“And now you’re here with me,” he repeats, his gaze hitched with mine.
“I meant that as a good thing,” I feel the need to say.
“I know.”
“Good. I don’t ever want you to think I’m here because I have nowhere else to be.”
“So, you’re saying, if Queeny took you back, you wouldn’t go?” he asks dubiously.
I nod, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I know it’s only been a week since she called off our friendship, but I’ve felt more like myself than I have since I was eleven years old.”
A small smile tilts his lips. “I’m glad. Because the girl who I hung out with behind the dumpsters was pretty awesome.” He scoots closer to me until our knees kiss. “And I always wanted to be able to hang out with her again, but I’d honestly given up until the day Clove and I gave you a ride to school.”
“You saw her then?”
“I did briefly.”
“And, what about now?”
His gaze travels all over my face before resting on my eyes. “She’s definitely here, I think.”
I smile, all warm and gooey melted chocolate inside. “Yeah?”
He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, she definitely is. And I really want her to stay.”
“I really want her to stay, too.” And I really want to kiss you.
I don’t know if I space off to Daydream Land or what, but I start leaning in to do what I really want to do, although I have no clue if he wants me to do it. He doesn’t lean away, which is a good sign, but he doesn’t meet me halfway, either. I toss the worry aside and move closer, closer, closer until our lips touch.
My stomach spins like spun sugar as my eyelids slip shut and my lips part.
Please, kiss me back.
Instead of kissing me back, though, his lips leave mine.
My eyelids flutter open, and what I see makes the spun sugar in my stomach dissolve.
Horrified.
He looks absolutely horrified.
And that, Ash, is karma biting you hard on the ass.
“Oh, my sweaty monkey balls.” Yep, to add to the mortification, those are the five words that leave my lips next.
Sucking in a gradual breath, his lips part. “Ash, look, I’m—”
“Maxon!” someone shouts. “Your weird little potato scrubber has gone mad and is making a potato massacre all over the kitchen counter.”
“Shit.” Maxon springs to his feet and bolts out of the room like there’s a fire. Or like a girl he doesn’t like just kissed him.
I lower my head into my hands and groan. “What the heck did I just do?”
The question is pretty stupid since I know exactly what I did—completely made an ass out of myself and might’ve lost fifty percent of my friends.
I consider diving out the window and running back home, but that’d be rude—like the old Ash—and I don’t want to be her anymore, even if she never kissed a guy who didn’t want to be kissed.
Forcing out a breath, I push to my feet and trudge out of the room.
When I enter the kitchen, Maxon is by the sink, picking up potato peelings, and he’s not alone. His mom, a forty-something-year-old woman with the same dark hair and cloudy eyes as Maxon is unloading groceries into the cupboards. But that’s not the only person here to witness the after-kiss awkwardness that’s about to go down between Maxon and me.
My mom has wandered over; I’m guessing for their Friday night wine fest since she has a bottle of wine in her hand.
“I brought some Riesling this time,” she tells Maxon’s mom, setting the bottle down. “I hope that’s okay. I know you’re not a fan of white wine, but I heard this brand is supposed to be good.”
“That’s fine.” Maxon’s mom removes a few bottles of red from a paper bag. “I have these for backup.”
They both giggle in a way that makes me wonder if they’ve already cracked open a bottle.
“So, is Maxon cooking us dinner?” my mom teases, plopping down on a barstool at the counter.
Maxon glances at her as he drops a handful of potato peels into the trash. “I can if you want me to.”
“You weren’t planning on it?” his mom asks, and he shakes his head. “Then, why on earth do you have so many potatoes in the …?” She trails off as she spots me. “Oh, my goodness, is that your daughter, Anita?”
My mom twists around on the barstool and grins knowingly at me. “Ash?”
I open and flex my hands a few times before putting on my best chill face. “Hey, Mom.” I cross the kitchen toward her. “You got off work early today.”
“I decided to tweak the closing time since customers start to really thin out around five o’clock.” She glances back at Maxon’s mom, who’s staring at me like I’m an alien with three eyes, twelve ears, and fifty-five arms. “Miranda, this is my daughter Ashlynn.”
“I know. I’ve seen her coming in and out of your house.” Her gaze shifts to Maxon, who seems completely fixated with the trash can. Sighing, she smiles at me and crosses the kitchen with her hand stuck out. “Ashlynn, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
I shake her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, too.”
She smiles, though confusion masks her expression. “I didn’t know you and Maxon were friends.” She looks at Maxon, who’s now busying himself with filling up a pot with water, then returns her gaze back to me. “I guess my son forgot to mention it.”
“It’s a recent thing,” I tell her. “Really recent.”
My mom smiles at Miranda as she collects two wine glasses from the cabinet. “I caught them in her room together the other day.”
Maxon’s head whips up, his eyes huge. “Not like that.”
“Not like what, honey?” Miranda asks Maxon while trading an amused glance with my mom.
“Not like …” He tugs his fingers through his hair roughly. “I mean, we weren’t doing anything like what you’re thinking.”
“And, what am I thinking?” Miranda asks, her amusement doubling.
