Love Me, Love Me Not Page 11

  “So, why exactly are we here?” I ask, turning to face him.

  “Michelle? Ring a bell?”

  “We didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

  “It’s my favorite place,” he says with a shrug. “It has lots of good memories.”

  “It is nice. Much more peaceful than on game days.”

  “Yeah. I love all the energy of games, but sometimes I need to come up here by myself to clear my mind.”

  “You needed to clear your mind tonight?”

  “It helps me deal with Michelle,” he says with a grin.

  “She likes you.”

  “Not really. She likes the idea of me.”

  “Huh?”

  He sighs and says, “She’d donate a kidney to land a popular senior as a boyfriend. It doesn’t have to be me. In fact, we have very little in common. She needs to focus on someone else.”

  “Is she always like this?” I stare at his profile. The moonlight casts deep shadows along his nose and cheekbones, making his features look even more chiseled than usual.

  “Not this bad. She’s just jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “You,” he says, turning to face me.

  “Me?” I ask with wide eyes. That’s impossible. No one has ever been jealous of me. “There’s no way.”

  “She’s generally not a fan of girls who are prettier than her.”

  I laugh. “That’s clearly not a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s gorgeous. I’m ordinary.”

  “That’s not the word on the street.”

  My heart drops to Abbie’s silver sandals on my feet. “What street?” With my mom’s reputation for a new boyfriend every week, I don’t want my name attached to any street. Ever.

  “The guys’ locker room.”

  Oh my God. That’s just as bad. Why are they talking about me? I have done nothing since coming here that should make me the subject of trashy locker-room gossip.

  “Don’t worry!” he says, rocking his body into mine as he takes in my petrified face. “It’s nothing bad. A few of the guys were asking me why the cute new girl was hanging out with my parents at games. I told them you’re a family friend and your mom got really sick so you have to stay with us for a while. I kept it vague. One of them wanted to know if he could ask you out,” he says, arching an eyebrow at me. “Aiden. He’s in your creative-writing class. Says you guys talk sometimes.”

  I know who he is. Our teacher makes us partner up almost every day to critique each other’s work. Aiden sits in front of me and always offers to be my partner. He’s nice and has a wild imagination. My stories are about as ordinary as me.

  “I told him you’ve just gotten out of a relationship, so he should wait.”

  “Oh.” That’s true. But even so, I’m not remotely interested in Aiden. He’s good-looking and nice, but I’ve never felt … “it” around him. I’m not exactly sure what “it” is, but if I’m going to date someone, I’d like for thoughts other than “Is this class ever going to end?” going through my mind when we talk.

  “Was that okay?” Brad asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “If you want to go out with him, I can tell him you’re ready.”

  “No,” I mumble. This whole conversation is starting to make me feel uncomfortable.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is the problem Aiden or dating in general?”

  I’m not against dating again, although I would first need to find someone suitable. The only guy who’s gotten even close to making me feel “it” is definitely not suitable. “Why are we talking about this?” I ask, fidgeting on the bench.

  “Just trying to see where your head is.”

  “Why?”

  “I could always take you out on a ‘practice’ date if you think it’d help.”

  He’s got to be kidding. I study his face, but he’s staring straight ahead and gives nothing away. Is he trying to be funny? Supportive? My mind swirls in different directions, but I can’t come up with a good reason for him to say something like that.

  When I don’t answer, he says, “Tell me something good about your childhood.”

  I’m about to object, when he turns toward me and holds up his hand. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing good. You have to have at least one good memory from being a kid.”

  It doesn’t take me long to come up with my best memory growing up. When things got really bad, I used to hold on to that memory like a raft in a raging river. It gave me hope that if I survived the current rapids, we could turn things around again.

  “On Fridays, after school, when I was young, like five or six, my mom used to get me one of those little bottles of Sunny D and a new coloring book and crayons. Then we’d spend an hour together, just me and her, coloring and talking. It was the only time I ever remember her focusing on me.”

  “That’s nice,” he says.

  “It was. Years later, I learned she had to walk to the Dollar Store, three miles round-trip, every Friday to get those things.”

  “She really went out of her way to do something nice for you.”

  “Yeah. It was sweet. Of course…”

  “Stop right there,” he says, holding a finger to my lips. “This is a fun night. Let’s save the negative talk for another time.”

  I know his movement is to shut me up and the casual touch means nothing, but my mind and heart can’t seem to get on the same page. It’s like my heart is sending texts to every cell in my body, telling them to turn to mush. It’s so inappropriate, and I begin to wonder if there’s something seriously wrong with me.

  “Ready to get back to the dance?” he asks. “You looked like you were having fun in there.”

  I think that’s an excellent idea. Any more time out here and I might do or say something really stupid.

