Page 33 of Wait for You


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At least twice a week, I turned Cam down.

Twice. A. Week.

It was to the point that I sort of looked forward to how he was going to slide it into conversation. The boy was relentless, but it was more of a running joke between us than anything else. At least in my opinion.

I also started to look forward to Sundays.

Each morning since the very first, Cam showed up at my door at all kinds of ungodly hours with eggs and something he’d baked. The second Sunday, it was blueberry muffins. The third Sunday it was pumpkin bread—from a box, he’d admitted. The four and the fifth Sunday, it was strawberry cake and then brownies.

Brownies in the morning were the shit.

Thing were really… good with the exception of email and phone. At least once a week, I’d get a call from an UNKNOWN CALLER. I deleted the messages and the emails without opening them. There was at least fifteen unread emails from my cousin. One of these days I was going to read them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that or call my parents.

They hadn’t called me, so I didn’t see the point.

By the beginning of October, I was happier than I’d been in so long. The scent of autumn, something I missed while living in Texas, was in the air, long sleeves could be worn without looking like a freak, and cramming for mid-terms during lunch included M&Ms and Skittles.

“Can someone please tell me where Croatia is on this map?” Jacob groaned. “Like is there a song I can come up with that will somehow remind me of this?”

“Hungary, Slovenia, Bosnia,” I said, pointing at the blank map of Europe. “And then there is Serbia.”

Jacob glared at me. “Fucking overachieving bitch.”

I popped a red Skittle in my mouth. “Sorry.”

“Can you imagine a song with those names?” Brit dipped her fries in mayo.

“That is so gross,” Jacob muttered.

She shrugged. “It’s yummy.”

“Actually, I’m going to nerd out on you, so prepare.” I picked up an M&M and held it in front of Jacob. His eyes widened like a puppy about to get a treat. “With the exception of Hungary, all of the countries next to Croatia end with an a. They all sound alike. Think of it that way.”

His eyes narrowed. “That didn’t help.”

I sighed. “You want a song?”

“Yes.” He stood up at our table, in the middle of the Ram’s Den, and shouted. “Yes! I want a song!”

“Wow.”

He raised his hands as several students turned in their seats. “What? What?” He turned back to me. “Was that a little too much?”

“Yes,” I said. “Most def.”

Brit put her forehead on her textbook. “Seriously,” she groaned. “I can’t believe he’s making us map Europe on our mid-term. I thought I’d left that shit behind in high school.”

“Give me a song, nerd,” Jacob demanded.

“Oh, my God, you’re ridiculous.” Shaking my head, I placed my hands on the table. “Okay. Here you go. Hungary to the upper left, upper left, Serbia to the lower left, lower left. Bosnia on the bottom, on the bottom. Slovenia to the top, to the top. And where’s Croatia?”

“Where? Where?” Jacob sung.

“It’s next to the Adriatic Sea, across from Italy!”

Jacob popped up straight. “Again! Again!”

I went through the song twice more while Brit gaped at the both of us. By the time, Jacob whipped out his pen and started scribbling countries across the map, my face was the shade of a tomato, but I was giggling like a hyena.

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