He wiped the white goop off with the back of his hand, then brushed it on his jeans.
For a moment, his “evidence” comment reminded me of the chase scene outside. But I worried he’d get annoyed if I asked about his comment since his thoughts weren’t any of my business. “Why don’t you tell me where you’re having problems in U.S. History—you know, dates, historical figures, or whatever? Then we can go from there.”
“Truthfully, Pop, the problem is those take home quizzes. Like who has time to do a new one every week?”
I frowned at his nickname for me. “Pop” wasn’t demeaning like Poppy-corn, but it reminded me of a cereal, which I couldn’t think of as a good thing. More of a father/daughter nickname as opposed to an I-have-the-hots-for-you nickname, which I would’ve preferred or even an I-respect-you-as-my-tutor nickname.
I cleared my throat. “We have to complete a quiz every week because it’s required work for the class. Mr. Erickson makes the rules, not us. If you don’t feel like you have time then you need to reprioritize your activities and make time in your schedule.”
He leaned across the table. “Between you and me—”
My chest radiated warmth at the “you and me” part.
“—all I need is a C in U.S. History for Coach to keep me on the basketball team.” He leaned over the table until his face came so close I felt lightheaded. “Do you think maybe I could just get a few answers from you each week? Not copy it all or anything, just borrow enough answers to pass the quiz?”
I may have been head over heels, but I wasn’t stupid. By borrow, he meant cheating. “No, I don’t think—”
Suddenly, the library door burst open and in came Daniel Baker—the afternoon sunlight streaming in behind him, casting his tall, athletic physique in a golden aura. My gaze felt physically glued to him as he sauntered over to our table.
“Sorry I’m late.” Daniel slid into the seat next to Jake, sounding just as out of breath as Jake had when he’d arrived, and he looked even more swoon-worthy. His sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead over dark brows and intriguing green eyes with gold flecks. He smiled, an adorable dimple popping out on his cheek. “You must be Poppy Pinkleton? I’m Daniel Baker. Thanks for offering to help us out with our U.S. History.”
“I . . .” My voice trailed off, because I had the urge to say I’d help him out with anything, anytime, anywhere. But, wait a minute. The guy had arrived twenty minutes late, which did not exactly scream appreciation. “It’s nice to meet you, Daniel, but would you mind getting here right at three o’clock tomorrow? As it is, we only have forty minutes left for tutoring.”
I couldn’t believe I’d just spoken my mind—exactly what was on my mind—to the new It boy. I’d thought it, then said it . . . just like Aubrey would have, but in my real life. Squeal!
Oh, no. What if Jake thought I sounded snotty? For that matter, what if Daniel did?
“Yeah, sorry about being late.” To his credit, Daniel actually looked a little embarrassed. “I’d planned to be here right at three, but something important came up.”
Sure it had. I noticed a smear of white cream on the front of Daniel’s muscle shirt and wondered what he and Jake had been up to. Jake started snickering.
“Dude, were you there when it went down?” Jake hit his buddy playfully in the arm and I couldn’t help wishing he’d touched me instead. “I didn’t see you.”
Daniel gave Jake an unreadable look but didn’t answer him.
Apparently Jake didn’t know what to make of that look either, because he dropped the subject and turned to me. “So what do you think? Can we pretend to meet for tutoring, but really just swap some answers before quiz day?”
I couldn’t figure out how he thought we’d “swap” answers when in actuality he’d be taking the answers from me and giving me nothing in return.
“Did I miss something?” Daniel’s brows rose.
“Well, maybe if you’d been on time . . .” I wanted to bite my tongue. He’d already apologized, so why couldn’t I let it go? For some reason it irritated me that he didn’t deem me worthy enough to show up on time. I peered into his unique green eyes, and our gazes held. I turned away first, opening my history book. “Never mind. Let’s get to work.”
“Work?” Jake’s eyes widened in a puppy dog look that made me want to type him up his own personal answer key. No wonder Amber had let him copy her homework.
But I couldn’t cheat—even for Jake Taylor.
I shook my head. “I’m here to tutor you both in U.S. History, so you can learn the material. I’m not here to hand you quiz answers to boost your grades enough to stay in sports,
” I blurted. Wow, Aubrey’s forthright personality must be rubbing off on me.
Jake shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
Not really, since cheating wouldn’t help him in any real way besides staying qualified to play on the high school basketball team. But when he winked one of those brown eyes at me, I couldn’t help but smile.
