conclusion.”
It was my turn to snort. “I think you had too much Jungle Juice.”
Trish turned on her back, plunked her feet up against the wall, and let her head hang over the edge of the bed. “Firstly, he doesn’t let anyone within spitting distance of his bike, but he voluntarily picks you up for school. Secondly, he does his crazy superman stunt off the hayloft and who does he look at when he lands? You. ”
I thought I’d imagined that. Guess not.
“Not only that, he comes to your rescue— again , I might add—when that guy kissed you.” She glanced down at me. “How was he, by the way?”
“A dream come true,” I said dryly. “Lots of saliva to keep it smooth.”
She laughed, then shuddered. “Gross. Anyway. After that, he hauls you back to the let’s-get-busy room and I don’t see you again until he’s dragging you out the front door. Call me crazy, but that looks like he’s pretty freaking interested .”
When she put it like that, it made sense. But she was wrong.
“Even if he wasn’t gay—which he is—I think I’d know if he saw me as anything other than, like, his crazy little sister. I’m new to Stony Creek. I’m an orphan. I live with my aunt and uncle. I don’t really belong here. Adrian’s an orphan, he lives with his aunt and uncle, and the only place he’d blend in is a runway in Milan.”
Trish looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “I still say he wants to get in your pants.”
“It’s not like that!” I replied more forcefully than I’d intended. “He’s just … just not … not…” I couldn’t even come up with what he wasn’t, he was so not whatever it was Trish was making him out to be.
“Ahh,” said Trish with a grin. “ There’s the reaction I was looking for. You like him.”
I paled. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do not. I barely know him.”
“Who,” Trish said, “besides your aunt and uncle and Norah, do you spend the most time with in Stony Creek? And don’t say me, because if that’s true, it’s sad.”
I thought about it. “He lives near me, so he gives me a ride to school, and we’re in the same study hall, so we talk.”
Trish just looked at me.
“But sometimes we don’t talk! Sometimes we sit. And read.” She smiled at me and I frowned at her. “I’m making your point for you, aren’t I?”
“I’m just saying, it would make sense if you liked him.” She yawned and stretched. “Or maybe I’m full of shit; I dunno. See you in the morning.” And she rolled over and fell asleep.
I crawled over to the air mattress we’d blown up earlier and slipped inside the faded Beauty and the Beast sleeping bag. My curls had deflated, and I was sure I had mascara all over my face, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Trish had a point. We were alike. But so what? He’d graduate in eight months and go who knows where. I’d graduate the year after and go to New York. We’d probably never see each other again. Not that any of that mattered, because I was still convinced he didn’t like me—or women in general—so the whole conversation was pointless.
Sleep pressed down on me like a weight, like a dozen feet of water and dark silence and I slipped into a dream, snuggled in Adrian’s clothes.
* * *
Monday morning, the house smelled good, like pine and wood smoke and cinnamon. The rain outside drizzled down in tufts of mist as the wind blew lightly through the forest surrounding the house. I was downstairs in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of coffee when Rachel walked in, smiling.
“Hope you had a good time at Trish’s. You didn’t say much when you got home.”
I shrugged, already bristling. “It was fun.”
Rachel had not given up on her attempts to be cheerful and welcoming. I hadn’t given up on being really, really mad at her.
“I’m glad you’ve made a friend,” she said. “Maybe you could invite her over sometime. Maybe to your birthday party?”
I looked up sharply.
It was my turn to snort. “I think you had too much Jungle Juice.”
Trish turned on her back, plunked her feet up against the wall, and let her head hang over the edge of the bed. “Firstly, he doesn’t let anyone within spitting distance of his bike, but he voluntarily picks you up for school. Secondly, he does his crazy superman stunt off the hayloft and who does he look at when he lands? You. ”
I thought I’d imagined that. Guess not.
“Not only that, he comes to your rescue— again , I might add—when that guy kissed you.” She glanced down at me. “How was he, by the way?”
“A dream come true,” I said dryly. “Lots of saliva to keep it smooth.”
She laughed, then shuddered. “Gross. Anyway. After that, he hauls you back to the let’s-get-busy room and I don’t see you again until he’s dragging you out the front door. Call me crazy, but that looks like he’s pretty freaking interested .”
When she put it like that, it made sense. But she was wrong.
“Even if he wasn’t gay—which he is—I think I’d know if he saw me as anything other than, like, his crazy little sister. I’m new to Stony Creek. I’m an orphan. I live with my aunt and uncle. I don’t really belong here. Adrian’s an orphan, he lives with his aunt and uncle, and the only place he’d blend in is a runway in Milan.”
Trish looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “I still say he wants to get in your pants.”
“It’s not like that!” I replied more forcefully than I’d intended. “He’s just … just not … not…” I couldn’t even come up with what he wasn’t, he was so not whatever it was Trish was making him out to be.
“Ahh,” said Trish with a grin. “ There’s the reaction I was looking for. You like him.”
I paled. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do not. I barely know him.”
“Who,” Trish said, “besides your aunt and uncle and Norah, do you spend the most time with in Stony Creek? And don’t say me, because if that’s true, it’s sad.”
I thought about it. “He lives near me, so he gives me a ride to school, and we’re in the same study hall, so we talk.”
Trish just looked at me.
“But sometimes we don’t talk! Sometimes we sit. And read.” She smiled at me and I frowned at her. “I’m making your point for you, aren’t I?”
“I’m just saying, it would make sense if you liked him.” She yawned and stretched. “Or maybe I’m full of shit; I dunno. See you in the morning.” And she rolled over and fell asleep.
I crawled over to the air mattress we’d blown up earlier and slipped inside the faded Beauty and the Beast sleeping bag. My curls had deflated, and I was sure I had mascara all over my face, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Trish had a point. We were alike. But so what? He’d graduate in eight months and go who knows where. I’d graduate the year after and go to New York. We’d probably never see each other again. Not that any of that mattered, because I was still convinced he didn’t like me—or women in general—so the whole conversation was pointless.
Sleep pressed down on me like a weight, like a dozen feet of water and dark silence and I slipped into a dream, snuggled in Adrian’s clothes.
* * *
Monday morning, the house smelled good, like pine and wood smoke and cinnamon. The rain outside drizzled down in tufts of mist as the wind blew lightly through the forest surrounding the house. I was downstairs in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of coffee when Rachel walked in, smiling.
“Hope you had a good time at Trish’s. You didn’t say much when you got home.”
I shrugged, already bristling. “It was fun.”
Rachel had not given up on her attempts to be cheerful and welcoming. I hadn’t given up on being really, really mad at her.
“I’m glad you’ve made a friend,” she said. “Maybe you could invite her over sometime. Maybe to your birthday party?”
I looked up sharply.
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