The Unexpected Way of Falling in Love, Page 4

  “That’s cool,” I manage to get out, then turn for the door, ready to get the hell away from Carter and his penetrating, amused gaze. But he snags my arm and stops me.

  I’m not sure he’s actually ever touched me before. Well, not on purpose, anyway. The skin-to-skin contact unleashes goose bumps all over my skin, and it takes all of my inner willpower not to shiver. I loathe my body’s reaction.

  This is just a stupid crush, stupid body, so chill the eff out!

  “And I was thinking,” Carter says with his hand still on my arm. “Maybe you’d like to come with me.”

  I blink. Huh? Did he just say what I think he did?

  Then I mentally smack myself. He’s playing you, you moron! Don’t fall for his shit!

  I peer over my shoulder at him. “You want me to come to your party?”

  He nods, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Yeah, as my date. My first date ever, actually, so you should consider it a double honor.”

  I mentally roll my eyes. Arrogant much?

  I part my lips to tell him no thank you, but then Elodie appears at the top of the stairs, waving her hands at me like a mad lunatic. Gaige moves up beside her, shaking his head, as if he’s so over this.

  That makes two of us.

  “Do it!” Elodie mouths, then gives me a thumbs-up.

  I grit my teeth. No freakin’ way. Sure, I may have agreed to her plan, but the last thing I want to do is accept a date invitation from Carter when he’s only toying with me. That’s not a good way to start this plan.

  As if reading my mind, Elodie mouths, “Trust me.”

  I hate the word trust. Anyone can just throw it around without any real meaning behind it. Trust me, I’ve been screwed over a lot by trust. But never by Elodie.

  Summoning every ounce of strength I possess, I face Carter. “Okay, count me in.” Then I wiggle my arm from his grip and run like hell out the front door.

  Yep, it’s a great way to start getting a guy to fall madly in love with you, but hey, at least he can’t retract his invite.

  Well, at the moment, anyway.

  If he doesn’t, though, that means I might actually have to go on a date with him.

  Shit. I’m in way over my head.

  Seven

  Ensley

  My phone buzzes like a lunatic as my mom and I make the twenty-minute drive home from Elodie’s house. I don’t bother checking my messages. Either they’re from Elodie with details of the plan, or from Carter, rejecting his date invite. Right now, I don’t want to deal with either. What I want is to go back to ten minutes ago and not agree to be Carter’s date to the party.

  Yep, reality is washing over me in a harsh wave. No, scratch that. A fucking tsunami.

  I’m going to throw up.

  “What’s wrong, hon?” Mom asks as she steers the car down the road. “You look a little pale.”

  “I feel a little pale,” I mumble, resting my forehead against the cool, glass window. “I think I might be getting sick.” Sick of my mouth and my inability to say no.

  Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she reaches over with her free hand and places her palm to my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I have a fever.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  I inaudibly sigh. I love my mom to death and she’s crazy cool—she even knows about my crush on Carter—but I’m not about to tell her what Elodie and I are up to. Besides, I already know what she’d say. My mom’s too kind to ever think that plan would be okay. She might be right, too.

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “I think I just ate some bad cheese at lunch.”

  “Bad cheese?” She eyes me over with her big, green eyes that are almost identical to mine. That’s about where our similarities stop.

  My mom’s hair is blonde and straight, while my hair is brown and has so many waves that even a flat iron can’t tame it. And her body type is short and curvy in a way a lot of people think is cute, while I’m tall and gangly in a way a lot of people think is freakishly weird.. It makes sharing clothes a pain in the ass, which sucks because my mom has awesome taste. Seriously, rock goddess worthy. She’s also really pretty, something we definitely don’t have in common. Even now, when she’s wearing her work clothes and her hair is in a messy bun, she looks great.

  “Yeah, you know, that stuff made out of milk that you put on sandwiches and pizza,” I joke, forcing a smile.

  She narrows her eyes at me, but it’s a playful move. “I know what cheese is, Ens. I was just wondering how on earth you could’ve gotten sick off of cheese. It seems a little weird.”

  “Nah, not really.” I straighten in the seat. “Elodie’s gotten sick off of bad cheese multiple times.”

  My mom’s brow arches. “How is that even possible?”

  I shrug. “The girl’s obsessed with cheese. She even goes to cheese tastings sometimes.” And nope, I’m not shitting her or you.

  My mom blinks a few times, probably trying to process the weirdness of a teenage girl who likes cheese tastings. “Elodie’s kind of an odd one, isn’t she?”

  I give a half-shrug. “We both are. Always have been.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She flips on her headlights with a musing look on her face. “I bet it drives Caroline crazy.”

  Caroline is Elodie’s mom, who neither my mom, me, or Elodie is a huge fan of. I swear, the woman has a permanent stick shoved so far up her ass that not even surgery could remove it.

  “It does,” I tell my mom, propping my boots onto the dashboard. “The last time she went to one, her mom freaked out and threw away all the cheese in the house.”

