I mean, I was totally over Aidan Wilmot, the boy I’d dated freshman year of high school, but I still wouldn’t be happy if B or Jess suddenly decided to stick their tongues down his throat. It would just be too weird.
“No, everything’s fine,” I said again. “Why do you ask?”
“Uh, because you sprang up like the house was on fire. And now you’re acting kind of strange.”
“Oh, that… um, no. I just remembered that Mom wanted to go have lunch in Oak Hill, then do some Christmas shopping, and I said I’d go with her. I’d better start getting ready.” I jumped out of bed and headed for my closet. Behind me, I heard the mattress creak as B got to her feet.
“Should I call my dad and ask him to pick me up?” she asked.
When I turned around, she was putting on last night’s wrinkled clothes. “No. Mom and I can drop you off. No problem.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Mom was eating a bagel and wearing her embarrassing Christmas sweater when we got downstairs.
“How was the party?” she asked. “I heard the two of you sneak in.”
“Fine,” I said, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster for me and Bianca.
Mom raised an eyebrow. “Just fine? That’s all I get?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly eager to talk about last night’s events. Not with my mom and not in front of Bianca. Luckily, Mom noticed what time it was and became too busy hurrying us through breakfast to persist in her questioning.
Ten minutes later, all three of us were out the door.
***
After we dropped B off, Mom and I headed to Oak Hill, the next town over from Hamilton and the closest thing we had to a “city” until you reached Chicago. It wasn’t much to brag about. A ridiculously tiny shopping mall. Two or three chain restaurants. A Greyhound station. Oak Hill did have one thing I was grateful for, though: Cindependent, a terribly named but totally awesome independent movie theater.
I’d only ventured in there once or twice during high school. I always kind of thought indie flicks were only for pretentious hipsters. But over the past couple months, my perception had changed. So on our way to lunch, I asked Mom to pull into the parking lot so I could run inside and grab a ticket for the afternoon showing of a new French film.
After we ate at a little café inside the mall, Mom went off to shop for gifts, and we promised to meet in front of the mall’s main entrance around six that night. I headed for the little salon next to Sears to get my hair cut. Being a broke college student, I hadn’t had the cash to keep up with cutting my hair, so it had grown from its pixie cut all the way to nearly my shoulders. And a ton of it was made up of dead ends. Ew.
I flipped through a few stylebooks, deciding to do something different. Instead of going back to the pixie cut, I pointed the stylist to an asymmetrical look where the longest pieces would fall near my chin. I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror as she cut away the blond strands, and when she was done, I just kept staring. I wasn’t the bragging type, but it looked pretty badass.
I paid, leaving a nice tip, then headed out to the center of the mall, where a set of benches formed a large square. There was a long line of parents waiting to take their kids’ pictures with Santa in the middle of the square. I sat down and pulled out a magazine I’d brought along. Normally I would have been all over the shopping, but Mom had placed me on a no-shopping ban until after Christmas to keep me from buying anything she may have already gotten me as a gift.
Between pages of celebrity gossip, I checked the clock on my phone, waiting for the time when I’d need to catch the bus over to the theater. I’d just finished an article about a pregnant TV star when I heard someone say, “Casey?” and looked up.
Toby, dressed in khakis and a dark blue blazer, was weaving his way around the Santa line, carrying a few shopping bags. He smiled as he headed toward me. My heart sped up. Partly from guilt because we’d made out last night and partly because… well, we’d made out last night, and I’d kind of maybe really liked it. Which just made me feel guiltier.
“Hey,” he said when he was standing in front of me.
“Hey,” I repeated.
“You changed your hair,” he said. “I really like it.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, tugging on one of the chin-length pieces. “I didn’t think boys noticed that sort of thing.”
“I don’t think we do most of the time.” He gestured to the bench. “Mind if I sit?”
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
He put his shopping bags on the ground, then sat down beside me, leaving a few inches of space between us. It wasn’t enough space to keep me from feeling nervous, though.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Running errands for my parents. Dad needed a few new belts and Mom needed some socks. Now that I’m home, I get the honor of shopping for them.”
“Fun.”
“It’s not so bad. What about you?”
“I had lunch with my mom, and now she’s Christmas shopping and I’m just kind of hanging out.”
Toby nodded. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “So, uh… about last night…”
I stiffened.
He blushed. “I was thinking we—”
“Should probably just forget about it?” I offered. “I mean, we were drinking and talking about wheels and—”
“Actually, I was going to say that I was thinking we should go out,” Toby said. “On a date.”
“Oh.”
“But I guess if you…”
“Toby, I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. He was such a nice guy. Like, genuinely nice, not the fake nice a lot of guys pretend to be just so they can play the victim. Toby was wonderful, and he just kept getting crapped on. First B. Now this. I felt terrible.
“No, it’s okay.”
“I really did have a good time with you last night,” I assured him. “I’m not just saying that. But it’s just… it’s weird. You used to date my best friend, and I don’t think she’d be okay with us kissing and going on dates and… I’m sorry.”
