Opposite of Ordinary: (The Fareland Society, Book 1)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  “Um, yeah, I am. Because you only dress like that and say things like quit tripping in my dreams.”

  Normally, I’d roll my eyes at such a cheesy line, but my nerves are too bubbly at the moment.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my outfit.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my legs. “So, quit tripping.”

  His eyes glimmer with amusement as he wags a finger at me. “Nice one. But I’m still not convinced I’m awake.” Sticking out his arm, he rolls up the sleeve of his long-sleeved, black shirt then pinches his arm hard enough to leave a red mark. “Ow.” His face twists in pain as he tugs down his sleeve. “Okay, yeah, I’m for sure awake.”

  “You know, there are easier ways to tell if you’re awake or asleep.”

  “Really?” He rubs his jawline pensively. “And what are these alleged ways?”

  I have to bite down on my lip to stop from cracking up. “Are you ever serious?”

  He points a finger at me, his lips lifting into an adorable half-smile. “Only in my dreams.”

  “Ha, ha,” I retort.

  He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. Then his laughter fades. “Wait a second. Should I be worried?”

  I squint against the sunlight. “Um … About what?”

  He tosses a quick glance up the road. “About whoever’s about to show up to drive you to school … It’s way too early to deal with Queeny or Knox. No offense or anything … I know they’re your friends …” He leaves the sentence suspended between us, waiting for me to offer … well, I’m not exactly sure. From the big showdowns that went on between Queeny, Knox, and me on Monday, I assume Clove knows about the Queeny and Knox versus Ashlynn fight going on. Then again, he did have to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

  “I’m actually heading to the bus stop …” My eyes widen as the bus rolls up to the end of the road. “Oh, for the love of all motherships, you have got to be kidding me.”

  Flinging a wave at Clove, I rush down the dirt road toward the bus, but in the four-inch, ten-pound death shoes, I only make it halfway before the bus drives off, leaving a cloud of stinking exhaust fumes behind.

  I reel back around and trudge back toward my house, wanting to kick myself in the behind for missing my ride, and I probably would if I could kick my feet that high. Now I have to ask my mom to drive me to school, which means taking time away from her day and lying to her more when she drills me with questions.

  I stick my hand into my pocket and rub my finger along the edge of the amber. Come on; please become a magical crystal for one day and give me a drop of positivity.

  “That was interesting to watch,” Clove remarks, on the verge of laughing his butt off. “I didn’t realize you were part penguin.”

  I slow to a stop in front of him and put my hand on my hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He rubs his hand across his mouth, hiding a smile. “It’s what you looked like when you were running.”

  I’ve never seen a penguin run before, but I imagine it’s a lot of waddling and wobbling, and very ungraceful looking.

  I playfully swat his arm. “That’s really mean. And FYI, I normally run like a boss. But with these things on”—I lift my foot up—“I feel like I’m walking around with weights strapped to my feet.”

  “Maybe you should take them off then.”

  “I can’t. None of my other shoes match this outfit.”

  He hesitates. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, because you look nice—like, really, really nice—but what’s up with the outfit?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I play dumb, mostly to mess with his head for telling me I run like a penguin.

  “Nothing, really.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking my outfit over. “You just look like …” He doesn’t finish, pulling a wary face.

  “Like what?” I press, half-expecting him to tell me I look like a giraffe or something.

  “I don’t know … Different.”

  “Different? That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “Without my morning dose of sugar, it is.” He reclines against the trunk of his car and winks at me. “But give me about ten minutes, and I’ll compliment the crap out of you.”

  I point a finger at him as I back across the strip of gravel dividing Maxon’s trailer and mine. “You’re good. Seriously, how do you not have a girlfriend?”

  “Because I have way too many admirers to settle on just one.” He charms me with a cocky grin. “Although, if you’re offering, I might be willing to make an exception.”

  “Yeah, I’m not your type.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the last three girls you dated who were the complete opposite of me.”

  He wavers, bobbing his head back and forth. “I think you’re wrong, but this is all a moot point anyway.”