  My mom shakes her head. “Well, that’s just silly. And wasteful.”

  “Totally,” I agree. “But I don’t think Caroline’s ever worried about being wasteful.”

  “That’s not true.” My mom makes the turn into our two-story apartment complex.

  I lower my feet to the floor. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs as she steers the car into a parking space. “I just know where Caroline comes from, and it wasn’t money.”

  Interesting. “So, she got rich when she married Elodie’s dad?”

  Shaking her head, my mom silences the engine. “Nope.” I start to open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. “That’s all I’m going to tell you, so don’t even ask.”

  I pout. “Well, that’s just silly.”

  “Gossiping is silly and mean, and we aren’t silly or mean people.” She pats my head like I’m a dog, then opens her door to get out. “Now, come on; I’m making grilled cheese for dinner.” She laughs at her silly joke as she gets out.

  Her words hover in the air, though.

  We aren’t silly or mean people?

  She might not be, but I wonder about myself. After what I agreed to do today …

  What kind of a person does that make me?

  Eight

  Ensley

  I spend the rest of the night eating grilled cheese sandwiches with my mom and pretending to watch television while secretly overanalyzing my character and letting my phone continue to buzz with incoming calls.

  Am I mean? Is what I’m doing to Carter mean? In theory, it seems mean, but Carter is such an asshole… Doesn’t that mean that being mean to him isn’t mean?

  Holy shit, that’s a lot of means. Maybe it’s a sign.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” my mom asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  I tear my attention off the television and blink at her. “What?”

  She gives a pressing look at the coffee table where my phone is ringing. “Your phone.”

  “Um …” I stare at my phone like it’s the devil, knowing the only person who calls me is Elodie and my mom. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk to Elodie yet. Not when she’s going to be all yeah, this is super awesome. And I’ll be like, this is the worst idea of yours I’ve ever agreed to. I’m so screwed! “I don’t know.”

  She gives me a curious look
. “Are you sure everything’s okay? It’d suck if you got sick right before the graduation ceremony. And all because you ate some bad cheese.” Her insinuating tone implies that she doesn’t buy into my bad cheese story.

  Damn my mom and her built-in lie detector senses.

  Not wanting to explain the truth to her, I scoop up my phone. “Yeah, everything’s great. I was just waiting for a commercial break before I answered it.”

  She studies me with suspicion but I slip out of the room before she can start playing mom detective. Once I’m in the hallway, I answer.

  “El, I love you to death, but that so wasn’t cool,” I hiss into the phone as I duck into my bedroom and close the door.

  “Ummm …” The deep voice definitely doesn’t belong to Elodie.

  “Gaige?” I try again.

  “Nope. Try again.” Now the male caller seems more amused now than confused.

  I move my phone away from my ear to check who the caller is, but the number is listed as unknown.

  Okay, then …

  Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Is it Creepy Larry from the pool?”

  A pause.

  “What?” The person says through laughter. “That’s your third choice? Seriously?”

  Oh, fuckety fuck, I know that laugh.

  “Carter.” WTFFFFF?

  “Aw, you got it on the fourth try.” His teasing tone is making me edgy. “I’m a little hurt I came after Creepy Larry from the pool. He doesn’t sound that important.”

  “Oh, but he is.” I literally have no idea what’s going on. “He’s been a huge part of my life and taught me a life lesson that not all people hanging out at the pool are there to swim. And that I should be extra careful around guys who wear yellow nut huggers.”

  “What?” His amusement has faded and is replaced by shock and a little bit of concern.

  I sink down on the edge of my bed. “Sorry. Long story.”

  The silence that fills the line is painfully awkward, but I don’t know what to say since I have no damn idea why he’s calling me. Unless he’s retracting his date offer.

  Yep, that’s probably it.

  “Well, maybe you can tell me the story next Friday,” he suggests, breaking the silence.

  “Next Friday?” I sound like such an echo. A moronic echo.

  “Yeah, on our date.” He gives a pause, as if waiting for me to say something. “You know, to my party next Friday night.”

  “I know what you meant.” I choose my next words very carefully, feeling as though I’m walking into a trap. Because I’ve seen the games Carter and his friends play with people they think are beneath them. And I’m one of those people. “I thought that was a joke. The party invite, I mean.”

  “If you thought it was a joke, then why did you agree?”

  I nervously chew on my thumbnail. “I was joking, too.”

  “Well, doesn’t a joke cancel out a joke?” He sounds way too entertained.

  “Which would mean nothing happened at all.”

  “Or it means that everything that happened was completely serious.”

  “Or completely false.”

  He chuckles. “Man, you’re a tough one to go up against. Normally, people don’t keep me on my toes.”

  “That’s because, normally, they’re on their knees, kissing your ass.” I slap my hand over my mouth. Why did I just say that!

  He chuckles again. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?”

  I release a slow breath. “So, you’re admitting you know people kiss your ass?”

  “Of course I’m admitting it,” he says shamelessly. “I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit it.”

