Read Online Promposal by Rhonda Helms - Free Book Online Page A

open and began writing a few notes.
    Okay. Succinct as ever. I shoved down the flare of disappointment in his deliberate lack of attention toward me. Obviously, he wanted to make sure I didn’t get any further mixed signals. Message received, dude. I made a mental note to stop acting so interested in whatever he was doing.
    â€œMall it is, then.” I summed up what our chosen activities would be on the paper. “And what are our expected outcomes?” We were supposed to predict what we thought people would do, record the actual reactions, then compare and discuss it all.
    â€œI think old people will freak out,” Carter offered with a mumble.
    I gave an enthusiastic nod at him, glad he was actually participating for once. I wrote his answer down. “Yeah, probably so.”
    â€œProbably get mixed reactions from younger people, but they might laugh more than anything,” Benjamin offered, his attention still focused on his notebook. The page now had the start of some ornate line work in the margins. As he lifted it to flip to a new page, I saw a book tucked underneath.
    I couldn’t help it; I tilted my head and peered at the title. The Canterbury Tales, written in a fancy swirling medieval script, and I saw the top of a woman’s headdress near the upper-right corner. Interesting choice of reading material.
    â€œAre you two free on Sunday?” Benjamin asked, and I blinked and looked away from his desk, guilty at having been caught staring, despite my promise to myself not five minutes ago. So much for acting disinterested in him. I was lame.
    I nodded in response to his question.
    Carter did as well. He sighed and leaned his head against his hand. Apparently, nodding was hard work for him.
    â€œLet’s meet at noon. In the food court.” Benjamin dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair, rubbed the back of his neck.
    â€œSounds good.” Curiosity burned in my belly as I peeked once again at the book on his desk. “What are you reading?” I asked, even though I obviously knew the answer. I nodded toward the book hidden under his notebook. The real question I wanted to ask was why , but that seemed too open-ended and risky.
    â€œIt’s for English, but I read it last year during Christmas break. The Canterbury Tales . ” Benjamin was in advanced English, whereas I was in honors. Different curriculum material. “Have you read it? It’s written in Middle English, but it comes with a translation.” He took it out and showed me the cover, with a bunch of medieval people riding horses across a hilly landscape.
    Apparently, all I needed to do to get him to talk was discuss books. Interesting. “No, our English teacher is firmly contemporary.” Ms. Wickliffe preferred for our class to read more modern material, from the twentieth century on. No translations needed in hopes that we’d enjoy the reading more. Plus, as a hard-core feminist, she was super vocal about avoiding the works of dead white guys as much as possible.
    His shrug was casual, but I saw a flare of something deeper in his eyes. “It’s actually funny. Lots of bawdy old jokes. ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ is one of my favorites.”
    â€œThat sounds cool. Did you—” I stopped myself right in the nick of time from blurting out to ask if he’d gotten the note with my number. What was with me?
    He blinked. “Did I what?”
    I shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind.” If he did get it, I didn’twant to know why he didn’t reply. And if he didn’t get it for some reason, maybe it was better that way.
    He stared at me for a moment, and I fought the urge to squirm. I just kept my chin up and stared back, like nothing was bothering me. This guy had to suspect he was getting to me, and for some stubborn reason, I didn’t want him to know.
    After a moment, I saw the edges of a smile creep across his face. “Okay. Be