  I stop just short of the front porch. “Why?”

  He steps toward me. “Because I couldn’t date you even if I wanted to.”

  “Why not?” I ask, sounding more defensive than I probably should. “Is it because …?” I shift my weight, feeling way out of my comfort zone. “Is it because of everything Queeny’s saying about me? Because none of it is true … What she said I did with that guy never happened.” As for the secret she revealed yesterday, that could be true. Whether I like it or not, Queeny has all sorts of dirty gossip on me.

  “Yeah right. Like I’d ever listen to anything that comes out of that viper’s mouth. She’s nothing but poison. A poison I’m immune to, but still like to avoid.” He hisses with his tongue out, looking ridiculously silly. When a giggle bubbles from my lips, he grins, looking rather pleased with himself. “But,” he continues, putting on a pouty face, “despite my immunity to venomous snakes, I still can’t date you. And it has nothing to do with Queeny, Knox, you, or anyone who runs in your little evil circle of friends. Or, well, your circle of ex-friends.”

  His reminder that I officially only have ex-friends makes me sigh heavily.

  “Then, what does it have to do with?”

  “Sorry,” he says with a shrug. “I can’t tell you. At least, not right now.”

  “But maybe one day?”

  “Maybe.” He grins for no obvious reason than to radiate sunshine into the world.

  I think about the amber in my pocket and wonder if Clove has buckets full of them at home.

  I smile. “You’re a pretty cool guy, Clove.”

  He winks. “I knew you liked me.”

  I roll my eyes. “And you’re pretty cheesy.”

  “Some girls like that.”

  “I’m sure they do.” I check the time on my phone. “I have to go beg my mom for a ride. Maybe I’ll see you at school?” My question is casual, but I hold my breath, waiting for his answer, hoping he’ll say yes, though I know I deserve a hell to the no from him.

  “Absolutely.” He starts for his car, but then whirls back around. “Hey, if you need a ride and don’t want to bug your mom, me and Max can give you one.”

  I dither for a crazy train of different reasons, but the main one has to do with possibly getting caught in the amateur peeping Tom act the other night.

  My silence causes his smile to deflate.

  “It’s cool if you don’t,” he says. “I just thought I’d offer.”

  “No, I want to. It’s just …” I fiddle with my zipper, choosing my next words carefully. “Are you sure it’s okay with Maxon?”

  His brows knit together. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know.” I rack my brain for an explanation that doesn’t require outing my stalker habits. “The other day, during lunch in Mr. Chester’s class, he didn’t seem too thrilled you were talking to me.”

  “Nah. I promise he’ll be cool with it.”

  As if sensing we’re talking about him, the door to Maxon’s trailer is swung open and the subject of our debate walks out.

  He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, dark grey jeans with stitching on the fron
t, and the bottoms are tucked into a pair of heavy boots. His dark hair looks damp from a shower, and his cloudy eyes fix on Clove and me as he makes his way to the edge of his property. When he gets close enough to see my outfit, his eyes slightly widen, but he keeps his expression disinterested.

  “Max, dude, we were just talking about you,” Clove says cheerfully, seeming oblivious to the death glare Maxon is firing at me. Well, either that or Clove just doesn’t care.

  “And let me guess, it was all nice things?” He drags his gaze off me, focusing on Clove.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Clove tells him, shooting me a devious smirk. “In fact, Ash was just telling me that she’d love to ride with us to school because she thinks you’re so nice and super cute.”

  “What the frick, dude.” I swat his arm again, this time a little less playfully. “I didn’t say that.” I look at Maxon, growing flustered. Well, isn’t this just fabulous? After the stunt I pulled the other night and now this, he’s for sure going to think I’m a crazy stalker girl. “I swear I didn’t say that.”

  “Aw, Ash, come on; that’s not how we get him to agree to let you ride with us.” Clove slings his arm over my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “Maxon’s kind of an Oscar the Grouch in the morning. You have to give him a little bit of trash to butter him up.”

