The Opposite of Ordinary

  “Who said you’ve been acting any differently?” he teases with a grin.

  I press my hand to my heart. “Ouch, that hurt. Who knew sweet, little cheese stick giving Maxon Harter could be so cruel?”

  “Little?” he questions with his brow up.

  “Well, you were in fifth grade.”

  “A lot has changed since fifth grade.”

  “Yeah, it has.” I stare down at the cards. “You know, I never did thank you for sitting with me behind the dumpster after that whole stupid depantsing thing. That had to be gross—eating your lunch by a dumpster with the snotty-nosed loser of the school.”

  “You weren’t a loser.” His soft voice sends warm tingles all over my skin. “And it wasn’t the first time I ate my lunch by a dumpster.”

  I lift my gaze to him, my guilt strangling me. “Why are you being so nice to me right now? And this morning? I don’t deserve it at all. And Monday in Mr. Chester’s classroom, you looked like you wanted to transport me to another dimension.”

  “Transport you to another dimension?” He smiles amusedly. “You know, I think Clove’s right about you.”

  I don’t know whether to smile or frown. “About what?”

  “That you’re secretly a nerd, and that you’ve secretly been one forever but, as he put it”—he makes air quotes—“ ‘you took the wrong path in life.’ ”

  “I don’t know about the nerd part, but I definitely think I took the wrong path in life. How Clove knows about this, though, is beyond me.”

  “Because he’s a people watcher,” he explains with a simple shrug.

  I ravel a strand of hair around my finger, contemplating what he said. “Why has he been watching me?”

  He fidgets with a leather band on his wrists. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know …” I shrug. “I’m awfully shallow and have very little substance. If he is watching me, he must be bored out of his mind.”

  “You’re not as shallow as you want everyone to believe.” He taps the deck of cards in my hand. “These prove that.”

  “I’m not that nice, either. And I think a lot of the stuff I’ve done over the years prove that.”

  “But you’re trying to be different now, so that’s all that matters, right?”

  I eye him over with great curiosity, wondering why he’s so dead set on being kind to me. “You know, you never answered my question about why you’re being nice to me now when just this morning you seemed like you hated me. And why did you tell Clarissa to leave me that shirt?”

  A flush spreads across his cheeks. “You found out about that?”

  I nod. “Clarissa told me in science class today. She didn’t explain to me why you did it.”

  “Because you didn’t deserve to be … shirtless.” He scratches the side of his neck, looking more embarrassed than I felt when I flashed the entire school “And I’ve never hated you, Ash. I’ll admit, that day you were in Mr. Chester’s classroom for lunch, I was thinking about a way to get you out of mine and my friends’ space.”

  I keep my tone light, though my heart stings. “You probably should’ve made me leave the classroom. It could’ve been my penance for being so mean to you guys over the years.”

  “Why? It wouldn’t have made anyone happier.”

  “I don’t know about that. Kinslee sure seemed like she wanted me gone.”

  He waves me off. “Don’t take that too personally. It wasn’t really about you.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  He blushes again, unable to make eye contact with me. “Just stuff.”

  My cute guy almighty, he needs to stop with the blushing before I lean over and kiss him.

  Well, huh. The stuff you learn about yourself when you’re actually being yourself. Who would’ve thought shy guys were my thing?

  “Stuff you’re going to tell me?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes at him, which yes, I know is terrible, but I really want to find out why he keeps blushing so much!

  I want to discover all his secrets and explore his science experiment world. Find out why I’m fascinated enough with it—with him—to spend every night perving it up at my window. I’ve wanted to since my family moved in next door to him, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. Scared Queeny would find out. Scared I would like the grass on the other side of the fence. Scared that I’d discover I was supposed to be on the other side of the fence all along. Scared that I’ll never be able to get there because my past ruined my chance.

  He rolls his tongue in his mouth, fighting back laughter. “Is that how you normally get your way with guys? By batting your eyelashes at them?”

  Now I blush. “Maybe. I’ve never had any complaints before.”

  “I’m not complaining … I’m kind of flattered.” He stares at the floor, his cheeks Hot Tamales red. “But I still can’t tell you.”

  “You so sound like Clove. He said that, like, five times to me in the past few days.”

  “We’ve been friends for seven years, so I’m not surprised we sound alike.”

  I scrunch my nose. If that’s how friendships work, then I guess I sound exactly like Queeny.

  “You’re not like her,” he insists, as if reading my mind.

  “You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption. I mean, for all you know, I could be exactly like her and just don’t show my true colors.” The truth scalds my tongue.

  “You’re not like her.” He scoots closer to me until his knee touches mine. “At least, you haven’t always been … And you’re not now, so …” He shrugs.

  “It’s only been three days,” I point out. “That isn’t enough time to make up for all the bad things I’ve done.”

  “Yeah, so then you continue making up for it.”

  “How exactly? I mean, how does a person make up for six years of being a bitch?”