“Casey, it’s okay. I get it,” he said.
“Can we still be friends?” I asked. “I know that’s a freaking cliché of a thing to ask, but I’m serious.”
“Sure.” And it sounded like he actually meant it. “We can be friends.”
“Great.” I glanced at my cell phone, lying on the bench beside me. “Oh, shit. I have to go catch the bus.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Cindependent. There’s a French film showing there that I—”
“You’re seeing that, too?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Wait—you’re going to see it today?”
“I have a ticket to the afternoon showing. I didn’t know you liked foreign films.”
“I didn’t until recently. But I had this French professor this past semester who was just this really awesome woman, and she got me to watch a few French movies, and I’ve been hooked. I’ve tried to convert B and Jess, but it just hasn’t worked.”
“If you’re going right now, then why don’t I drive you?” he offered. “We’re seeing the same movie at the same time. There’s no point in you wasting money on the bus.”
“If you don’t mind, that would be great,” I said. “Public transportation in this town sucks.”
So we went to the theater together. Then we sat together. Then we left the theater together. And when Mom called to ask where I was, I told her Toby would give me a ride home. We were having such a good time talking about the movie that I suggested we grab a bite to eat and continue the conversation. So we did. Toby drove us to—appropriately—a French restaurant, where we sat and gushed about the actors’ abilities and the director’s vision and all that jazz.
And once we were done with that, we just started talking. About everything. Anything.
“Do you still cheerlead?” Toby asked, taking a sip of his water.
I nodded
. “Yeah. I’m thinking of quitting, though. It’s not as fun as it used to be, and with my class schedule, I just don’t really have enough time.”
“I know how that is,” he said. “I was playing intramural soccer at the beginning of the semester, but I had to quit. The workload plus participating in student government—I needed to sleep sometime.”
“Student government? Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m a broken record, I know.”
“No. I think it’s great that you have something you’re passionate about. Not everybody has that at our age. I don’t.”
“I guess,” he said. “I just feel like everyone must be so bored when I talk to them.”
“I’m never bored talking to you,” I assured him. “Which is more than I can say about a lot of guys. Especially the ones I dated this semester. Ugh.”
“What happened? If I’m allowed to ask.”
“Nothing, like, dramatic or anything,” I said. “Honestly, a lot of guys are just insecure because I’m taller than they are. I actually went on two dates with this guy Braden. Then one night he called and said, ‘Next time we go out, don’t wear heels.’ He didn’t ask me not to. He told me not to. When I asked why, he said, ‘Because I want to be the man.’ Like… WTF?”
“What did you say?” Toby asked.
“I told him if he was so desperate to be taller than me, he could wear heels. My shoes didn’t make me feel any less like a woman, and it wasn’t my fault if he thought towering over me was the only way to feel manly.”
“He sounds a little like… well, a tool.”
“Oh, he was.”
“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” he said. “I mean, you’re interesting and fun to be around. And you’re beautiful. A guy would be crazy to screw things up with you.”
I felt myself blush. “Thanks, Toby. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Somewhere between that moment and when the waitress came by with the bill, it dawned on me. I’d said no to going on a date with Toby, but here I was, in a nice little restaurant, after seeing a romantic French film, being told I was beautiful by a guy who—I’ll admit it—I really liked. If this wasn’t a date, I didn’t know what was.
So when he pulled up in front of my house an hour later, I knew I should get out of the car. He was my best friend’s ex, and in less than twenty-four hours, I’d made out with him and gone on an accidental date with him. I couldn’t keep seeing Toby, and I didn’t want to lead him on, but at the same time…
“I had a really great time today,” I said. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Me too,” Toby said.
We were staring at each other, the streetlights glinting off his glasses. My head was telling me to get out of the damn car. It was buzzing with thoughts like, B will kill you and Don’t do it, don’t do it! But every other part of me wanted my head to shut the fuck up.
Then he smiled at me.
And I knew I was screwed.
I leaned forward and put my hand on his cheek. Toby looked surprised and maybe even a little nervous. But he didn’t stop me when I kissed him. He leaned into me, his lips soft but strong against mine. His hands were on my neck and in my hair, fingers running through the newly cut strands.
I pushed at the collar of his blazer, shoving it off his shoulders. He wiggled his arms free, then went back to touching me again. It was like his hands couldn’t get enough. And I knew how he felt. My hands were all over him, too, sliding along his back and arms. I even popped a few buttons of his shirt.
“But, Casey,” he muttered, his lips still brushing mine. And for a second I thought he was about to be the moral compass here, telling me to stop because of B and the Girl Code and all that. Instead, he grinned against my mouth. “You’re at least three inches taller than me, and if you wear heels… I don’t know how I’ll ever feel like a man.”
I laughed. “Shut up.”
We kissed in the front seat of his car until my mom started flashing the porch lights, a signal that she knew I was outside, knew I was making out, and thought it was time for the party to end. I sighed and pulled myself away from Toby. His face was red and his lips were swollen. Mine must have been, too.
“I have to go.”
