“Like I have time to help you with your weird plan.”
“Fine.” He’s frowning—those cute puppy dog eyes are long gone. “Maybe you could just help me with my list.”
“List?” I play dumb, taking him in, trying to see something different, but I don’t. He’s just…Josh. Tall, lanky with good shoulders, thick-haired, blue-eyed Josh. Wearing his usual outfit of dark gray Nike sweatshirt and black shorts, even though it’s November and like, fifty degrees outside. “What list are you talking about?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs those good shoulders, and my gaze goes to them. I’ve cried on those shoulders more than a few times. So have plenty of other girls, including the ones he’s dumped. “I was hoping you could help me make a list.”
I start walking fast, because school is done for the next nine days, and I don’t want to waste a single second being here when I don’t have to. “A list of what? Girls you want to do?”
He catches up with me, a scowl on his face. “Geez, Eden. Keep your voice down.”
“Oh, sorry. Forgot you don’t want everyone to know, considering you asked me in the middle of study hall.” My sarcasm is heavy this afternoon, but seriously. He did ask me in the middle of study hall, surrounded by all sorts of people we know. Or people who like to eavesdrop.
“No one heard me.”
“Abe could’ve.” Abe is Josh’s best male friend and so freaking obnoxious he makes me crazy. Plus, he has a big mouth. That also makes me crazy.
Fine. Abe makes me crazy in all the ways.
“He didn’t. Like I can tell him anything anyway. He’d blab to everyone.” At least Josh knows his friend’s weak points.
I stop short just before we reach the double doors that lead to the senior parking lot. “You really want to make a list?”
I love making lists. Josh knows this. I love planning. Organizing. My favorite store is Paper Source. Or Office Depot. My favorite time of year is back to school, which is weird, I know, I know. But all the notebooks, fancy pens, highlighters, and folders make my organized heart sing.
“Isn’t that the best way to start this project?” He lifts his brows, his gaze locked on mine.
Ugh. He just said one of my favorite words.
Project.
“Oh, we’re calling it a project now?” I push the door open and walk out into the crisp midafternoon. I can feel the excitement in the air—everyone’s ready for Thanksgiving break, including me.
“I don’t know what else to call it.” We both stop at the front of the parking lot. “You need a ride?” he asks.
Molly’s nowhere to be found, so yes, I do need one. Dang it. Now I’m stuck talking about Josh’s so-called project the rest of the drive home. Do I really want to help him? What he wants is crazy. But then again, Josh is a little crazy, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
I can’t answer so quick, though—can I? I’d rather take some time and mull it over first. Helping my friend find someone to have sex with for the first time is a big deal. Like a major deal, if I’m being honest. This is epic, making memories type of shit.
“Edes? You need a ride or what?”
I blink up at him. “You don’t mind?”
“For you?” He makes a noise. “Never. Come on.”
I follow him through the parking lot toward his car, really paying attention to the people we pass. Usually I’m running my mouth and not giving a crap who is saying what to Josh.
But now—now I pay attention. I see the way the girls look at him, with the exception of Kaylie who offers a friendly hi to me as we walk by each other, yet she doesn’t say a word to Josh. She doesn’t even bother looking in his direction.
That relationship didn’t end well. At all.
There are plenty of other girls at school. Josh didn’t choose his words lightly. He said list because he knows I’m a total list maker and that would appeal to my organizational side. This is an example of when it’s bad that your friends know you so well. They use your personality traits to their advantage.
“You really want to come over?” I ask once we’re both in his dad’s old Toyota Tacoma and he’s backing out of the parking space.
Josh sends me a quick look before putting the truck into gear. “You really want to help me?”
Not really. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I shrug, then open up the notes section in my phone, staring at the blank page. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
Did I really just say that? I’m agreeing to help him without actually saying yes. What is wrong with me?
He remains quiet as we pull out of the parking lot and hit the main road. I live about ten minutes from school. Josh lives in the same neighborhood. This is how we became such good friends. We rode the bus to middle school together, and at first, we totally ignored each other. Because that’s what you do when you’re twelve, right? Boys had cooties, and they were disgusting and said stupid things and always talked about sports and boners and R-rated movies and the raunchy lyrics in their favorite rap songs.
At least, that’s what the boys in my class used to talk about.
In the seventh grade, Josh and I had a couple of classes with each other. We paired up for a history project and discovered we actually worked well together. In eighth grade, we shared four classes, and of course, still rode the same bus. We eventually started to sit together in the morning. Then in the afternoon, we did, too. His friends gave him endless grief, saying we were hot for each other, but he denied it. So did I. We were friends. We are friends. That’s it.
We still have classes together. Lots of mutual friends, as in we hang in the same social circle. We talk every single day. Sometimes it feels like I’m closer to him than I am to anyone else, and that includes Molly.
“Josh,” I say when he still hasn’t spoken, “is there someone you’re thinking of? Like, do you have a crush on someone?”
He always has a crush on someone. It’s amazing how quickly he gets over a girl, even Kaylie, though he always circles back to her. If he wants to get back together with her yet again, I don’t know how I feel about that.
