Page 23
It shouldn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me.
A high-pitched giggle, like the squeal of a piglet, pierces my eardrums.
Okay, maybe it bothers me a little.
I peer over the edge of my textbook and almost gag when I see Trixie Hinckley’s fingers curled around Tate’s bicep as she forces out another fake laugh. One of her stick-on nails is hanging off, the hot-pink polish complimenting her tanned skin. She’s all long limbs, slim figure, and perky boobs, whereas I’m a top-heavy short-ass, with ghostly pale skin and stumpy legs. You’d think getting boobs would be a blessing, but it’s the opposite.
Boys stare, creepy men ogle, and my prehistoric school won’t let me wear a tank top at the risk of it “distracting others.” What’s distracting is sweating under a lost-and-found sweatshirt in calculus during the peak of summer because my bare shoulders might offend someone.
I’m surprised Tate doesn’t blow away with how hard Trixie’s flapping her eyelashes at him. He plays it cool under her attention, answering her questions about his summer plans and smiling politely. I know she’s hoping he’ll ask her out for prom, but he’s still insistent on going solo with me. Half the girls in our grade stare at him with hearts in their eyes, so I don’t know why he agreed to it. He could have any pick of the litter.
He’s uninterested or oblivious.
Point proven when Trixie pulls a lollipop from her bag, unwraps it, and shoves it into her mouth. Tate watches the move before returning his attention to his textbook. His eyes flicker to mine. I quickly cut my gaze away, burrowing into my seat to hide my flaming cheeks.
We know everything there is to know about each other. He’s my best friend, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy watching girls drool over him in the middle of the library.
“When are you going to play me a song on your guitar, Tate?” Trixie grins around her sucker.
I’m close to hurling.
They both jump when I slam my textbook closed and hop to my feet.
Tate frowns when I shove everything into my bag. “You’re leaving?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “I’m done.”
He stands. “I’ll walk you home. I’m bored anyway.”
I snort. “Yeah. Sure.”
His brow wrinkles. “What does that mean?”
Grr. “Nothing. Don’t let me interrupt”—I wave my hand at Trixie, who is busy taking selfies on her phone—“this. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before I make a fool of myself, I escape. A weird, knotted feeling forms in my stomach. It always happens when I’m around Tate. He’s done nothing wrong, and as my feet hit the sidewalk outside school, guilt eats at me for being rude.
I groan into my hands, hating how irrational I acted. I’m hoping the long walk home will help clear my head.
Maybe I’m cramping his style, and he doesn’t want his best friend lurking around when he’s trying to flirt with girls? I’m not interested in any of the boys in our class, and if I were, they’d find it weird that I hung around with Tate all the time. Maybe we’re growing apart. Just the idea makes the tension in my stomach tighten until it’s unbearable. My period must be coming early.
I’m turning the corner onto my street when a flash of white whizzes past me and blocks my path. Sweaty, wheezing, and red as a tomato, Tate hunches over, hands on his knees.
“What the heck?” I gape at him.
“Why’d you leave like that?” He gasps for air.
“Like what? Wait, did you run here?”
It takes him three long exhales to collect himself before he stands to his full height. Since the first dinner at his house two years ago, Tate has gained almost a foot on me. He’s grown into his new frame, looking less lanky and more lean, thanks to the weekends spent at the steelyard. He’s even got a little stubble growing on his chin, though I call it peach fuzz, which he hates.
“All pissy and with your panties in a twist.” He looks butthurt.
“Your momma wouldn’t be happy to hear you talking about a lady’s underwear.”
“Yeah, and she’d be even angrier to know I let one walk home alone.” Throwing a thumb over his shoulder, he walks backward. “C’mon, Tally Girl. You know walking you home is my favorite way to end the day.”
It’s my favorite too.