  “Or just oblivious.”

  “I’m definitely not oblivious.” His tone conveys an underlying meaning.

  Crap. Did he somehow find out about the plan?

  “That might not be a good thing,” I say uneasily. “I mean, if you’re aware of everything, then that means you’re responsible for everything.”

  “Everything?” he teases. “Man, that’s a lot of responsibility to put on one individual. Talk about the weight of the world being on my shoulders. Literally.”

  “I don’t think the weight of the world can literally be on your shoulders. It’s physically and scientifically impossible.”

  “I don’t know. If I’m responsible for everything, then why can’t the weight of the world actually be on my shoulders? They both seem about even in terms of plausibility.”

  “I didn’t mean everything in the sense of everything,” I clarify, lying down on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I meant everything in the sense of everything that you do.”

  “Well, maybe you should’ve been more specific,” he teases. “Because, in a literal sense, everything means everything.”

  “Well, maybe you should stop taking things so literally, then.”

  “Yeah, I might have to try that.” He grows quiet, and then starts laughing. “Okay, I give up. You are officially the winner of round one in this little game.”

  God, if he only knew the literal truth of his words. Or maybe he does. Perhaps he knows about Elodie’s plan and this is his way of getting back at us—by messing with my mind.

  “Carter, I don’t want to come off as rude or anything—”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “Um … What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re not a rude person,” he clarifies, seeming dead serious. “So, I’m sure you never want to come off as rude.”

  I push up on my elbows, confusion doing the disco in my brain. “Why do you think I’m not rude? Because sometimes I say rude things to you. Like today at school, when I gave you the definition of a pretty boy.”

  “That wasn’t you, though.”

  “Um, yeah, it was. Or did you think Elodie was some sort of ventriloquist and speaking for me? Because FYI, she isn’t. Although, it’d be sort of cool if she was.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks curiously.

  I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Then I wouldn’t ever have to talk.”

  Silence fills the line, and I mentally kick my own ass. See? This is why I don’t open my mouth very often. I suck at socializing. I’m awkward. A freak.

  “So, is that why you’re so quiet?” he finally asks. “Because you don’t like to talk.”

  “I guess so.” I don’t elaborate, figuring I’ve already given him too much information about myself already. God knows how he’s going to use this against me.

  “Hmmm …” He gives a brief pause. “I always wondered about that.”

  “Wondered about what?”

  “Why you’re so quiet.”

  My jaw involuntarily ticks, and for a crazy instant, I consider telling him that what he said to me in grade school added to my inability to function normally on a social level. But I don’t like blaming other people for my spastic, social awkwardness. And whether Carter teased me or not, I’d probably still be the quiet girl that I am now. It’s just how I was born.

  Even back in preschool, I can remember fearing show and tell, because it meant that I had to stand up in front of the class and talk. My mom says I inherited that lovely little trait from my dad. It’s one of the very few things she’s told me about him.

  I’m not sure what happened between the two of them, why he decided to bail, or where he went, but sometimes, when I’m walking down the street and pass an older guy who has the same eye color as me, I wonder if he’s my dad. I know it’s pathetic and more than likely my dad isn’t living in Fareland, but I can’t seem to break the habit. A stupid habit, too, since I get my eye color from my mom.

  “You should do it more often,” Carter says, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re not too bad at it.”

  “Talking?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, talking. I mean, I know I’ve only been talking to you for, like, five minutes, but you don’t seem too awful at it.”

  “Give me ten minutes and we’ll see if you still think that.”

 
“Sounds like a deal,” he says through a soft, amused laugh. “So, what do you want to talk about for the next five minutes?”

  I shrug again, even though he still can’t see me. Seriously, I have awkward social skills even while talking on the phone. “You could always start by telling me why you called … And how you got my number.”

  “I got your number from Elodie,” he explains, and I shake my head. I should’ve known. “As for your other question … That answer is a bit more complicated.”

  “Okay …?” How am I supposed to respond to that? I literally have no idea. And yes, I mean that in the literal sense. “Maybe if you told me, then it wouldn’t be so complicated.”

  “Or maybe it’d make things even more complicated.”

  “How?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be able to tell what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, no one can tell what anyone’s thinking. Unless you have telepathy … Do you?” Did I just ask him if he was a mind reader? Face palm.

  See, Elodie? This is why your plan is never going to work.

  Carter chuckles for the tenth time since he called me, and I’m starting to question the reasoning behind his alleged amusement.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t. But it would be cool,” he tells me after he gets his chuckling under control.

  “Yeah, it would,” I agree. “Elodie and I tried to do it once.”

  “Read each other’s minds?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Well, we thought it did for a while, until we both realized we were just thinking about the same thing. For a couple of nine-year-olds, it was very disappointing and kind of crushed my dream of becoming a superhero.”

  “You wanted to be a superhero who reads minds?” he questions. “How would that save the world from evil?”

  “I wasn’t going to save the world from evil. I was going to save people who were hurting and not talking about it.”