Read Online The Trouble With Flirting by Claire LaZebnik - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire LaZebnik
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“Just talked?”
“Just talked. It would be too weird to do anything else. I mean, we’re roommates .”
“Yeah, I guess so. Raise your arms.” I pass the tape behind his back and measure his chest.
“Don’t tell me what the number is,” he says. “Everyone makes fun of my concave chest at school.”
“It’s not concave.” But it is pretty narrow, so I write down the number without inflicting it on him.
“Anyway,” he says, leaning back against the wall, “I’m kind of jealous of Alex and Isabella. Me and Raymond—we have to share a bedroom and a bathroom, and that’s just awkward. Especially since they keep serving us Mexican food at dinner . . .” He grimaces. “Stupid burrito night. But Alex and Isabella can just see each other when they’re looking their best, so it’s easy for them to stay romantic.”
“Okay, you’re done,” I say flatly. I’ve suddenly lost the desire to goof around with him. “Tell someone else in the cast to come in here, will you?”
“Sure. Thanks, Franny. See you at dinner?”
I nod. He leaves with a friendly wave, and I slowly—very slowly—roll up the tape measure so I can stall the moment when I have to leave the dressing room and face Amelia out in the office again. I just need a minute.
You know how sometimes you know something, but you pretend you don’t? To yourself, I mean? Lawrence just made me realize I’ve been doing that. For the last few days, Alex and Isabella have managed to sit next to each other at every meal and wander off alone together after dinner, except when she sneaks out for a smoke with Harry and/or Vanessa.
That’s when Alex comes to find me. At least once or twice a day he and I have these amazing talks, reminiscing about people we knew in eighth grade and telling each other about our families. Like I know that he wants to be an architect but that his father wants him to go into law, and that his mother has all these little dogs she’s more comfortable talking to than she is to people, even her own kids. And he knows that my parents try to act like they’re still friends and that I pretend I think they’re still friends, but that it’s obvious they can’t stand to be in the same room together anymore.
Stuff like that. I mean, we really, really talk .
But only when Isabella’s not around.
I get it. She’s beautiful. And sophisticated. And cool. I’m none of those things. But Alex really opens up to me, and that seems like something that could outlast a momentary crush. We’ve all been together only a few days. Isabella makes a stunning first impression, but there’s the whole tortoise and the hare thing, right? And who’s more of a tortoise than me?
But after what Lawrence said, I force myself to watch Alex and Isabella at dinner that night—really watch them together. And I see how she puts her hand on his arm when she wants to make a point and how she pretends to be tired so she can lay her head on his shoulder and how he kind of lays his own head on top of hers. And how she snags french fries off his plate like she has a right to them.
So whatever’s going on between them, it’s progressed a lot more than whatever’s going on between him and me .We’re not eating each other’s food or snuggling up together. We started off talking and we’re still just . . . talking.
It’s a blow. I feel this connection to Alex, and I want it to turn into something. And it could , because we both live in Phoenix and could actually have a future together.
Isabella laughs at something he says and gently brushes her fingertips along his wrist. He nudges her shoulder with his and smiles down at her.
I look away.
Across the table, Julia is making googly-eyes at Harry Cartwright like she always does, but I don’t get the same starting-to-get-serious vibe from the two of them that I’m getting from Isabella and Alex. Which is probably a disappointment to Julia, but I think she’s better off not getting in too deep
“Just talked. It would be too weird to do anything else. I mean, we’re roommates .”
“Yeah, I guess so. Raise your arms.” I pass the tape behind his back and measure his chest.
“Don’t tell me what the number is,” he says. “Everyone makes fun of my concave chest at school.”
“It’s not concave.” But it is pretty narrow, so I write down the number without inflicting it on him.
“Anyway,” he says, leaning back against the wall, “I’m kind of jealous of Alex and Isabella. Me and Raymond—we have to share a bedroom and a bathroom, and that’s just awkward. Especially since they keep serving us Mexican food at dinner . . .” He grimaces. “Stupid burrito night. But Alex and Isabella can just see each other when they’re looking their best, so it’s easy for them to stay romantic.”
“Okay, you’re done,” I say flatly. I’ve suddenly lost the desire to goof around with him. “Tell someone else in the cast to come in here, will you?”
“Sure. Thanks, Franny. See you at dinner?”
I nod. He leaves with a friendly wave, and I slowly—very slowly—roll up the tape measure so I can stall the moment when I have to leave the dressing room and face Amelia out in the office again. I just need a minute.
You know how sometimes you know something, but you pretend you don’t? To yourself, I mean? Lawrence just made me realize I’ve been doing that. For the last few days, Alex and Isabella have managed to sit next to each other at every meal and wander off alone together after dinner, except when she sneaks out for a smoke with Harry and/or Vanessa.
That’s when Alex comes to find me. At least once or twice a day he and I have these amazing talks, reminiscing about people we knew in eighth grade and telling each other about our families. Like I know that he wants to be an architect but that his father wants him to go into law, and that his mother has all these little dogs she’s more comfortable talking to than she is to people, even her own kids. And he knows that my parents try to act like they’re still friends and that I pretend I think they’re still friends, but that it’s obvious they can’t stand to be in the same room together anymore.
Stuff like that. I mean, we really, really talk .
But only when Isabella’s not around.
I get it. She’s beautiful. And sophisticated. And cool. I’m none of those things. But Alex really opens up to me, and that seems like something that could outlast a momentary crush. We’ve all been together only a few days. Isabella makes a stunning first impression, but there’s the whole tortoise and the hare thing, right? And who’s more of a tortoise than me?
But after what Lawrence said, I force myself to watch Alex and Isabella at dinner that night—really watch them together. And I see how she puts her hand on his arm when she wants to make a point and how she pretends to be tired so she can lay her head on his shoulder and how he kind of lays his own head on top of hers. And how she snags french fries off his plate like she has a right to them.
So whatever’s going on between them, it’s progressed a lot more than whatever’s going on between him and me .We’re not eating each other’s food or snuggling up together. We started off talking and we’re still just . . . talking.
It’s a blow. I feel this connection to Alex, and I want it to turn into something. And it could , because we both live in Phoenix and could actually have a future together.
Isabella laughs at something he says and gently brushes her fingertips along his wrist. He nudges her shoulder with his and smiles down at her.
I look away.
Across the table, Julia is making googly-eyes at Harry Cartwright like she always does, but I don’t get the same starting-to-get-serious vibe from the two of them that I’m getting from Isabella and Alex. Which is probably a disappointment to Julia, but I think she’s better off not getting in too deep
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