“That we were doing …” He throws a panicked glance in my direction, his eyes pleading, help me.
An eviler side of me wants to drag this out for another minute so he can feel as embarrassed as I did when he jerked away from our kiss, but he doesn’t deserve that.
“We were just discussing being friends,” I explain to them. “That’s all.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear my mom and his seem a tad bit dissatisfied by my statement.
“And what did you decide?” Miranda asks Maxon, returning to the kitchen. “Are you guys officially friends?”
Maxon’s gaze crashes with mine, and I have to catch my breath.
“Yeah, we are,” he answers casually, as if I didn’t just press my lips to his minutes ago. As if he didn’t look at me afterward like I was a succubus trying to seduce him.
Still, I smile when my mom and his look at me. But it’s my fake smile. The smile I wore for years.
The smile I wish I never had to use again.
18
I wish I could say that by the time I leave Maxon’s house, the awkwardness between us has settled. If I told you that, though, my nose would sprout into a giant tree branch.
When I leave his trailer with my mom an hour later, we can barely look each other in the eye. Still, when I get home, I go to my room and work on the letters. Friends or not, Maxon deserves to know the truth about what happened the day him and his friends got expelled from the university’s science fair. So does Clove.
I write until my hand is cramped and my vision is blurry. Around ten o’clock, I’m finally signing my name at the end of the seven-page letter to Maxon and the six-page letter to Clove. Both letters detail one of my darkest secrets and probably divulges way too much of my feelings. But there’s no turning back—I won’t allow it. Now all I need to do is deliver the letters, but that might be more difficult than writing them.
Putting the letters away, I grab some pajamas and get ready for bed. As I s
lip off my jacket, the card I found on the floor of the girls’ locker room falls out of the pocket. I scoop it up and thrum my fingers on the sides of my legs.
Heartbreaker Society, what are you?
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the web app on my phone to search the number. Nothing comes up. So, I type “The Heartbreaker Society” into the search engine. Again, nothing.
Way too curious, I decide to go straight to the answer and punch the phone number into my phone. Then I chew on my fingernail as the line rings, not expecting anyone to answer since it’s so late. But after the third ring, someone does.
“What’s one way to rip out an evil villain’s heart and destroy it?” a deep male voice asks.
“Um …”
“Don’t um me,” he says. “Answer the question or I’m hanging up.”
“Um … By reaching into their chest, removing it, and squeezing it into dust,” I offer the only answer I can come up with.
He huffs out an annoyed exhale. “This isn’t an episode of Once Upon a Time. Call back when you have a real answer.” Then the line is disconnected with a click.
I move the phone away from my ear and blink at the “call ended” flashing on the screen.
“Okay, that was …” Well, I’m not sure what that was, but now I’m even more curious to find out. Clarissa may be the only source for an answer, though, and I’m not sure she’ll be too keen on giving me one.
Putting the card in my nightstand, I change into my pajamas and climb into bed, wondering how my life got so wonky. Then my thoughts quickly wander to the letters tucked under my pillow. The letters that will yank the wonkiness right out from under my feet until all that is left is a deep, dark abyss to fall into.
* * *
When I wake up, I procrastinate heading over to Maxon’s until around noon, when I can no longer make up any more excuses.
Hiking across the yard and up to his trailer, I knock on the door with the letter clutched in my hand. When no one answers, I knock again, and again, and again.
After ten knocks, I return to my house to text Maxon, wanting to find out when he’s going to be home. I also need to get ahold of Clove so I can give him his letter, too, although I don’t have his number yet, which I find odd. With how much we’ve talked and hung out, it seems like I should have it. But maybe he doesn’t even think of me as a friend at all. He might just be acting friendly, which makes me feel oddly sad.
Me: Hey, where are you? I stopped by your house, but no one answered.
Maxon: My mom works on Saturdays, and I got up early to work on a project with Clove. Sorry I missed you. Do you need something? Is everything okay?
Me: Everything’s fine. I just wanted to give you something. I’ll just give it to you later.
Maxon: Okay. But I won’t be home until tomorrow.
Me: Okay. Is it cool if I stop by tomorrow and give it to you?
Maxon: Sure. :)
His response isn’t rude, but a restless feeling funnels its way into my stomach anyway. What if I ruined this friendship already because I couldn’t keep my lips and hormones to myself?
I consider texting him for Clove’s number, but since Maxon doesn’t really seem to want to chat with me, I decide I can wait until school to give Clove his letter.
Pouting like a five-year-old, I crank up “Miserable At Best” by Mayday Parade and lie down in bed, wallowing in a teenage angst pity party until my phone hums with an incoming message.
I eagerly scoop it up, hoping it’s from Maxon.
Nope. Karma doesn’t love me that much.
Queeny: Mirror, mirror on the wall, tell me how I can make Ash truly pay for what she did to me. xoxo
Instead of ignoring her message, I decide to type back.
Me: Finally started quoting cartoon characters, huh?
Queeny: That’s not from a cartoon.
Me: If you say so.
Queeny: Whatever. Think what you want, but the only thing that matters is the answer.
I almost stop typing—I should stop typing—but my fingers move of their own accord.
