How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You

by T. M. Franklin

  “That you, Oliver?” she called, her head buried in the fridge. “How was the play?” She emerged holding two Tupperware containers. Her eyes widened when she saw my face, and she dropped the plastic bowls and hurried over to me.

  “What happened?” she asked, cradling my face gingerly.

  “It’s nothing. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I figured it would be better to keep the lies consistent. “Ran into a wall, if you can believe it.” I huffed out a laugh, and my mom’s eyes narrowed.

  “Must have been some wall,” she muttered, pulling me over to the kitchen table. “Sit down. Let me get you some ice.”

  I let her fuss at me for as long as I could stand it, swallowing painkillers as she prodded at my cheek to make sure nothing was broken. My stomach churned wildly, and I wanted to be alone so I could fall apart in peace.

  “I’m really tired,” I said finally, and I didn’t have to fake the fatigue in my voice. “I’m going to go to bed, okay?”

  Mom looked at me carefully and reached out to brush my hair away from my face a little. “You’re not going to tell me what really happened, are you?”

  I sighed heavily. “I’m fine, Mom. I just want to sleep. Please?”

  She crossed to me and kissed me on the forehead. “We’re not done talking about this, but okay. Good night.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Night, Mom.”

  When I finally made it to my room and locked the door, I spread out on my bed on top of the covers. I groped in the darkness for my iPod and cranked it up, hoping the music would drown out the voices echoing in my head.

  I fell asleep to the heavy beat of drums and wails of love lost and found. And if my pillow was a little damp, it was due to the ice pack melting on my face, not because I let a few errant tears slip out unbidden.

  No one could prove otherwise.

  11.Give Her Space

  Sure, you want to spend time with her, but sometimes she’ll need to be alone. Don’t smother her.

  The next morning I felt better. Well, not really better, per se, but not worse. Kind of numb, actually. My face was still sore, a sickly bruise mottling my cheekbone and up my temple. I prodded it lightly with a fingertip and was filled with a kind of grim determination. The pain was a reminder, a lesson learned. I’d let myself be distracted from my goals by my ridiculous Ainsley plan, but it was time to get back on track. Between school, work at the Center, and my extracurriculars, I had plenty on my plate. I didn’t need a girl. A girl would only divert me from my goals. And chasing after a girl who didn’t want me was even worse. I had to agree with Ian on that one—it was pathetic.

  I dumped all my Ainsley gifts into a big garbage bag. I’d return them after school once I’d dug out all the receipts. I was about to head out the door when I stopped, a tingling resolve pulsing through me. I dropped my backpack on my desk chair and dug in it for my List Notebook. I flipped through the pages idly, looking at all the things I’d hoped to do and the things I’d accomplished. It was ridiculous, really. An obsessive ego-stroke. A way to pat myself on the back for all of the things I should have been doing anyway. I stopped on Ainsley’s page, my eyes drifting down the column of red check marks.

  It was stupid. I had to face the facts. My List Notebook was stupid.

  Without another thought, I headed down the stairs and out the door, dropping my notebook in the trash can by the garage on the way to my truck. I refused to look at the can as I backed out of my driveway. I felt hollow, a bit. Like something was missing.

  Or maybe it was just a response to all that time I’d been wasting making lists and checking items off like a control-freaky weirdo.

  You’re a freaking weirdo.

  No. No, it was the right decision.

  I pulled into the school parking lot, and a rush of panic surged through me as I spotted the little courtyard where I’d encountered Ian and company the night before. I forced myself to breathe deeply as I locked my truck and headed toward the main doors, relieved when I spotted Viney parking his bike. He looked up at me in surprise.

  “Dude. What happened to you?”

  Of course, Viney was the one person I couldn’t lie to. Not that I wanted to. “Ian happened.”

  “No way. Seriously?” He lifted his hand like he was going to touch my eye, stopping short when I flinched. “He punched you?”

  I shrugged. “He seemed to be under the impression I was trying to steal his girlfriend.”

  Viney’s eyebrows shot up. “Weren’t you?”

  Well, when he put it like that.

  “No. I was . . .” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a dumb idea anyway. Waste of time.”

  “Ol, did he scare you off?” Viney’s face was soft with concern. “Because he can’t get away with that crap. You know that. We could tell someone—”

  “We’re not telling anyone!” I looked away, ignoring the flush working its way up my neck. “This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” I turned on my heel and started toward the door, and Viney hurried to catch up. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ainsley Bishop is so out of my league she’s practically on a different planet.”

  “But you guys are friends.”

  “We’re not friends. I’m her go-to nerd for homework help and SAT prep and whatever. Or at least I was.” I spotted Ainsley down the hall, and all of my bravado melted away. I stopped in my tracks and turned around. The one thing I didn’t want at the moment was to talk to Ainsley. To see the pity in her eyes when she saw what Ian—what her boyfriend—had done.

  “I’ve gotta run to the bathroom before class.”

  “Ol—”

  “I’ll see you later, okay?” I rushed off before he could say anything else.

