Page 24 of The Crafting Con

Which is stupid.

Ava and I aren’t even friends anymore. Sure, we shared a few laughs the other day, and yeah, seeing her curled into the passenger seat of my truck was more satisfying than it probably should have been. But that doesn’t mean I care who she is or isn’t going to prom with.

I’m about to look away—any minute now, I swear—when Ava’s head turns, and her eyes lock on mine. Catching me mid-stare. Heat floods the back of my neck, but before I can wilt into a puddle of mortification, she does something unexpected. She lifts her hand off the table, and waves. With a smile.

My lips twitch upward, the suffocating grayness that’s surrounded me all day lightening ever-so-slightly. I lift my own hand, waving back before I can overthink it.

Her smile widens, and she takes her phone from the pocket of her designer jeans, typing away.

My cell buzzes inside the pouch of my black hoodie.

I pull it out and swipe open the screen to find a text from the number Ava entered into it after Sunday’s craft store run.

Ava: How do you fix a broken pizza?

A laugh bubbles up, little sparks of joy dancing around my chest.

Me: I don’t know, how?

Ava reads my response and smirks while she starts tapping away, her nose wrinkling in the cutest way ever. When a new message pops onto my screen, I have to wrench my gaze away to read it.

Ava: With tomato paste, obviously.

This time I really do laugh out loud.

Me: Nerd.

She catches her lip between her teeth, fingers still while she stares down at my message. There’s a moment of hesitation where I think she isn’t going to say anything else, but then her expression softens, and she quickly taps something out before putting her phone away and turning to answer something her friends are asking. I glance down at my screen.

Ava: Guilty as charged.

I grin, feeling better than I have all day. It isn’t until Hiro nudges my arm that I realize he’s trying to get my attention. His eyes twinkle when he glances down at my phone, but all he says is, “How about you, Dec? You still up for The Dragon’s Den grand opening on Sunday?”

My gaze wanders back across the cafeteria. Fixates on Ava’s mouth as she laughs. “Yeah, sure. Sunday.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at two.”

“Sounds good,” I murmur, the smile still fixed firmly on my face.

It lasts right up until the bell rings and all the way to PE, which is saying something, seeing as it’s pretty much the worst period of the day. Not only does it come right after lunch—running on a full stomach? No thanks—but zero of my regular friends are in it. There is, in fact, a shocking amount of student athletes, all of whom put way too much effort into scoring goals on each other in Call the Number. It’s a version of indoor soccer where everyone on the team is assigned a number, and when yours is called you have to run out and compete against the person on the other team with the same one.

I usually just zone out on the sidelines, only half-listening for my number while rehashing crafting tutorials in my head, but today a familiar, brown-haired girl, wearing a loose running tee and shorts, steps up beside me. Her gaze is focused on the teacher, who walks down the line rattling off numbers, and yet I can’t help but feel like she’s watching me from the corner of her eye. Intent, like a spider stalking its prey. It’s almost a relief when she finally speaks.

“Declan, right?”

“That’s me.” A pause, then, “You’re Ava’s friend, Stasia.”

“Ava’s best friend, actually.” Her eyes are locked on center court when the first number is called, and two girls make a mad dash for the soccer ball waiting there. “I saw you at the game yesterday. Sweet beats.”

“Um, thanks?” Assuming that was a compliment and not a jab. It’s hard to tell given her straight-faced stare.

“Tyler’s post-show was pretty epic. The crowd really ate it up.” This time I’m certain her gaze flicks my way, if only for a moment. “Everyone loves a promposal.”

Ugh, and now I’m sinking right back into the graying undertow. “I guess.”

She tenses when the girls jog back to their places on the sidelines, that laser focus returning to the PE teacher while he calls out two numbers this time. Four students run out, going two versus two, and Stasia relaxes back on her heels. “Well, maybe not everyone,” she says, stretching an arm across her chest. “Ava didn’t exactly seem thrilled to be put on the spot like that. As much as people like to place her there, being the center of attention is so not her thing. That, and I kind of got the feeling she wanted to say no. Only, you know. Pressure and all that. Plus, her mom was there, and prom has been all she’s talked about for, like, the past three months.”

Ava doesn’t want to go to prom with Tyler? Is that possible?