“I think I’m going to leave it up to you,” he finally says when we stop at a red light. “I’ve been making bad choices, so—”
I snort laugh under my breath, cutting him off. “I’ll say.”
“Hey,” he sends me an irritated look, but he’s smiling, “I can’t help it if I fall for a pretty face.”
Gag.
“There’s nothing wrong with falling for a pretty face,” I say hesitantly. I don’t want to insult him, so I’m walking a fine line here. “But you have to make sure she has some substance, too.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he drives, and I stare out the window, worrying over what I said. Yeah, I probably offended him. I’m being serious, though. The girls he chooses aren’t always the best match for him.
And I like doing that. Playing matchmaker. Can I admit something? My favorite reality show back in the day was The Millionaire Matchmaker. I even told my mom I wanted to own a matchmaking service, like Patti Stanger. Mom just laughed and told me, “We’ll see.”
Which is Mom code for, “That’s never going to happen.”
Maybe it can, though. Maybe for Josh, I can be his matchmaker. Find the perfect girl for him, so he’ll fall madly in love, have sex with her, and be with her forever…
“So you’re telling me the girls I’ve gone out with lack substance,” he finally says, his voice flat.
I wince. When he says it out loud, the words sound worse. “Sort of.”
“Like your friend Kaylie. She lacks substance?”
“She wasn’t the right choice for you.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters.
A thought occurs to me, and I turn to look at him. Like really look at him. “You’re not still into her, are you?”
“Kaylie? Hell no.” He looks straight ahead, his jaw tight.
Crap. I know all of his tells. This is what happens when you’re friends with
someone for years. And his tells are telling me he still likes her. I can’t freakin’ believe it. “You want to lose it to her?”
“Lose what?” He glances at me before returning his attention to the road.
“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes when our gazes meet. “Your virginity, Joshua. You want to lose it with Kaylie?”
“There’s no with when it comes to Kaylie,” he says mysteriously. He’s being royally confusing.
“What do you mean?”
“Because she’s already lost it to someone else.”
Okay, this is news to me. “Who?”
…
Josh
“I don’t know his name.” That’s the truth. Kaylie admitted it was some college dude she hooked up with last summer. She was working at an ice cream shop downtown and met the guy there. He was a tourist on vacation with his family, they hung out together for a few days at the beach, and they did it in a sand dune under a full moon. She told me it was very romantic, and I just stood there nodding the whole time, not saying a word.
Her so-called romantic story made me want to puke.
“So it was a random stranger hookup? Seriously?” Eden shakes her head. “And you fell for that?
“What are you talking about?” I sound defensive because I feel defensive. I don’t know what Eden’s trying to say, but I don’t like it. “I didn’t fall for anything.”
“Kaylie is totally lying to you.” She says it so assuredly it’s kind of blowing my mind.
“How the hell do you know?”
“Because everyone has that random sexual experience with a stranger story. It happened with someone they don’t know, who’s there and gone within a matter of days. And it’s the most magical experience of their lives,” she explains, like she knows what she’s talking about. “Don’t you have one of those stories?”
“No.” If I did, that would make me a liar, and I hate liars. My father was a liar, and now he’s gone. He was the one who chose to leave and break up my parents’ marriage. Half the time I think his leaving made me want a long-term relationship. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to leave.
But now I’m wondering if that was a mistake. Maybe I should have a quick hookup, a meaningless relationship full of fun and…
Sex.
“Oh.” Her eyes go wide, and at that exact moment, I stop for the red light. Which is great because I can look right at her now. “I, um, I have one.”
“Seriously?” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat. “Tell me.”
“Josh…”
“Edes, I deserve to know.” My voice is solemn. She always caves when I pull something like this. “This will bond us forever.”
Eden pauses, and I know I’ve got her. She always wants me to reaffirm that we’re going to be a part of each other’s lives until the end of time. Guess we both like knowing that no matter what, I’ll be there for Eden, and she’ll be there for me.
“We’ve been bonded since the eighth grade,” she reminds me.
“True, but this will make our bond even stronger.” Now I’m dying to know her fake story. “Have you told me this story before and I just—forgot?”
Doubtful. I know pretty much all of Eden’s stories. I don’t forget them, especially when I’ve heard a lot of them multiple times.
“No.” Her cheeks are pink, like she’s embarrassed. “I’ve only told a couple of people.”
“Like…”
“Um, Cole. I told him.” She looks away, almost like she’s embarrassed.
For some weird reason I’m offended. No, I’m hurt. Hurt that I don’t know this story, that I had no input in helping her come up with it. We’ve done a lot of crazy things together over the years, and this sounds like something I would’ve loved to help her with.
I mean, I’m not a fan of liars, but if she wants to come up with some crazy story for someone else, I’m down. Only if she tells me what’s going on, though.
“You going to come clean?” I ask.
“I’m not dating you, am I?” Eden smirks.
Right. We’re not dating, so I guess I’m not worthy. Whatever. “I guess you’re not.”
“We should definitely come up with a list.”