“Okay,” he said.
“I’ll call you.”
“I hope so.”
“Good night, Toby,” I said, smiling.
I climbed out of the car, knowing I was a terrible human being but deciding, just for the night, not to care.
Chapter Three
I’d told Toby I’d call him, but when I woke up the next morning with a guilty conscience, I decided that had been a lie. I couldn’t call him. I wouldn’t call him. We’d made out twice, and that was two times too many. Whatever was going on between Toby and me was over. Dead. Kaput.
Except that it kind of wasn’t.
Fate had a sick, twisted sense of humor. Somehow, I ran into Toby everywhere I went over the next few days. He was in the grocery store when Mom and I came in. He was eating at the tiny diner down the street from my house when I popped in to get some hot chocolate and a scone. Then he walked into the library while I was dropping off some overdue books for Mom. If he didn’t seem so surprised to see me every time, I might have thought he’d tracked me down on purpose. But then, that just wasn’t Toby Tucker.
I’d like to say that nothing happened. That we just said hello and went our separate ways. But that would be a lie. Because somehow, every time Toby and I ran into each other, the same thing happened. And it usually ended with us making out somewhere: in his car, in the back of the library, or, in this case, in his bedroom.
“Where are your parents?” I asked, sitting on the edge of his bed while he hung his blazer over the back of his desk chair.
“At work.”
“When will they be back?”
“Not for a few hours.”
“Good.” I grabbed him by the front of his button-down shirt and pulled him toward me. I was trying to channel my inner Angelina Jolie, all take-charge and sexy.
But Toby stumbled and tripped over one of my legs. He fell forward, and our foreheads smacked together, making us both groan. Then his glasses fell off, and we both scrambled to find them. By the time we were both on his bed, we were laughing so hard neither one of us could breathe.
“Wow, we are smooth,” I gasped.
“We?” he asked. “That was all you.”
“Oh, STFU.”
“What? What does that even mean?”
“STFU? It means ‘shut the fuck up.’ Come on, Toby. Where have you been?”
“In a world where normal people don’t speak in abbreviations?” he offered. “Do you realize how much you use them?”
“I don’t do it that much.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t!” I insisted, rolling onto my side to face him.
“I’ve heard you use OMG, WTF, BTW, and now STFU. And you’ve said most of those numerous times.”
“No way. Maybe, like, once or twice.”
“I’m going to start counting,” he said. “Maybe I can start an abbreviation jar. Every time you use an abbreviation, you put a quarter in. We’ll see how fast it fills up.”
“It’ll take a long time.”
“By a long time, do you mean three hours?” he teased, nudging my foot with his.
“OMG, stop it.”
“And there’s one.”
“Shit. Okay, but that’s it. That’s the last one today.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “Either way, the forehead collision a few minutes ago was your fault.”
I sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I was trying to be cool, but my stupid spider legs screwed it all up. Sure, guys may think long legs are sexy at first, but then the concussion happens.”
“I think I’ll take the concussion.” He gave me a soft, almost shy, smile.
I laughed. “Oh, but how will you ever become leader of the free world with multiple head injuries? Your opponents wil
l totally use that in a smear campaign.” I put on a fake politician voice. “Toby Tucker—not only is his name a silly alliteration, but he also once got a concussion while making out with a leggy blonde. Can he really be our president?”
“Hey, don’t mock the alliterative name. If anything, that’ll help me get elected. People will remember it. Think of all the celebrities with alliterations in their names.”
“It’s still a silly name.”
“When I’m president, I’ll have you arrested for saying that.”
“Yeah, and you’ll outlaw speaking in abbreviations. The world will be a much better place.”
We both cracked up. It wasn’t until just then that I noticed his hand on my hip and the way our legs had tangled. We were both on our sides, facing each other, smiling. I could feel my heart pumping away in my chest, excited and nervous. And this time when we moved closer, twisting our arms around each other, things went much, much smoother.
We made out for a while, rolling and shifting until the once neatly made bed was a mess of rumpled sheets and covers. We only stopped kissing when my cell phone rang, a Lady Gaga song belting out from my purse.
“Shit,” I mumbled, rolling off Toby and hurrying to grab my phone. “That’s Bianca. I’m supposed to hang out with her tonight. I’ll BRB.”
I ran out into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind me. Like that would somehow hide Toby from B. I felt fidgety and nervous when I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Casey. It’s me. Are we still on for tonight?”
“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think so. Sure.”
“Okay. Well, Jess suggested we get together at her place and have a movie night. She promised chocolate swirl ice cream.”
“Great. That sounds fine to me. Really great.”
“Okay, so I’ll pick you up in an hour?”
“Uh, well, can you make it two? I mean, it’s no big deal. I’m just, uh, hanging out with my mom and we’re running errands, so two hours would be better. If that’s okay with you guys.”
“Yeah, that works.”
“It’s just Mom is… She’s so busy with Christmas shopping so she has me helping out, and I just, uh—”
“Casey, it’s cool.” B laughed. “God, what’s up with you?”