His voice is gravelly and low. “Nope. Not done. How about you?”
My heart beats faster. I hate how I feel, but I don’t want to lie about it. Not with Anthony. He’s the only one I can talk to about this. I clear my throat. “Even though you follow no rules, mock the importance of science, and you double dip, I’m still having inappropriate thoughts, too.”
“Well. It’s only been two dates.”
“True.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. My stomach drops to my knees. I want to break Rule 5. I want to stomp it into dust. Instead, I look away.
His fingers tap the steering wheel, first fast and then gradually slowing as my breath does. I wonder if his heart is racing like mine? I wonder how to make this feeling stop.
“You’re like the bird outside my window,” he says.
That surprises me, and I turn back. “What bird?”
“I only noticed it since I started getting up so early. The first day it was kind of nice. Bird twittering, nature, sun coming up. All of that.”
I purse my lips. “Very poetic.” But his words have eased the tension.
“Then the second morning I was like, ‘Damn, that chirping is high-pitched.’”
“Less poetic.”
“This morning, I was tired when the alarm went off, and the bird started tweeting, and I threw a sock at the window and yelled for it to shut up.”
I laugh. “You’re not going to throw a sock at me, are you?”
“I’m hoping to get to the point where I want to.” His eyes soften. “Right now, I still find your narrow-minded logic and slavish devotion to rules charming.”
“Ah, more poetry.”
Our eyes meet, both of us smiling. He reaches a hand toward my face. He stops himself, pulls back as he remembers this isn’t the spring when he’d slide his hand across my cheek before he pulled me in close for a kiss. My cheek tingles as if I can feel the almost-touch.
The never-going-to-happen-again touch.
I reach for the door handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
My cheek is still tingling as I head toward the library.
Chapter Nineteen
Mai
I don’t see him in the morning.
There’s a leak in the main visitor’s center. Somehow, Anthony got involved, and apparently, he has mad skills. He was still working when I left. It wasn’t as if I had an excuse to walk in. I could pretend to have a question about tonight, but we do that by text. Asking him in public would break Rule 4. I still almost went in to see him.
Softly, I trail a finger over my burn mark. Thankfully, it’s faded enough this morning that Mom and Dad didn’t notice. I keep thinking about it. How if I’d burned myself with Mom and Dad, there would have been cold water and careful attention, but also they would have been upset. Concerned. Maybe even disappointed. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen. When they did, you felt bad that they had. With Anthony, bad things happened, and he dealt with it. With a smile. Somehow, last night, he had made me smile, too. With Anthony, there was no pressure to be perfect. But he had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was.
“Beautiful.”
Yes.
Then I startle, realizing it’s Mom talking and she doesn’t mean Anthony. Who removed my brain, and where did they put it? She’s talking about the shoes I’m trying on. I’m suddenly back in the department store dressing room with piped-in music, bright lights, and Mom. “They are beautiful,” I agree. “I really like them.”
She stands behind me in the full-length mirror. She’s nodding, but there’s a frown creasing her forehead.
“What?” I turn to the side, admiring the black-heeled shoes, the velvet bow on the heel that’s sort of glam but in a subtle way.
“I’m just not sure. They are beautiful, but they’re very high. You don’t usually wear high heels.”
“They work with the dress, though.” I changed into the dress so we could be sure. I pull up the hem, pointing out how perfect the length is. Mom found the dress in a shop in Scottsdale. A straight-line silhouette, high-necked, glossy black, with tiny shoulder straps and a smooth fall to the floor. It’s a little old-fashioned, but I like it.
I swish the skirt, wondering what Anthony would think. Knowing what Anthony would think. He’d want to break Rule 5, and I’d want to let him. Just like last night.
I wish I could ask Josie about it. If it’s like this with her and Garrett. If she’s ever just talking to him and wants to grab him and kiss him. I want to know if this is normal. And if you feel this way to start, when does it fade? I mean, it has to fade or how would you ever get anything done? Plus, I only have seven days left before the fling will have flung.
“Mai, are you listening?”
“Sorry.” I reel in my wandering thoughts.
“Let’s try these other ones.”
She taps the box I’m trying to ignore. They remind me of the shoes our principal wore to graduation. “The heels are clunky on those.”
“Just try them on. To compare.”
She watches as I slip on the shoes and do up the buckles. “What do you think?”
I stand and shift on my feet. “They’re comfortable.”
“And not too high.” She smiles. “Do you like them?”
I take a look in the mirror, studying them from the side. They’re fine. But I don’t want fine. “I like the other ones more.”
“Well. Walk around a little.”
I walk to the far end of the dressing room.
“You know who you should ask to join us for the dinner?” Mom says this as if she’s just had the idea. “Grant.”
I turn on the chunky heels and head back. “He doesn’t want to come to the dinner.”
“He might. You should ask him.”
“I’m not going to ask him.”
“I don’t see why not.”
I stop in front of her. “Because it isn’t like that.”
