Read Online Over You by Emma McLaughlin, Nicola Kraus - Free Book Online
Authors: Emma McLaughlin, Nicola Kraus
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as he skated was just for me.”
“Bridget,” Max urges gently. “It’s time.”
With a rip that satisfies Max and Zach, Bridget seals the flaps shut with obvious reluctance.
A few minutes later, with Max’s red bag swung jauntily over his shoulder, Zach escorts Bridget to the multiplex where Shannon will meet her for a horror movie, simultaneously distracting Bridget from running the bikini photo to Taylor’s mail slot and satiating her fantasies of slashing his belongings. Meanwhile, Max, cloaked in Peter’s old ski parka, heads across the street to make contact. From the base of Taylor’s stoop, Max turns to glance over to Bridget’s bedroom windows on the second floor. Perfect. They look completely normal from out here, and there’ll be no temptation. She’ll add this window film discovery to her ever-growing log of tactical resources when she gets home.
Even though the patter of drops has slowed, Max keeps her hood on as she jogs up Taylor’s front steps, box first. She leans her elbow into the bell.
Ben Cooper hears the door buzz from below. Or thinks he does. It’s kind of hard to discern from the club mix pumping out of Taylor’s computer speakers. Especially since Ben’s head is picking up the vibrations from the vantage point of Taylor’s bedroom floor, his socks resting up the wall as he tosses a mini basketball into the sagging hoop clipped to the top of the closet door. Taylor’s dad brought it back from some medical conference when they were kids. They’re taking it with them for their dorm room at Kenyon.
It suddenly strikes Ben that this dorm room will probably feel exactly like this. Ben’s NBA posters will soon be covered by Taylor’s skaters, all frozen forever in mid-rotation over their half-pipes. The thought causes Ben to tense his fingertips on the ball, his nail beds going purple.
Ben can’t even pinpoint when he and Taylor made this plan for Kenyon in the first place. Ben’s dad never went to college. The way Mr. Bradley talked about Kenyon, always cracking himself up, well, Ben’s dad didn’t talk about anything like that.
Up against the mess of his parents’ divorce, it had been comforting to know that he could picture what college was going to look like, he and Taylor taking it on—but the more his dad talks about him coming back to run the store afterward, the more he feels like he knows what the rest of his life is going to look like.
The ball thuds to the floor, narrowly missing Ben’s face. Taylor reaches a foot out to stop it from rolling away without looking up from clicking through Halloween party options. Ben is still figuring out how to break it to Taylor that he can’t party on Halloween. Ben has to take the application workshop from that supposed college genius on November 1 that starts at eight in the freaking morning. A genius with no social life—holla! Mrs. Downing, their college advisor, would choke Ben with one of her paisley scarves if he didn’t show after she “worked her magic” to get him in.
“Dude,” Ben yells over the music. “That your doorbell?”
“What?”
“Doorbell!”
Taylor hits MUTE , and they both listen for a second.
“I’ll get it,” Ben says, happy for a chance to grab some air that is not scented with Taylor’s sneakers. Down in the foyer, Ben pulls open the front door just in time to make out a hooded figure picking up speed as it heads toward Greenwich Avenue.
“Who is it?” Taylor calls from his room.
“Box for you. From a messenger.”
“Grab the Fritos while you’re down there.”
Ben snags the orange bag from over the fridge and brings both to where Taylor waits at the top of the stairs. “A messenger? You sure it isn’t for my dad?”
Ben shrugs, handing it off and popping the chip bag. “Open it.”
Taylor slices through the tape. Opening the flaps with evident curiosity, he lifts out the contents with a strange expression on his face. Ben recognizes Taylor’s sweatshirt, along with
“Bridget,” Max urges gently. “It’s time.”
With a rip that satisfies Max and Zach, Bridget seals the flaps shut with obvious reluctance.
A few minutes later, with Max’s red bag swung jauntily over his shoulder, Zach escorts Bridget to the multiplex where Shannon will meet her for a horror movie, simultaneously distracting Bridget from running the bikini photo to Taylor’s mail slot and satiating her fantasies of slashing his belongings. Meanwhile, Max, cloaked in Peter’s old ski parka, heads across the street to make contact. From the base of Taylor’s stoop, Max turns to glance over to Bridget’s bedroom windows on the second floor. Perfect. They look completely normal from out here, and there’ll be no temptation. She’ll add this window film discovery to her ever-growing log of tactical resources when she gets home.
Even though the patter of drops has slowed, Max keeps her hood on as she jogs up Taylor’s front steps, box first. She leans her elbow into the bell.
Ben Cooper hears the door buzz from below. Or thinks he does. It’s kind of hard to discern from the club mix pumping out of Taylor’s computer speakers. Especially since Ben’s head is picking up the vibrations from the vantage point of Taylor’s bedroom floor, his socks resting up the wall as he tosses a mini basketball into the sagging hoop clipped to the top of the closet door. Taylor’s dad brought it back from some medical conference when they were kids. They’re taking it with them for their dorm room at Kenyon.
It suddenly strikes Ben that this dorm room will probably feel exactly like this. Ben’s NBA posters will soon be covered by Taylor’s skaters, all frozen forever in mid-rotation over their half-pipes. The thought causes Ben to tense his fingertips on the ball, his nail beds going purple.
Ben can’t even pinpoint when he and Taylor made this plan for Kenyon in the first place. Ben’s dad never went to college. The way Mr. Bradley talked about Kenyon, always cracking himself up, well, Ben’s dad didn’t talk about anything like that.
Up against the mess of his parents’ divorce, it had been comforting to know that he could picture what college was going to look like, he and Taylor taking it on—but the more his dad talks about him coming back to run the store afterward, the more he feels like he knows what the rest of his life is going to look like.
The ball thuds to the floor, narrowly missing Ben’s face. Taylor reaches a foot out to stop it from rolling away without looking up from clicking through Halloween party options. Ben is still figuring out how to break it to Taylor that he can’t party on Halloween. Ben has to take the application workshop from that supposed college genius on November 1 that starts at eight in the freaking morning. A genius with no social life—holla! Mrs. Downing, their college advisor, would choke Ben with one of her paisley scarves if he didn’t show after she “worked her magic” to get him in.
“Dude,” Ben yells over the music. “That your doorbell?”
“What?”
“Doorbell!”
Taylor hits MUTE , and they both listen for a second.
“I’ll get it,” Ben says, happy for a chance to grab some air that is not scented with Taylor’s sneakers. Down in the foyer, Ben pulls open the front door just in time to make out a hooded figure picking up speed as it heads toward Greenwich Avenue.
“Who is it?” Taylor calls from his room.
“Box for you. From a messenger.”
“Grab the Fritos while you’re down there.”
Ben snags the orange bag from over the fridge and brings both to where Taylor waits at the top of the stairs. “A messenger? You sure it isn’t for my dad?”
Ben shrugs, handing it off and popping the chip bag. “Open it.”
Taylor slices through the tape. Opening the flaps with evident curiosity, he lifts out the contents with a strange expression on his face. Ben recognizes Taylor’s sweatshirt, along with
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