  “By being nice. By trying to undo your wrongs. By not punching Queeny, even when you really want to. And you’ve already done that, so there’s one challenge down already.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” I rest back on my elbows. “In fact, that challenge may be a consistent obstacle that will torment me for the rest of the year.”

  He rotates around to look at me. “I’m sure she’ll let off eventually.”

  I shake my head, staring up at the poster on my ceiling. “No, she won’t. Trust me; I’ve been her friend for six years and have witnessed her wrath multiple times. She doesn’t let go of grudges easily. In fact, I’ve never seen her let anything go.”

  He lies down beside me, propping himself up on his elbow. I try not to go all sugar high, living in Candyland crazy over us lying on my bed together. Granted, we were doing something else besides discussing Queeny in my fantasy.

  “You make her sound so evil. And I know she is … but you were her friend.” His brows knit. “You never saw her do anything nice?”

  “No … Well, she did make the entire school stop calling me Asslynn, but she always held that over my head and acted like I owed her.” And I stupidly paid her back over and over again by doing everything she asked me to do, even really bad things that hurt people. “Some of the things she’s done … Some of the things I’ve helped her do …” Guilt chokes me as I peek over at him. “There’s a lot of bad there.”

  He’s watching me with an unreadable expression and, good golly of all jelly beans, I wish I could read minds, so I knew what he truly thought of me.

  “Why do you think she’s like that?” he asks.

  “You know, I’ve thought about that a lot, and while I’ve never reached a final conclusion, I do have a few theories. But none of them are based on any factual evidence. Just guesses and speculation. One being that she’s too spoiled, and the other being that she’s pretty much a younger version of her mom.”

  His eyes light up, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “What?” I ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes still sparkling. “No reason.�
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  “There is a reason; otherwise, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

  “Maybe this is just how my face always looks.”

  “Ha, ha. I didn’t know you were a comedian.”

  “Fine. I looked at you like that because you sounded so scientific … a lot like some of my friends.” He watches me, as if measuring my reaction.

  “Hmmm … Maybe I’ve been paying too much attention in science class. I should probably stop.”

  He shakes his head. “No, don’t do that. It’s … I …”

  “Wait. Does Maxon Harter have a thing for science lingo? Is that, like, dirty talk for you?” I joke, amused by him being flustered.

  His cheeks flame bright red. “No,” he protests way too firmly. When I grin, he shakes his head, but the annoyance vanishes as a curious smile pulls at his lips. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  I turn on my side, propping up on my elbow. “Doing what?”

  “Use my full name.”

  “I don’t know.” Because it’s what I call you in my mind when I’m stalking you. “I didn’t realize I was doing it. Sorry if it bothers you.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. I’m just curious. And you can keep calling me that if you want to.” He stares down at his hand as he sketches his finger across the patterns of my blanket. “Although, most of my friends just call me Max.”

  “Friends,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like a bundle of nervous giggling girl. “Is that what we are?”

  When he doesn’t answer right away, I wonder if I’ve demolished the beautiful moment we were having by sounding too needy, but then he smiles at me.

  “If you want, we can. I mean, it was the reason I came over here.”

  “Aw, you knocked on my front door to ask me to be your friend?” I tease, while inside my heart is thundering like a stampede of wild mustangs.

  He wants to be my friend? After I called him names, after I blew him off, after I helped Queeny destroy their chance of getting into the science fair at Fareland College. But he doesn’t know that. I need to tell him. Right now.

  “Well, when you put it that way … I sound like an idiot. A childish idiot,” he mumbles at the same time I open my mouth to spill out my darkest secret.

  Like a coward, I let the opportunity fly, fly away, hoping it lands on some remote island where no one ever goes.

  He rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving the strands askew. “Can we just forget I said that?”

  I shake my head. “No way. I think it’s cute.”

  He stares at me with doubt and a hint of embarrassment. “You think it’s cute that I came over here to ask you to be my friend like we’re in kindergarten or something?”

  “What can I say”—I wink at him—“I like guys who go old school.”

  He blushes again, and I vow to myself to embarrass him at least once a day because it’s literally the cutest and most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen.

  He laughs softly. “For some reason, I have a feeling you’re enjoying my discomfort.”

  “Now, why would I do something so mean?” My tone is all kicks and giggles until I realize how true my words would be if I was the Ash I was three days ago. “I’m not trying to be mean. I promise.”

  “I know you’re not.” He pauses then grows all squirmy. “So, will you? Be my friend, I mean.” He shakes his head and mutters something incoherent under his breath. “And pretend I asked you in a way cooler way?”

  I hesitate for a snap of a second, contemplating what being friends with him will mean for whatever social status I have left. Then I kick myself for allowing my thoughts to go there. Dammit! I’m really starting to understand the expression “old habits die hard.”

  “I want to,” I admit. “But only if you really want to be mine. You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

  “I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for you.”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  He chews on his bottom lip. “Well, maybe just a little bit, but it’s not the entire reason.”