  I did a good job of avoiding Ainsley, and Ian, and pretty much everyone for the rest of the day. I sat hunched in my classes, my eyes drifting inadvertently to the clock as each minute took me closer to my free period. The free period I was supposed to be spending with Ainsley in the library. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I could hide out in the computer lab, like I’d done for all the free periods pre-Ainsley. Or I could skip the rest of the day altogether, maybe fake a migraine or something and head home. I figured the weekend would give me some time to heal physically as well as find a way to build up my defenses against Ainsley. I wasn’t sure how I would react once I saw her again, to be honest. I was so embarrassed about what had happened with Ian, but even more so about what I’d imagined was happening with her. That we were friends. That there might have been a chance at something more.

  I was standing at my locker as the bell rang for my free period, still undecided about what I was going to do, when my phone vibrated.

  Are you coming?

  Ainsley.

  My thumb hovered over the reply button. It would be so easy to lie with a text message—say that I had to meet with a teacher or finish up a programming assignment or that I was pretty sure I had developed an allergy to the cleaning spray they used in the library.

  But in the end, I realized I couldn’t do that. Because I wasn’t a coward. And it wasn’t Ainsley’s fault she couldn’t fall in love with me. So I texted her back.

  Yeah. Be there in a second.

  I made my way to the library, feet heavy in my shoes as I climbed the stairs. I figured I could still help Ainsley out. I wasn’t one to flake on my commitments, after all, and I’d told her I’d help her with the SATs. But when I emerged on the second floor and saw her sitting at our table, beautiful and frowning in concentration at her god-awful calculator, I knew I couldn’t do it.

  I was a coward.

  I couldn’t sit next to her every day and help her with her homework and pretend like it wasn’t killing me inside.

  I also couldn’t tell her the truth.

  She looked up as I approached the table, her smile quickly turning into a gasp. “Oliver, what happened to your face?”

 
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing!”

  “Just a little accident,” I said, hurrying to get out what I had to say before she could stop me. “Listen, Ainsley, I can’t stay.”

  She blinked. “Oh, okay. That’s okay. I know you have other stuff to do. Maybe this weekend after we’re done with the play—”

  “I have stuff to do this weekend,” I lied, swallowing nervously as my cheeks reddened. I was so bad at this. “Family stuff, you know? And I have a ton of homework. I’ve fallen a little behind lately. A lot, actually.”

  “Oh,” Ainsley kind of deflated. I felt bad leaving her hanging. “Sure, Oliver. I understand.”

  “I can suggest a couple of people,” I said quickly. “From the Honor Society. We have a bunch of student tutors. You’ll probably have to pay them, though.”

  “Wait . . . wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Do you mean we can’t study together anymore—at all?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said weakly. “I just have a lot on my plate, and I’ve got to keep up my GPA if I’m going to get into MIT.”

  Ainsley looked hurt. “Oliver, did I do something wrong? I know I was kind of awful after the play.”

  “No you weren’t,” I said quickly. I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “I shouldn’t have butted in when you were talking to . . . your boyfriend. No.” I ran a hand through my hair, avoiding her eyes. “I really have to focus on my own work right now, that’s all. I don’t have time for anything else.”

  Ainsley looked like I’d slapped her. “Oh. Right. Of course,” she said, gathering up her books and stuffing them into her backpack. “I get it, Oliver. It’s no problem.”

  “Like I said, I can suggest a couple of people—”

  “That’d be great,” she said, a brittle smile on her face. “Let me know, okay?” She shouldered her backpack. “I just remembered I’m supposed to meet with Ms. Sherman. Talk about a couple of changes for tonight’s performance.”

  “Oh. Okay.” This was for the best. I tried to convince my roiling stomach of that.

  “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said. Her voice cracked a little, and guilt twisted in my chest. She’d be fine once I found someone else to tutor her. It would probably be better anyway. Someone who could focus on helping her rather than making some ridiculous attempt to win her heart.

  Someone who knew his place.

  “See ya,” I said quietly.

  It would be fine.

  It was for the best.

  I almost believed it.

  I managed to avoid Ainsley at Friday night’s performance. Actually, it wasn’t difficult at all. I never even saw her except on stage. I stayed holed up with Viney in the sound booth, operating almost on autopilot, and before I knew it the show was over and the curtain had dropped for the last time.

  Weeks of work for two nights of performances. It was kind of depressing.

  As if I wasn’t depressed enough as it was.

  “What’s up for the weekend?” Viney asked me as we shut down the sound and lighting boards. “You working?”

  “Just for a couple of hours tomorrow morning,” I replied. “You want to come hang out? I could use a distraction, to be honest.”

  “You kidding? That’d be awesome. Angela’s been driving me crazy.”

  Angela, the boy band sister.

  “Yeah, well, it could be worse,” I muttered. “You could have Sherlock.”

  Viney laughed. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon,” he said as we headed for the door. He glanced at me sideways. “You okay, dude?”

  I shrugged.

  “Hey, it’s her loss, man.” He smacked me on the arm, and I pulled a face.

  “Yeah, she’s the one who ended up with Ian.”

  Viney shook his head with mock sympathy. “Poor girl.”