Then I glanced at Daniel, whose brows came together. Why did he seem annoyed that Jake had winked at me? The thought made no sense, so I shook my head and then got down to work.
****
An hour later, I settled into the leather chair in our den and stared at the computer screen as I pulled up my emails. Oh! One from Amber. I immediately clicked on the message to read it.
Dear Aubrey,
Okay, my friend Trish is having a bunch of people over Friday night so I’ll ask Beth Cooper if she wants to go with me. I’m not sure how this will help my situation but, at this point, I’ll do anything to get over Jake Taylor. Oh, no. I just realized I’m using real names. That’s okay . . . I trust you and need you to help me through this break-up.
I’ve never been without a boyfriend and part of me wants to call Jake and take him back even though he’s a slimeball cheater. We girls need to stick together, so help me be strong. I hope you don’t mind me leaning on you, but I totally respect your opinion.
Some boy I barely know smiled at me in fifth period today, so I took your advice and asked him to a concert for Friday night. He’s not really the type I usually go for, but he’s super nice and totally hot in a geeky kind of way, and at least I’ve moved on, right? Isn’t that what you said I should do? I’d love to talk this out in person. Can we meet for coffee or something? Please?
Your friend,
Amber
Guilt flooded through me as I finished reading Amber’s email. I’d been so focused on snagging Beth an invite to an It crowd party that I’d spontaneously made up that it would help Amber’s situation. Amber’s declaration that she trusted me—well, Aubrey—as a close enough friend to use real names made me feel all kinds of wrong about my fib. What a two-faced sneak I was—well, technically Aubrey was. Having two identities was getting confusing.
I also couldn’t help but wonder why Amber respected Aubrey’s opinion so much and yet she ridiculed me with name-calling. Aubrey and I were the same person, so our different social statuses boggled my mind.
“It’s about time you got off the computer, Butt Face,” Stephen said, tapping me on the arm. Then my dear eight-year-old brother flashed a metal-toothed grin at me.
“Name-calling isn’t nice, Creep.” I scrubbed my hand over his head at high speed until the hairs stood on end. Payback for calling me Butt Face.
“Read me a story,” he said, climbing onto my lap as I closed out my screen.
“What were you doing online?” Mom asked, entering the den with a dish towel in hand.
“Just emailing someone,” I said. Not a lie.
“It would’ve been nice if you had helped me make dinner instead of fooling around on the computer,” she said, letting out a sigh. “Who were you writing?”
My heart stopped. “A, uh, friend.”
A friend of Aubrey’s, not mine, but still. I gave Stephen a smooch, then eased him off my lap. Hand in hand, we followed our mom into the kitchen where she handed me a spoon and ordered me to stir the pot of boiling tortellini. She suggested that Stephen go outside to play.
So not fair, but then again, Stephen was fairly useless in the kitchen, given his propensity to add sugar to all recipes and his uncanny ability to get underfoot at the exact moment something hot was about to come out of the oven. Still, a pinch of jealousy sat heavy and unwanted in my chest at the clear inequality of her parenting.
Why did my mom expect so much of me and yet so little of him? It wasn’t the age issue—when I was Stephen’s age I had loads of chores and massive expectations. No, this was favoritism, plain and simple.
More than a little put out, I stirred the pot with fervor and mentally debated on how I’d make sure to raise my kids in an equitable manner.
“How was school today?” Mom eyed my wooden spoon in a way that clearly said it was about time I was helping out. Amazing how much that woman could say with one eye flick.
“Fine,” I answered—if you didn’t count getting humiliated in front of the entire class about a supposedly off-limits “sex” topic, having an old/current crush ask me to cheat for him, and receiving a half-smile from Daniel that I’d thought about all day and still couldn’t interpret. Not that I’d tell my mom anything that personal. “I got an A on my math test,” I offered.
Safe subject. Grades were all my mother cared about anyway.
She smiled. “Good job, Poppy.”
I felt a tug at my shirt and looked down to see Stephen, his grubby hand on the tail of my once-white shirt. Clearly he hadn’t taken up our mom’s offer to avoid chores. “Why aren’t you outside playing?” I asked.
“I wanna help!”
Aww. I grinned down at him. “Thanks, kiddo.” I handed him the wooden spoon. “Here, have at it.”
“Poppy . . .” My mom’s voice held a warning tone. “If I wanted Stephen’s help, then I would have—”
Whatever my mom had been about to say was silenced by my squeal when Stephen flicked the spoon, splattering red pasta sauce all over the front of my shirt. Now, a spray of tomato sauce drops accompanied the pink stain on my boob. Magnificent.