  I want to press him for more details, find out the entire reason he’s being nice to me, but then I decide against it for now. Instead, I latch on to his offer like a loner girl in desperate need of friends. Or like a stalker girl who’s, as Lucky puts it, “obsessed” with the guy who lives next door.

  “I’d love to be friends with you, Maxon Harter … Max …” I shake my head. “Nope, Max doesn’t feel right. I think I might just have to call you Maxon.”

  He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “Good.” I sit up in my bed and tuck my feet under my butt. “So, Maxon, what kind of benefits do I get as your new best friend?”

  He sits up, too, crisscrossing his legs. “Honestly, there’s not a lot of benefits. My friends and I don’t do much except work on my projects and do our homework. Sometimes we throw parties, but I’m not sure you’ll like them.”

  I try not to pout. “Why not?”

  He shrugs, staring at my stack of tarot cards. “Because they’re not the kind of parties you used to go to. No one gets drunk or does keg stands. Clove does make a mean M&M shot, though.”

  “What’s an M&M shot?”

  “Basically what it sounds like—M&M’s in a shot glass.”

  I giggle. “Coming from a guy who accused you of stinking like sugar this morning.”

  “Yeah, I know. He’s such a hypocrite, but you’ll get used to it.” He picks up the tarot cards. “So, as your friend, do I get the benefit of a reading?”

  I take the cards from him. “I’ve never actually given someone else a reading. If you want, you can be my first.”

  He nods. “I’ve always been curious to see how accurate these things are.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited,” I tell him, shuffling the deck. “I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

  “Did you just guess how to do it?”

  “No, I watched a YouTube video.” I align the cards then give the deck to him. “Now shuffle and cut the deck.”

  He does what I say then returns the cards to me. “Now what?”

  “Now, we find out what’s going on in your life, in your mind, and in your spiritual realm.” I make a spooky laugh as I flip over the top card then line three below it. Then I nibble on my bottom lip as I study the cards, trying to figure out the meaning.

  “How bad is it?” he asks, leaning forward to observe the cards.

  “Well, you’ll find major success in your life, but not without facing some obstacles,” I tell him, though I’m probably getting some of my info wrong. “And the spirit realm is telling you that you’ll find the great love of your life who you’ll have a deep connection with, but this card right here”—I tap the middle card with my fingertip—“means either your lover will have dark secrets that could ruin your relationship, or it means you have a dark secret that will.” I put on my best interrogation face. “So, Maxon, tell me, do you have any skeletons in your closet that no one else knows about?”

  He shakes his head with an amused smile. “I’m about as boring as they come, so I guess it has to be her.”

  “Well, my advice would be to make any potential dates fill out a background check form and take a lie detector test,” I say, totally joking.

  Sort of.

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever go out on a date.”

  “You say that like you don’t go out on many dates.”

  “That’s because I don’t.” He scratches the corner of his eye, seeming embarrassed. “But I guess that’s a good thing since my future girlfriend could be the next Dexter.”

  “I doubt she’ll have that bad of a secret.” I look down at the card. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Your lack of confidence is making me nervous.”

  “Don’t worry; I think you’re too smart to fall for the next Dexter. And hey, at least Dexter wasn’t a total evil serial killer. He only killed serial killers
, so unless you’re a murderer, you should be safe.”

  A somewhat stunned laugh slips past his lips. “This might be the strangest conversation I’ve ever had, which is saying a lot.”

  I start to laugh, and then scrunch my nose as my phone vibrates from my nightstand. Leaning over, I scoop it up, and then my heart slams into my chest.

  Queeny: Just sent out a lovely photo of you to everyone on my contact list. Next up, I think I’ll phone your brother’s work. You guys don’t need his income, right?

  Another text pings through.

  Queeny: Payback’s a bitch. XoXo

  I gulp down a shaky breath, my chest constricting so tightly I can barely breathe.

  No, Queeny, payback isn’t a bitch. Regret is.

  And I never want to feel it ever again.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m not sure how long I sit on my bed in silence, but enough time passes that Maxon sounds uncomfortable when he finally speaks.

  “Um … Ash? Is everything okay?”

  I tear my eyes off the message, wiping my expression clean of worry. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

  He searches my eyes. “No, it’s not. You wouldn’t look so upset if it was.”

  “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” I clarify, setting the phone down on the bed.

  His gaze roams from my phone to me. “I know I don’t need to worry about it, but maybe I can help.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and lower my feet to the floor. “Queeny just threatened to call my brother’s work and report that he should be drug tested. He’s not a druggie or anything; he just likes to get stoned sometimes. Still, he could get in trouble if his work decides to drug test him.” Maybe even get fired, and then the extra money he chips in for bills will be gone. Then my family will probably have to downgrade again, but I’m not certain how much further down we can go before having nothing left.

  He scoots to the edge of the bed beside me. “Maybe you should tell your brother so he can have a heads up.”

  “I might have to do that. I just hate the idea of stressing him out—or anyone in my family. They’ve been through too much already.” I sigh when he stares at me in puzzlement. “Do you know anything about why we’re living here?”