  When we reach the main entrance to the gym, he holds the door open for me. I walk through and then wait for him, but he stands outside, waving. “I’ll meet you at the car when it’s over.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You must be repressing Michelle from your memory for some reason.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s not usually this immature. “You’re seriously not coming back in because of her?”

  “Yep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Watch the game,” he says, tilting his head toward a group of guys crowded around a tablet. Their faces are bathed in blue light from whatever is playing. “Have fun!” he says, before strolling over to them.

  I shake my head. Apparently he’s not as mature I thought.

  Wandering through the crowd, I find Brittany and Adam. When they see I’m alone, their dancing becomes PG-rated and they welcome me into their little circle. I can’t stop thinking about Brad. I’ve never had a close guy friend before. It’s different. And confusing. Lines are blurred. Actions are overthought. Reactions, at least on my part, are messed up. It would make me feel better if I thought he was dealing with it, too, but I don’t get that impression. He’s the perfect foster brother and has taken his role seriously.

  So, why can’t I have only sisterly feelings around him?

  What is wrong with me?

  CHAPTER 16

  The cafeteria line crawls today. I tap my foot as I wait for the girl in front of me to decide between pizza and wings. It’s not that hard of a decision. They’re both delicious. She sticks her hand in, almost grabs a slice, but shakes her head and walks away empty-handed. I grab a basket and, after keying in my code, rush toward my usual table.

  I have to talk to Brittany. This whole Brad thing is messing with my head. For the past four nights, I hardly got any sleep as homecoming kept replaying in my mind. I finally decided I needed help. Maybe someone on the outside can provide me with a better perspective and get my stupid hormones in line.

  “Can we talk?” I ask, sliding in next to her and her friends.

  “What’s
up?” she replies.

  I motion for her to follow me to the other end of the table so we can have some privacy.

  “This must be big,” she says, pulling a fruit cup out of her lunch bag.

  “I like Brad.”

  There. I said it. You can’t fix a problem until you admit you have one, right?

  “No kidding,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

  “This is a huge problem!”

  “How so?”

  “He’s my foster brother! What is wrong with me? How can I even think of him like that?”

  She opens her fruit, then says, “Because he’s hot as hell and the nicest guy in school?”

  “And also my brother.”

  “Come on,” she says, waving the plastic lid in her hand. “He’s not really your brother.”

  I stare at her like she’s got a unicorn horn coming out of her forehead. “He is as long as I’m living in his home with his parents. Do you ever think about your foster brother’s gorgeous eyes?”

  She cringes. “No, gross.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Jonas is ten, Hailey.”

  “Oh.” I thought he was older. “I need to figure out a way to only think sister thoughts around him.”

  She empties the fruit cup in three bites. “I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking brotherly thoughts around you.”

  “What? Of course he is. He’s been the perfect big brother.”

  She searches in her lunch bag for something while saying, “I saw the way he looked at you at homecoming.” She pulls out her hand, holding a plastic bag of Oreos. “Michelle wishes she could get that look. Want one?”

  I grab an Oreo. “You’re being ridiculous. He was acting nice. Trying to make me comfortable.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, laying the cookies on the table and reaching down to her backpack on the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Texting a friend. I want to know if there’s a DSS rule about dating your foster sibling.”

  I practically spit out my Oreo. “Of course there is!”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not so sure. They want us to be normal. They aren’t going to tell us we can’t date.”

  “Dating in general is way different from dating the boy whose house you live in.”

  She types a message and then lays her phone on the table. “Maybe.”

  When I’m done with the cookie, I turn to my chicken wings. After swallowing a bite, I ask, “How do you convince yourself a guy is physically repulsive?”

  “Never gonna happen with Brad.”

  “It has to happen.” If not, I’ll end up driving myself crazy.

  Her phone vibrates on the table and she picks it up. After scanning the screen, she says, “Bummer.”

  “What?” I ask, licking sauce off my fingers and craning my neck to see her phone.

  “There were two foster kids in the same house who started dating a while back. DSS moved one of them somewhere else. So, you’ve got to decide—Brad or your placement.”

  “There’s nothing to decide. Brad’s not into me. I just need to get my hormones under control.”

  She smiles. “Maybe if you convince yourself he’s a serial killer?”

  I frown. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  *

  Later that afternoon, I get to try Brittany’s idea when Brad comes home from school. I’m sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework like usual when he walks through the door, hair still wet from a shower after practice. He’s wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts, which reminds me of that first morning when I watched him working out. He still looks just as good, if not better, and I force my eyes to the side.

  “Hey, Hailey,” he says, hanging up his backpack.

  “Hey.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “In her office. She’s negotiating on a new piece of art.”

  After strolling over to the oven where Gigi has a roast baking, he opens the door and looks inside. I stare at his back and try to convince myself he might have murderous tendencies, but it’s impossible.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks, joining me at the table. I blush, realizing I must have been staring at him the entire time.

  “Oh, sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  “About what?”