  “Your metaphor is ridiculous,” I tell Clove, squirming under Maxon’s withering stare. “And he doesn’t look very happy that you’re talking to me.”

  “Quick, tell him we’ll stop at the gas station and get him a blue slushy and some licorice,” he whispers loud enough for Maxon to hear.

  “A blue slushy and licorice?” I carry Clove’s gaze to avoid enduring Maxon’s death glare. “At eight o’clock in the morning?”

  “It’s his crack,” Clove assures me with a nod. “But I think the offer needs to come from you since he looks like he’s trying to laser beam your head off with his eyes.”

  “Can we just get going?” Maxon says, his voice tight. “I have some stuff I need to work on in the science lab before school starts.”

  “Just a second.” Clove holds up his hand in Maxon’s face, and Maxon stares at him, unimpressed. “Ash needs to make you an offer. Then we can go.” Clove looks at me expectantly. “Ash?”

  At this point, I literally can’t tell what’s a joke and what’s not, so I decide to play along, unsure of what else to do. Besides, I’d rather endure an awkward ride with Maxon than have to ask my mom to drive me and be late opening the store.

  “Maxon, would you be so kind as to let me ride with you guys to school?” I ask, and Clove motions for me to continue. “And in return, we can stop at the gas station and purchase you a blue slushy and some licorice, because I’ve heard it’s supposed to be your crack. Or your trash.”

  Clove steps back and gestures for Maxon to speak.

  At first, I think he isn’t going to say a word as he stares at me with a blank expression, but then I detect the slightest quirk of his lips. He trades a glance with Clove, who gives him a curiously big smile.

  “Fine,” Maxon says curtly, the corners of his lips briefly twitching. “But only if I can have an extra-large.”

  I nod. “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, then.” With that, he turns and hikes across the gravel toward Clove’s clunker.

  And that’s how I find myself climbing into a car with Maxon Harter and Clove Capperson, two guys I never thought I’d be riding to school with and who should hate me. And maybe they do. Maxon sure seems to. So do most of his friends, with the exception of Clove. Honestly, I question if Clove spends a lot of time skipping around and singing show tunes. The dude’s seriously the cheeriest guy I’ve ever met.

  I have to wonder: if they knew the whole truth about me, about everything I’ve done, would they be kicking my ass to the curb right now?

  6

  The back seat of Clove’s car is piled with boxes of stuff, so I end up sitting bitch in the front seat.

  As Clove pulls out onto the street, I have to fight back the stunned laughter that I’m squished between him and Maxon, who smells like soap, cologne and, strangely enough, cotton candy.

  “What in the heck?” Clove rolls down his window. “Why does it smell like someone danced around in a field of sugar all night long?” He looks at me accusingly. “Wait. Are you wearing some kind of sugary, girlie perfume?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I smell like strawberries with a splash of vanilla.”

  He crooks a brow at me. “Sounds pretty sugary to me.”

  “Maybe it’s you,” I retort. “You do kind of look like a sugary smelling sort of guy.”

  “What does a sugary smelling guy look like?” he asks, intrigued. “Handsome? Charming? Ass grab worthy?”

  Maxon lets out a choking cough, but hastily puts the scowl back on. “What the heck are you doing, Clove?”

  “What? She thinks I’m funny,” Clove says, making a left turn onto the main road that runs through the center of Fareland. “Right, Ash?”

  “Um …” My gaze flickers to Maxon, who looks annoyed as he waits for my answer. “He is kind of funny.” I don’t know why I’m so hesitant, or why Maxon appears so aggravated by my answer. Trying to win him over, I add, “Sorry?”

  He thrums his fingers on top of his leg. “It’s fine. You can think he’s funny if you want.” He turns to stare out the open window. “It’s not my damn problem.”

  A slow breath eases from my lips. Jeez, he’s a hard crowd to win over. At the same time, I guess I deserve every dirty look and rude remark thrown at me, not only for being a complete a-hole to him for the past six years, but for being a total creeper. Although, I’m still not sure if he did catch me spying on him. Based on the last ten minutes, I’d have to go with a yes, he did.