Her abrupt change of subject is very Eden-like, so I go along with her. I’ll get her to tell me the magical hookup story another time.
“Maybe we should go to your house to put it together.”
“No one’s home,” I remind her. Mom is working. And it’s just her and me now. My older sister and brother are already gone. My brother is married and working in an actual career like an adult, and my sister is in her final year of college. They rarely come home. I think Mom misses them a lot.
Me? I like having the house all to myself. Mostly. Mom either works all the time, or she’s out with her boyfriend.
“That’s perfect, because everyone’s home where I live.” Eden has a younger brother—Travis—and her parents both work from home. “It’ll be easier if it’s just the two of us working on the list and not having to worry about Travis butting in with his opinion.”
Huh. The problem is I actually value Travis’s opinion most of the time, while Eden is always telling him to get the hell away from her—and that’s me using restraint. She says way worse things to her brother, and I always feel sorry for the dude. He takes a lot of abuse from Eden.
I should probably defend him more, but then Eden would get pissed, and that would cause a lot more trouble than I want to deal with.
“Let’s go to my house then,” I say, and within minutes, I’m pulling into the driveway, hitting the button on the remote so the garage door slides open.
We walk into the house together, and I wonder how many times we’ve done this. Hundreds of times? Gone to either her house or mine after school to hang out, do homework, watch movies, sneak booze from her parents’ cabinet, play video games with Travis—she really hates it when I do that, but Travis is a video-game master. We have all the movie channels, so Eden would hang out and watch them with me.
Our parents swore we’d end up together. Eden’s mom admitted she predicted our relationship when we were in fifth grade and that Eden freaked out. Said she thought I was gross and no way would she ever date me.
I didn’t even know she existed until seventh grade, so there’s that.
Eden’s moving around my kitchen like she lives there, and I check out what’s in the fridge while she grabs snacks out of the pantry. We settle in at the counter, Cokes and potato chips our chosen snacks, and Eden’s pulled a notebook out of her backpack, already writing in it.
I watch her write for a while until I finally have to say something. “Aren’t you going to ask for my input?”
“Absolutely not.” She studies the paper in front of her, tapping her pen against the edge of the notebook before she writes something. “You’re lucky I’m helping you with this at all. When we left campus, I told myself I wouldn’t do it.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask, curious.
“I have a thing for matchmaking reality shows.”
“Like The Bachelor?” I’m starting to sweat. Why am I starting to sweat?
“No.” She shakes her head. “Like The Millionaire Matchmaker.”
I’m frowning. “Never heard of it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She waves a hand. “Now. I think it’s best if I come up with the list first, and you tell me which ones you want to get with.”
“Wait a minute—which ones? As in multiple girls?”
She sends me a total duh look. “Well, yeah. That’s why we’re making a list. You can’t just narrow this down to one girl and hope she’ll be the one.”
“Why not?” That had been my plan from the get-go. Not that I had a real plan. Or had anyone particular in mind. This is why I asked for Eden’s help. She knows everyone, like all sorts of girls, even freshmen. Everyone likes Eden because she’s chill. Like for real. There’s no drama with Eden. What you see is what you get.
&
nbsp; “That’s not how it works, Josh. You need plenty of options.” She focuses on the paper, scribbles what I assume are a couple more names, and then lifts her gaze to mine. “I’ve got ten so far.”
“Ten?” I shove a bunch of chips in my mouth and start chewing. Ten girls? I can’t come up with the names of ten hot girls at our school. I mean, I know there are more than ten hot girls on campus, but I don’t know their actual names. “That’s an awful lot,” I say after I swallow.
“Not really.” She shrugs. “I can add a few more if you want me to.”
“No way.” I wag my fingers at her in a gimme motion. “Pass it over. Let me see the list.”
“Wipe your hands first. They’re greasy with chip crumbs.” She wrinkles her nose, and I grab a napkin, wiping each individual finger over and over again until she starts laughing. “Okay, here you go.”
I take the paper from her and check out the list, frowning as I see each name. “Whitney Gregory?” I glance up to find Eden’s watching me.
“What’s wrong with Whit?”
“She’s a sophomore.”
“Very mature for her age.”
“I’m not having sex for the first time with a fifteen-year-old.” I swallow hard the moment the words leave my mouth. It’s embarrassing, talking about this, even with Eden. And Eden knows everything about me.
“She’s almost seventeen.”
“What? How?”
“She was held back. She should be a junior; she’ll turn seventeen in March.”
Huh. Whitney Gregory is hot. She’s a cheerleader. Nice body. Pretty face. I sound like a dick, but I can’t help it. Eden would tell me I’m a pig.
She’s probably right.
“Is she nice?” I ask.
“Whit is lots of fun.”
“Is she smart?” I like smart girls. I’ve realized this over the years. I like a girl I can hold a real conversation with.
“Um.”
I frown.
“Well…”
“Don’t lie to me, Edes.”
“She’s not the smartest girl, but she’s not totally stupid, either.” Eden makes a face. “Sometimes I think she puts on an act. Like she pretends she’s dumb, but she’s really not.”