Me: Haven’t I already paid enough? Especially for something I never did.
Queeny: You’re such a liar! And soon everyone is going to believe that.
Me: I think everyone already does, thanks to you.
Queeny: Nope, not everyone. There are a few morons who seem to think you’re still the princess you pretend to be.
My pulse accelerates as I recall what I overheard in the girls’ locker room.
Me: Leave them alone, Queeny. I mean it.
Queeny: Leave who alone?
Me: Don’t play dumb with me. I heard you talking in the girls’ locker room.
Queeny: I know you did, and you heard exactly what I wanted you to hear.
Me: You’re such a liar.
Queeny: Yeah, but at least I don’t pretend not to be.
Me: Well, I’m not pretending anymore.
Queeny: So you’ve told all your secrets?
Me: Yes.
Well, soon.
Queeny: Liar. I know you haven’t.
Me: There’s no way you could possibly know that.
Queeny: I know everything, Ash. Haven’t you figured that out yet?
Me: And that right there is your weakness. You think you know everything, when really, you know nothing.
Queeny: Aw, is the kitty’s claws coming out, Ash? Because FYI, a kitten doesn’t stand a chance against a lion.
Me: I’m not bringing the claws out. I’m stating facts. You know what? I’m done with this conversation. I’ve spent way too many years playing these games with you, and I’m done.
Queeny: You’re not done until I say you’re done.
“Wanna bet?” I hold down the power button to shut off my phone.
It feels so good to walk away from the fight. To end the drama.
Maybe when Clove accesses her messages, I can make all the drama end. I just need the name of the person who started the rumor. Then I’ll track them down and make them confess the truth to Queeny.
Easy-peasy, right?
Ha! If that person is at all like I used to be, they’ll fight giving a confession until the end of time. But I’m going to be as persuasive as I can to get Queeny away from me, Maxon, Clove, my brother, my family—everyone I care about.
* * *
I spend the next four hours pouting in my room until Gabby arrives, decked out in a purple and pink striped dress, matching knee-high socks, and cat ears.
“Hello, Cheshire Cat,” I greet her, sitting up in bed. “You better not be here to trick me.”
Grinning from ear-to-ear, she seizes my hand and drags me away from my self-inflicted misery. “That all depends on what you mean by tricks.”
Before I can ask her what she means, she ushers me into the living room where Lucky is lounging around in his sweatpants with his legs kicked up on the coffee table that is covered with empty soda cans.
“Time to get all dolled up,” she announces, kicking his feet off the table.
Lucky frowns, sitting up straight. “Do I really have to wear a costume?”
Nodding, she bends over, picks up a duffel bag from off the floor, and tosses it at him. “And if you complain, then no Breaking Bad marathon tomorrow.”
“Oh, fine.” Sulking, Lucky grabs the duffel bag and gets up. “What am I going to be anyway?”
“It’s a surprise.” Her grin is the perfect reenactment of the Cheshire Cat. “But here’s a hint: it has to do with Alice in Wonderland.”
He gives her a blank look. “Obviously, since it’s an Alice in Wonderland party.”
I rigidly straighten like I’ve been electrocuted. “Wait? Wonderland party?”
Gabby nods, sending strands of red hair into her heavily lined eyes. “And we have to dress up as a character from the book.”
“That’s cool.” I give a short pause. “But, who’s throwing this party?”
“My cousin Clarissa,” she says then
hurriedly adds, “Don’t worry; I already told her you were coming, and she’s cool with it.”
I pick at my fingernails. “What about the other people coming to the party?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she responds with a dismissive wave. “I’m not even sure you’ll know everyone who’s going to be there.”
I don’t bother mentioning how that theory is completely unlikely, considering the low population of Fareland.
“There might be a few people who don’t want me there.” Like Maxon. And Kinslee, who I’m sure will be there.
She taps her fingers against the sides of her legs, considering. “Well, as long as you’re nice, they shouldn’t be bothered.”
“I’ll be nice,” I assure her. “But I think some people might be uncomfortable with me being there.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” She smooths her palms down the front of her black dress then heads for the front door. “Come on; let’s go get your costume out of the car so you can get dressed, and then we can hit the road.” She fights back a smirk as she glances at Lucky. “We wouldn’t want to be late.”
“Ah, hell. I’m the White Rabbit, aren’t I?” Heaving a sigh, Lucky trudges across the living room, looking like a real party pooper. “Fine, but I’m taking my flask with me.” Then he disappears down the hallway.
I feel like I’m about to ride a wildly twisty roller coaster after eating too many hotdogs and caramel apples as I follow Gabby to the front door.
“You brought me a costume?”
She nods. “And it’s going to look wicked cool on you.”
“What character am I?”
“Alice.”
“Oh.”
She pauses, gripping the doorknob. “You thought I was going to say the Queeny of Hearts, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I admit with a nod. “It’d be pretty fitting.”
She pulls open the door with a contemplative expression. “Nah, I think Alice is more fitting.”
“Why?”
“Because, deep down, I think you’re a smart and curious girl who got lost from Wonderland but is now finding her way back.”
Opposite of Ordinary: (The Fareland Society, Book 1) Page 21