“It isn’t like what, Mai?” she says as if I’m not being reasonable. “It’s a charity dinner. The whole family is going.”
“Then why don’t you or Dad ask Grant?”
“Well.” She pauses and then lets out a soft laugh. “Fine. You’re right, honey. It’s just that his mother is so worried about Grant since he broke up with Katherine. She thought it would be nice to distract him.”
“I’m the distraction?”
“The dinner is the distraction.” She smiles when I roll my eyes. “Think about it. That’s all.” She looks down at my feet again. “What about the shoes?”
“I like the other ones.”
“They’re your shoes. It’s your choice.” She rubs a finger under her chin. “I just want to be sure you think it through. We are on carpet here.”
“There’s carpet in the ballroom.”
“Yes, but there’s also that flight of stairs leading to the stage. What if you wobble on the stairs? Can you imagine? Tripping in front of everyone? The governor is going to be there, and you know his wife won’t be wearing tall heels.”
I let the hem slip to the floor. “They’re not that high.”
“That’s true.”
I feel the air leave my lungs. But they are higher than the other ones. And if I insist on these and then I trip? I stare at myself in the mirror. They’re mostly hidden under the gown.
As if Mom can read my thoughts, she says, “It’s not as if anyone will see the shoes beneath your dress anyway.”
“Okay, we’ll go with these.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks. “I want you to be happy with them.”
“I’m sure.”
She smiles and rubs a hand along my arm. “You get dressed. I’ll pay for these and meet you up front.”
I slip back into the dressing room. It doesn’t matter. They’re just sh
oes.
I’m pulling them off when my phone dings.
Anthony.
Anthony: Miss me today?
I decide not to analyze the huge smile I’m suddenly wearing. I settle back in my chair and type:
Me: You weren’t there?
Anthony: So cruel, Killer
Me: Thank you.
I stare at the screen, impatient for more.
Anthony: What are you doing?
I smile.
Me: Shopping.
Anthony: Snooze
Me: And you’re doing something exciting?
Anthony: Batting cages with Coop. Wanna watch?
Me: Do I want to watch you hit balls into a net? Now that would be a snooze.
There’s a pause as the little dots bounce around before he responds.
Anthony: If you need a nap, try the art museum. Fall asleep there every field trip
I burst out laughing and then guiltily clap a hand over my mouth as if Mom will hear from the registers. I send an emoji of horror and then:
Me: I fell asleep watching the Super Bowl.
He responds with a skull and crossbones. Then:
Anthony: I napped thru instructions before final exams
Me: I napped during Star Wars.
There’s a pause as dots dance.
Anthony: Star Wars??? Heathen. Can’t wait to end this thing
Me: Me, too.
Anthony: Good. See you tonight. Pick you up at 6. Be hungry
Me: FYI I hate fast food.
I laugh when I read his last text.
Anthony: This will be much worse
I hug my phone to my chest, a smile on my face. Good thing we’re getting over each other. Anthony is like the high heels. He makes me feel good. Too good. But I’m in danger of falling.
Chapter Twenty
Anthony
I was right. She hates it.
She’s sitting beside me in the car, her arms crossed over her chest. “Anthony, there is no restaurant.”
“Yeah, there is.”
“I see dirt, picnic tables, and an old trailer. You spent too much time in the sun today.”
“That is not an old trailer. That is a genuine Airstream converted into a food truck.”
“Food truck?” She double blinks. “I respect the choice. Truly awful. But no way am I eating here.”
“Good,” I say. “Criticize my favorite restaurant.”
“Anthony, it’s a trailer. In a dirt lot. Serving food. You see the problem?”
“Yep. You’re very judgmental.”
“I am not. I’m taking a certain set of facts and applying logic.”
“You’re deciding you don’t like something before you’ve tried it.”
She raises her stubborn chin and shakes back her hair. “Fine. I’ll hate it after I try it.”
“There’s that open mind you pretend to have. Come on.”
She follows me toward the order window, and I realize I’m going to miss arguing with her when this is over. Who knew it could be so much fun? The menu is written in chalk. It isn’t long. They do tacos and tacos.
“If I get food poisoning, you’re holding my hair while I vomit.”
“Nah, I’m handing you a rubber band for your hair. I don’t do puke.”
“You’re so unromantic.”
My grin is so wide, my face aches. “Would you just order?”
Darla is waiting with her iPad, a raised eyebrow telling me she’s listening in and wondering what’s the story. Unfortunately, I’m sworn to secrecy.
“I’ll have the two taco special,” Mai says.
I nudge her arm with an elbow. “Get the guava juice, too.”
“Guava?” Her brow wrinkles, but she orders it.
“I’ll have the same, Darla.” I pull out my wallet. “I’m buying.”
“I’ll pay for my own,” Mai insists as she reaches into her purse.
“My date. My treat.”
“This is not a date. This is a fling.”
Darla grins. “Oh, is that what it is?” Darla is a couple years older than me, the daughter of the owners, and I’ve gotten to know her over the years since she’s usually the one working the window at night.