Irritation rolled through me. “What did you do that for?” I asked.
“I want you to read me a story,” he said, using a whiny tone.
My jaw dropped open. “You stained my shirt on purpose? Just to get my attention?”
“Stephen,” my mom said, interrupting, “I told you to go outside. Now go!”
My little brother stuck his bottom lip out and backed away from both of us. Tears brimmed in his eyes. Once again I felt compassion and righteous indignation play tug-of-war inside of me. Before I could figure out my emotions, Stephen turned and ran out the back door into the yard, leaving me alone with my mom.
She glanced at my shirt, her gaze zeroing in on the yogurt stain. “Didn’t I tell you it was a bad idea to buy a white shirt? That it would get stained easily?”
“I like white,” I insisted, my cheeks tightening. “Neither stain was my fault, you know.”
She sighed. “Maybe so, but I’m the one who will have to take you shopping for another shirt and that’s less money I’ll have for something else.”
The phone rang. Saved by the bell. I had an emotional whirlwind churning inside of me, and everything led back to my mom’s high expectations of me. Trying to please her felt like walking a tightrope, which grated my nerves. So frustrating.
My mom answered the cordless phone, then handed it to me. “It’s Beth, for you. Come help me set the table as soon as you’re off the phone.”
“Fine.” I darted from the kitchen and then took the stairs two at a time, wondering why she refused to ask my brother to help her set the table. I was doing that at his age. I blinked away the tears that threatened, feeling hurt and perplexed over why she’d choose to raise us so differently. The image of Stephen, about to cry, stayed with me, though. I’d find him later and give him a big hug, but for now? I needed my space. And I most definitely needed my best friend. I pressed the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Beth’s voice came through the line in a high-pitched tone.
“Everything all right?” My belly clenched and I held my breath, hoping she wasn’t upset that I hadn’t let her tutor with me.
“Oh, Poppy!” She squealed so loud that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “You’ll never guess what happened this afternoon!”
I sat down on my bed and clenched the bed post. “You’re scaring me. What happened?”
“I was walking to my car after school when Amber Glass came up to me. Amber Glass.” She paused. “Guess what she did?”
My stomach dropped. Oh, no. W
hatever Amber had done had to have been my fault because of my email. Well, Aubrey’s email. Even though I’d had the best of intentions for my bestie, I knew I’d gone too far with Amber. “What did she do?” I asked, bracing myself.
“She invited me to go with her to Trish Benson’s party Friday night.” Beth’s voice turned into a squeak. “Isn’t that the coolest thing ever?”
“So you’re hysterical in a good way,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I plopped down onto my bed, stunned. Amber had actually invited Beth to a party. Wow. Aubrey could pull some serious weight with the It crowd.
“Yes, I’m so excited,” she said, squealing once again.
“Maybe I’ll come with you to the party?” I suggested. Attending an It party held no appeal to me since I had zero in common with those girls, but I wanted to support my best friend.
“Oh, Poppy . . .” Beth’s voice trailed off and a long, uncomfortable pause ensued. “Amber only mentioned me coming with her. I’m not comfortable asking if I can bring a friend along.”
“You don’t want me to come with you?” I blinked, feeling my chest go hollow. I’d just shamelessly used my influence—as Aubrey—with the queen of the It girls to score Beth an invite to Trish’s party and she’d just said she wouldn’t do the same for me? Had more than The Pact changed for Beth? Did our friendship now mean more to me than it did to her? Maybe I was already on the edge because of my mom’s favoritism, but my throat suddenly tightened and my eyes burned. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I choked out, putting a hand to my mouth.
“Wait, Poppy—”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone, dropped back on my bed, and covered my face with my hands, trying to hold in the pain. I couldn’t believe Beth had tossed me aside for Amber. We’d been best friends for years. Did she care so much about spending time with Amber that she no longer had room for me? Maybe I should ask Amber to uninvite Beth to Trish’s party.
That idea was very appealing.
No! I gasped, ashamed of my own thoughts. Appalling! The thought was appalling, not appealing! How could I even think so selfishly? The pressures from the day became too much, especially now that I might be losing my best friend on top of everything else. I flopped over on the bed, buried my head onto my pillow, and commenced with bawling my eyes out.
The Crush Dilemma (Dear Aubrey Book 1) Page 5