  “You know what we need?” Clove asks, extending his hand for the stereo.

  “No, we don’t.” Maxon narrows his eyes at him, but the corners of his lips twitch into a trace of a smile.

  “I think we do.” Clove grabs the knob and starts surfing through radio stations. “It’ll cheer everyone up.”

  “I doubt that.” Maxon’s gaze flits in my direction. “She probably won’t even know a song.”

  “Yeah, she will. In fact, I know she will.” Clove winks at me like we’re sharing a secret joke. Either that or he’s baiting me.

  “Know what?” I ask, taking the bait.

  “Oh, you know.” Clove winks at me again.

  “I really don’t know.” It’s the truth, too. I’m so lost; lost in Weirdo Nerd Crazy Land, a place I find strange but welcoming. Instead of staring at him all stupid, I-don’t-get-it, I throw sarcasm back at him. “Other than maybe you have something stuck in your eye. I have eye drops if you need to borrow them.”

  Clove chuckles, settling on a station. “You’re a clever girl, Ashlynn Wynterland. I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

  “You thought I was stupid?” I question, a tiny bit hurt, but not that much since I can see why he’d think that.

  He shrugs then clears his throat. “All right, no more chatting. It’s time for a little flashback to the eighties.” He cranks up the volume and “Blitzkrieg Bop” by the Ramones rattles through the speakers. With a grin, he drums his fingers to the beat and belts out the lyrics at the top of his lungs in a very off-key pitch.

  I turn to Maxon to see what he thinks about the insanity, but his attention is on me, not Clove. When our eyes meet, he quickly looks forward and begins tapping his fingers against his knee.

  Clove lightly elbows me in the ribs. “Come on, Ash; I know for a fact that you know this song.”

  He’s not wrong, but still …

  “How do you know that?” I shout over the music.

  “Because I’ve heard you playing it from your house before. You listen to a lot of punk rock.” I don’t know what kind of face I pull, but he promptly adds, “Don’t worry; it’ll be our little secret.” He pauses and a mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes. “But only
if you sing along.”

  “I’m not too worried about people finding out.” No, I have way worse problems to worry about than people finding out my music tastes don’t really center around pop hits like I’ve led them to believe. “But I’ll sing along with you anyway, because this song is too awesome not to.”

  Clove’s lips spread into a smile as he picks up a penny from the cup holder and chucks it at Maxon. “Sing along or no blue slushy for you.” The penny pegs Maxon in the forehead.

  Shaking his head and smiling, he throws the penny back at Clove.

  Huh. So he’s only cranky with me. Nice to know.

  “Fine, but I’m only participating in this stupidity to get you to shut up,” Maxon tells Clove.

  “Say whatever you want, man, but deep down, we both know how much you love eighties punk rock.” Clove throws another smirk at Maxon, only this time the move is different. It’s less light and playful and more conveying a statement.

  Whatever the statement is causes Maxon to retaliate with the dirtiest look ever.

  “Don’t even go there,” he warns Clove. “I mean it.”

  “Too late.” Clove pulls a whoopsie face then lets out a giggle.

  Yes, the dude’s a giggler, which is as weird as it sounds, but kind of adorable, too.

  Clove cups his hand around his ear. “I don’t hear any singing.”

  Maxon and I exchange a look, and I relax a drop when I see that bitch-I-loathe-your-guts look has vanished. Shrugging, I start singing, letting my true self shine through for a split-second, and holy crazy drum beats does it feel amazing, like I’ve been living behind a glass window for the last six years and have finally dared to run out into the real world. And while the moment is short and brief, I grasp it with everything I have in me, singing and laughing.

  I can only imagine what Queeny would say if she saw the three of us together. She’d probably lose her damn mind with pure glee over getting handed a pile of ammunition to torment me with.

  The song ends as Clove pulls up in front of the gas station. He parks near the front door and shuts off the engine.