“She rambles a lot,” I say. “Don’t pay any attention.”
“Rambles?” Mai scoffs.
I give Mai back the money she set on the counter and hand Darla some folded bills. “Keep the change.”
She gives us the cans of guava juice. “Thanks, Anthony. It’ll be a couple minutes for the tacos.”
Mai gathers plastic forks and a handful of napkins from a stack next to the window. “Friend?” she asks as I lead her to a table shaded by a green umbrella.
“Darla? I know her from coming here.”
“You left a 34 percent tip.”
“Did I? I don’t get those percentage thingies.”
She rolls her eyes as we set everything down. “Why do I think you’re lying?”
“You’re naturally suspicious?”
She sits, folding her hands like she’s conducting an interrogation. “You said you barely graduated.”
“I didn’t apply myself, Mai. Doesn’t mean I can’t do basic math.”
“How basic?”
I pop open her juice and then mine. “You work on a building crew, you pick up what you need.”
I can tell there are more questions forming, but her lips thin as if she’s decided to let them go. Instead, she studies the picnic table, and when her jaw drops, I know she doesn’t like what she sees. “Don’t they wipe the tables down?” She takes our pile of napkins and starts scrubbing hard enough that her hair swings back and forth, grazing her chin each time.
I don’t realize I’m grinning until she pauses mid-scrub and demands, “What?”
“You can’t relax, can you? It’s good.” I sit back on the plank bench. “You drive me crazy.”
“It’s not about relaxing. It’s about disease. There are mystery splotches of dried food here.”
“They help you build immunity.”
She pauses again, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Do you worry about anything?”
“I try not to.”
“Anthony!” Darla waves our way, and I head to the Airstream to pick up our taco tubs. It smells good. With the special, you never know what you’re getting, only that they’re going to be great. I try to guess from the mix of scents rising with the steam, but my stomach doesn’t really care, and my mouth starts to water.
“They make the best tacos.” I set the tubs down on the napkins Mai has spread out like placemats. She stares at her carton. Along with the tacos wrapped in soft corn tortillas is a container of potatoes. “Are these tater tots?”
“With cheese on them.”
“Because they weren’t unhealthy enough on their own?”
“You eat Cheetos,” I remind her.
“And I’m ashamed.”
I sit down and pull my tray closer. I breathe in the green salsa they’re famous for. “I ate veggie sticks for you. I still have nightmares about the orange ones.”
“Oh, fine.” Carefully, she reaches for a taco, trying to keep the filling from sliding out. It’s a hopeless cause, and I don’t even bother, taking a huge bite of mine. Juice leaks down my fingers and back into the tub. The meat is so moist I hum as it hits my tongue. I chew slowly so I don’t miss out on any of the flavors.
Mai’s bite is small and hesitant. I watch as she chews and love the surprised lift to her eyebrows. “What is this?”
I wipe juice off my lips. “That’s the mystery. They’re always coming up with something different.”
She tilts her head, thoughtful, and I know she’s trying to work it out. “I think it’s chicken.”
/> “You like it?”
“I need a larger sample size.” She takes another bite as I dig into mine. The tacos are usually spicy, but tonight’s version has a tang of something sweet.
“Marmalade?” Mai guesses.
I shrug and take another bite. The sky flares red off to the west, painting the clouds behind the trees that edge the lot. “Check out the sunset.”
She turns and gives it all of a second’s glance. “Dust particles cause the colors.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
She pauses and then sets her taco down. “That was a Ben thing to say.” She looks again and in a syrupy voice adds, “I meant to say, how utterly delightful.”
I toss a tater tot at her.
It bounces off the hand she holds up and lands on her napkin. She grabs it and pops it in her mouth with a smart-ass smile. “These are nearly as good as Cheetos.”
“What? Something nice to say about food from a truck?”
She ignores that and reaches for the second taco. She picks a chunk of meat off the top and eats it. “It’s too moist to be chicken. Pork?”
“That’s my guess.”
“I still can’t figure out what makes it sweet.”
I have the sudden urge to spout some dorky comment about Mai being sweet. Jeez. But sometimes, like now, I look at her, and she’s so beautiful that it’s like taking a punch to the sternum. I hold back the words, but I can’t stop the instinct to lean over the table and kiss the corner of her mouth, moving so quickly I shock her as much as I do myself.
“Anthony! What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I shrug as I sit back. “Trying to figure out the flavors.” My heart is thundering. “Cilantro,” I say, as if I tasted anything but Mai.
“You can’t do that.” But her voice is breathless. “We have a no kissing rule.”
“It wasn’t a real kiss. It was a peck. It’s how I kiss my grandma.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You kiss your grandma like that?”
My lips ache with the need to kiss her again. “You don’t think I’d break the rules? I’m all about the rules.”
“You are all about no rules,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling as she picks up her taco. “And that was absolutely not cilantro.”
How to Quit Your Crush Page 10