  “It’s tragic, really.”

  He bent to unlock his bike and walk it over to my truck. I helped him throw it in the back, and we climbed into the cab. Viney had grown quiet, and I could feel him watching me from the passenger seat.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” he asked. “Breaking things off with Ainsley?”

  I sighed. “There was nothing to break off.”

  “Well, it sure seemed like there was,” Viney said. “You guys seemed to be getting along really well.”

  “It was nothing, Vine,” I snapped, regretting it immediately. “Sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  I turned to Viney when we stopped at the stop light near his house. “I couldn’t do it, Vine. I got too attached, I guess. And it meant more to me than it did to her. A lot more. I couldn’t stick around knowing she was with that—with Ian—and I didn’t have a chance, you know?”

  “It just seems kind of cold,” he said slowly. “To cut her off like that when you guys were friends.”

  “She doesn’t need me. She has plenty of friends.”

  “Not like you.”

  “No, her friends are all normal. Popular. She definitely doesn’t have any other friends like me.”

  “Dude, don’t talk about yourself like that!”

  I pulled into his driveway and hit the brakes. “Why not? Why not be honest for once? I am a geek. I am a weirdo. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s not what Ainsley wants, obviously.”

  “Oliver—”

  “Just . . . don’t, okay?” I was tired. So tired. “The thing with Ainsley, whatever it was or wasn’t, it’s over. I’ve got to focus on what’s real. What’s important. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”

  Viney looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded, letting out a heavy breath. “Okay, dude. You know I’m there for you.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  We unloaded Viney’s bike, and I drove home with the radio on full blast to drown out my thoughts.

  It seemed I was doing that a lot lately.

  “Check. And mate.” Hank tapped my king with his rook, knocking it gently to the board. “You’re a little off your game today, Oliver. Something on your mind?”

  I watched the king roll back and forth a little before it came to a stop. “Not really. A little tired, I guess.”

  “Busy week. Kind of thought you might bring your girl by today.”

  “She’s not my girl.” I clenched my eyes shut and sighed heavily. “Sorry. But Ainsley’s got a boyfriend. And it’s not me.”

  “Ah. I’m guessing this has something to do with your recent inability to avoid walking into walls.” When I said nothing, Hank reached to swipe the rest of the chess pieces off the board so he could flip it over. “So you’ve given up.”

  “I’m not giving up,” I said. “I’m being realistic.”

  Hank leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach, eyeing me shrewdly. “But I thought things were going so well. From what you said, you two had become friends.”

  “I thought we were.”

  “And you don’t anymore?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It doesn’t make any sense to keep trying when I know nothing’s going to happen.”

  Hank raised an eyebrow.

  “Man, that sounds a lot worse when I say it out loud.”

  He hummed noncommittally.

  “But she and I . . . I mean, it’s such a cliché to say we come from two different worlds, but it’s accurate.”

  Hank pursed his lips.

  “I guess maybe I feel kind of stupid,” I said. “I was so convinced that I only had to show her what she was missing and things would all fall into place. Pretty arrogant, when you think about it.”

  “Mmm hmm. So it’s about your ego.”

  “No!” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, maybe a little. But more than that, I think it’s about realizing what’s important.”

  “And Ainsley’s not important.”

  I started to rearrange the pieces into the storage recess in the back of the boar
d. “Of course she’s important. Every person is important in the grand scheme of things.” I was babbling, but I didn’t care. “But I have to think about my future, and I understand now that Ainsley’s not going to be a part of that. So I’m cutting my losses, I guess you’d say.” I fitted the last piece into place and folded the board, locking it securely. “She’s got her own future to think about, and I’m barely a footnote in it. So, really, it’s all for the best.”

  “Right. All for the best.” Hank sounded skeptical.

  “I really should go,” I said, standing up quickly. “Viney’s coming over, and I have stuff to do.” I grabbed my coat and backpack. “I’ll see you next weekend.”

  “See you,” Hank said. When I got to the door, he called out, “Oliver?”

  My shoulders tightened. I stopped, but I didn’t look back. “Yeah?”

  “If that’s really the way you feel, that it’s not worth it? That Ainsley’s not worth it? Then you’re probably right,” he said quietly. “It is for the best.”

  12.Admit When You’re Wrong

  Be mature. If you screw up, say you’re sorry, doofus.

  Viney left Sunday afternoon, and I forced myself through a family taco dinner. We’d started eating together a little more often lately, and it was important to my mom that we all sit around the kitchen table and talk.

  Whatever. It was better than sitting in my room and contemplating the misery of my love life. Or lack of love life.

  I ate, despite the fact I really wasn’t hungry, because I figured if my mouth was full, I wasn’t expected to talk. I knew I was being pathetic, but the weekend would be over in the morning, and I’d have to go back to dealing with, well, life, so I figured a little wallowing wasn’t out of the question.

  The bruise on my face had faded a little. It was still black and blue, a sickly yellow-greenish color along the edges, but my mom hadn’t followed up on her threat to talk about it. At least not yet. She played along, even though I knew she wasn’t fooled for a moment, and addressed most of her questions to my brother.