  “Chemistry,” I say, lowering my gaze to the book in front of me.

  “Chemistry does that to me, too. Calculating the number of moles in a gram of hydrochloric acid is just so exciting.”

  “Zero-point-zero-three.” I only know because that was the last problem I did.

  He smirks as he sits down. “You’re such a nerd.”

  “That means a lot coming from the straight-A student.”

  He grins at me again. “Soooo,” he says, drawing out the word. “I was thinking about our talk at homecoming and…”

  I sit back in my chair, fold my arms across my chest, and wait for him. I assume he’s going to talk about Michelle. As far as I know, they still haven’t discussed his lack of interest. Maybe he needs help coming up with a way to let her down easy.

  “You know that practice date I mentioned?”

  My eyes grow wide and my arms drop to my sides. No, no, no, I silently pray. Let’s not talk about this.

  “Uh-huh,” I say with a gulp.

  “How about tomorrow? We have a half day, and I don’t have football. The timing is perfect.”

  “I don’t think I need a practice date.”

  “Sure you do. Aiden could ask you out any day.”

  That would be just my luck. “I don’t want to go out with Aiden.”

  “Why not? He’s nice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “According to the girls, he’s good-looking.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “He’s not my type,” I say with a shrug, and turn the page in my chemistry book. My eyes scan the page, but I don’t bother to make sense of the words. I wish he would just drop the subject. Why is this so important to him?

  “What’s your type?”

  I shrug again.

  “Chase?”

  “No.” I wouldn’t say he was necessarily my type as much as someone who filled a void I desperately needed. It probably could’ve been filled by anyone who gave me a little bit of attention.

  “What is it then?”

  “Brad,” I say with a deep breath, and then close my book. “I’m not comfortable talking to you about this. I’m sorry.”

  Leaving him in the kitchen, I climb the stairs and spend the next thirty minutes in my room while I wait for dinner. It was a wimpy thing to do, but I never claimed to be strong. If I’m going to survive around him, I need to know when to walk away.

  *

  Luckily, everything returns to normal, and it’s as if he never mentioned the practice date when he drives me to school and we pass in the hallways during our half day. After the early-dismissal bell rings, I go to the front of the building and wait for him like usual.

  I take a seat on a bench and watch as other students are picked up by parents. After ten minutes, when only a handful of us remain, I start to get worried. Brad’s generally out here by now. I glance back to the door but don’t see him. I do, however, see a scowling Michelle.

  She immediately starts doing something on her phone, although I’m pretty sure she saw me. Regardless, she walks to the other side of the waiting area from me and leans against the wall, still playing on her phone.

  Since she’s ignoring me, I have no problem doing the same. I focus back on the line of cars, as students, one by one, head out to enjoy their free afternoon. It’s a gorgeous, sunny day, and I think about what I could do. I could do my homework outside. Or read a book on the Campbells’ hammock. Or take a nap.

  The last car pulls up, then drives away, leaving only me and Michelle. I glance in her direction again, but she’s angled away from me as if purposely trying to prete
nd she doesn’t see me. It’s ridiculous. We’re only ten feet from each other. Obviously, she knows I’m here.

  “Hey, Michelle,” I finally say, trying to be nice.

  Her head snaps up, as if she’s truly surprised to hear my voice. I have to fight the eye roll.

  “Oh, hey, Hailey,” she says.

  When she doesn’t say anything else, I add, “What’s up?”

  “Just waiting on my mom.”

  I nod. “I’m waiting on Brad. He’s usually out here by now.”

  “Have you texted him?”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  Her eyes light up. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  “I don’t mind,” she says, suddenly chatty. She frantically moves her fingers over the screen of her phone and then lowers it. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

  “Thanks,” I reply. Kind of. It would be nice to know where he is, but we both know the reason she offered and it has nothing to do with helping me.

  She nods and then gets quiet again. After a moment, she bites her lip and shifts from one foot to the other.

  “Want to sit down?” I offer, scooting to the edge of the bench.

  She shakes her head.

  We’re silent for another moment before she picks up her phone and looks at the screen. “He says his calculus teacher was nagging him to enter a math competition. He’s on his way out now.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

  We’re silent again, and it feels so incredibly awkward that I have to say something. “So, any plans for the afternoon?”

  She twists her lips, as if thinking about what to say, then shakes her head. “Nope.”

  More silence. More awkwardness.

  “How long have you and Abbie been friends?” I ask. It’s the only thing I could come up with.

  “Since preschool.”

  “That’s nice.”

  More silence. We seem totally unable to have a real conversation.

  “I like your shoes,” I offer. They’re black ankle boots that look brand-new.

  “Thanks.” She picks up her phone and starts typing again, making it clear she doesn’t mind the silence between us.

  I make a face at her since she’s clearly not paying attention to me, then glance back to the door, just as Brad strolls through. Finally.