Read Online Nothing Like You by Lauren Strasnick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Strasnick
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farther away we drove.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?” said Nils, buckling his seat belt.
“Why’d you just leave her there like that? Didn’t you guys have plans?”
“I guess.” He picked at a microscopic zit on his chin. “We have plans every day, though. And she was annoying me.”
“Annoying you how?”
“Holly, it’s not that big a deal. I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t just the psychic thing. She’s been bugging me all week.” He rolled up his window. “Anyways, I’ll see her tomorrow.”
We drove and we drove and we drove without talking, then I slowed the car to a stop, slipped the stick shift into neutral and tugged on the emergency brake. We were home. “Do
I
annoy you?” I asked, laughing in an effort to undercut the desperation in my voice.
Nils unbuckled his seat belt and turned his whole body toward me. “Why would you ask me that?”
I shrugged, turning off the ignition. “Just suddenly feeling a little … I dunno. I need a boost, please.”
“Holly. You don’t ever annoy me. You could never annoy me.”
I looked at him.
“Day after day and I never get sick of seeing your face,” he said, grabbing me by my chin. Then he looked at me in this funny way that made my stomach go bananas. I don’t know why. And he must have felt it too, because after that he snatched his hand away superquick and got out of the car.
Most of that weekend I kept to myself. I lay on the couch with Harry and watched
Mystery!
on PBS. I went to the farmers’ market with Jeff and bought corn and heirloom tomatoes and homemade soap.
I hadn’t spoken to Paul since Friday under the bleachers. So when it came time for World History/arts and crafts, Monday morning, I made it a point to be super friendly to Saskia. Just to spite him, I guess.
“How was your weekend?” I asked, looking down at our collage.
“Oh, good. I just … I went shopping with my mom and my brother on Saturday,” she said, shaking a bottle of Elmer’s glue down and around, slamming the narrow orange bottle tip against her desk. “Is this thing empty?” she asked, unscrewing its lid and peering inside. “It’s empty,” she concluded, tossing the bottle aside. “Sunday was fun, though.” She was grinning now, absentmindedly runningher fingertip over the pointy corner on our poster board. “I spent the day with Paul.”
My stomach lurched.
“What about you?” she asked. She was wearing this tattered gray sweatshirt that was sort of frayed at the collar and I wondered whether it had been distressed by some trendy clothes manufacturer or by good old-fashioned time and abuse.
“Oh, I don’t—it was quiet.” I shrugged. “I just hung out with my dad and the dog.”
Saskia flashed her teeth and handed me a photocopied cutout from our textbook. I coated the back with rubber cement and flattened it to the collage.
“What about your boyfriend?” she asked.
“Boyfriend?” I knew she couldn’t have been asking about Paul. Still, I got goose bumps.
“Yeah, that guy Nils.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Nils isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Really?”
“Nope.”
Saskia pursed her lips and then I held our collage out at arm’s length. We were halfway through our time line. “Now that right there …”
“A masterpiece,” she deadpanned, grabbing the rubber cement off my desk.
This is the exact moment when I really started liking her,watching her push her hair behind her ears, painting paper with rubber cement. She was nothing like I thought she’d be. She had a personality. “You’re nothing like I thought,” I said.
She looked at me crooked, raising an eyebrow. “Why? What’d you think I was like?”
“You know.” I touched my hair. “The hair and the clothes. I just thought …”
“You thought what?” She screwed the cap back on the glue, her
“Why’d you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?” said Nils, buckling his seat belt.
“Why’d you just leave her there like that? Didn’t you guys have plans?”
“I guess.” He picked at a microscopic zit on his chin. “We have plans every day, though. And she was annoying me.”
“Annoying you how?”
“Holly, it’s not that big a deal. I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t just the psychic thing. She’s been bugging me all week.” He rolled up his window. “Anyways, I’ll see her tomorrow.”
We drove and we drove and we drove without talking, then I slowed the car to a stop, slipped the stick shift into neutral and tugged on the emergency brake. We were home. “Do
I
annoy you?” I asked, laughing in an effort to undercut the desperation in my voice.
Nils unbuckled his seat belt and turned his whole body toward me. “Why would you ask me that?”
I shrugged, turning off the ignition. “Just suddenly feeling a little … I dunno. I need a boost, please.”
“Holly. You don’t ever annoy me. You could never annoy me.”
I looked at him.
“Day after day and I never get sick of seeing your face,” he said, grabbing me by my chin. Then he looked at me in this funny way that made my stomach go bananas. I don’t know why. And he must have felt it too, because after that he snatched his hand away superquick and got out of the car.
Most of that weekend I kept to myself. I lay on the couch with Harry and watched
Mystery!
on PBS. I went to the farmers’ market with Jeff and bought corn and heirloom tomatoes and homemade soap.
I hadn’t spoken to Paul since Friday under the bleachers. So when it came time for World History/arts and crafts, Monday morning, I made it a point to be super friendly to Saskia. Just to spite him, I guess.
“How was your weekend?” I asked, looking down at our collage.
“Oh, good. I just … I went shopping with my mom and my brother on Saturday,” she said, shaking a bottle of Elmer’s glue down and around, slamming the narrow orange bottle tip against her desk. “Is this thing empty?” she asked, unscrewing its lid and peering inside. “It’s empty,” she concluded, tossing the bottle aside. “Sunday was fun, though.” She was grinning now, absentmindedly runningher fingertip over the pointy corner on our poster board. “I spent the day with Paul.”
My stomach lurched.
“What about you?” she asked. She was wearing this tattered gray sweatshirt that was sort of frayed at the collar and I wondered whether it had been distressed by some trendy clothes manufacturer or by good old-fashioned time and abuse.
“Oh, I don’t—it was quiet.” I shrugged. “I just hung out with my dad and the dog.”
Saskia flashed her teeth and handed me a photocopied cutout from our textbook. I coated the back with rubber cement and flattened it to the collage.
“What about your boyfriend?” she asked.
“Boyfriend?” I knew she couldn’t have been asking about Paul. Still, I got goose bumps.
“Yeah, that guy Nils.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Nils isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Really?”
“Nope.”
Saskia pursed her lips and then I held our collage out at arm’s length. We were halfway through our time line. “Now that right there …”
“A masterpiece,” she deadpanned, grabbing the rubber cement off my desk.
This is the exact moment when I really started liking her,watching her push her hair behind her ears, painting paper with rubber cement. She was nothing like I thought she’d be. She had a personality. “You’re nothing like I thought,” I said.
She looked at me crooked, raising an eyebrow. “Why? What’d you think I was like?”
“You know.” I touched my hair. “The hair and the clothes. I just thought …”
“You thought what?” She screwed the cap back on the glue, her
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