Pushing Perfect(30)

It was possible, if he’d had someone else take the pictures. But he was just as implicated as I was, if not more—he’d have to really trust the person he was working with. I couldn’t imagine him taking that kind of risk; he wasn’t stupid, after all. Still, I’d have to be careful, just in case.

“Alex told me she hadn’t managed to convince you to come to the party. I’d been counting on seeing you.”

“Oh, come on,” I said.

“Did I hear you say ‘Come in’? I’d be happy to.” He walked past me into the living room. “Lovely place you’ve got here. Very . . . beige.”

That was accurate. The living room was basically all beige, with gold accents on the coffee table and throw pillows and gold frames on the pictures hanging on the walls. “It’s just this room,” I said, not sure whether he was being judgmental. And not sure what to think about him basically barging into my house. Though it was nice to have been interrupted from making that list.

“Tasteful,” he said. “You should see my house—colors everywhere. It’s dizzying, really. Can I sit? I need to empty this out.” He gestured to the bag.

“Um, sure.” I sat in an armchair and left him the couch. No need to encourage the flirting by sitting too close.

He reached into the bag; I heard a clinking noise, and then he pulled out two bottles of soda. “Ginger ale. Reed’s extra spicy.” Fancy soda—no Quik-Stop cans here. “You were drinking ginger ale at the party, weren’t you?”

“You remember that?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” he said, and dipped his hand back into the bag, emerging with a handful of candy bars I’d never seen before. “I trust you like chocolate?”

“You are correct. But what are those?”

“I’m here to introduce you to the wonders of British chocolate. Cadbury, in particular.”

“We have Cadbury here.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. Hershey has banned it. You have but a poor imitation in a Cadbury wrapper. Trust me when I tell you it’s not remotely the same.”

I looked at the candy bars. They all had names like Flake and Wispa. “What’s the difference between all of these?”

“Mostly texture,” he said. “Flake is kind of hard to describe—it’s like they took one long super-thin layer of chocolate and then kind of rolled it up and smooshed it together. Wispa is airier, like someone took a regular chocolate bar and then hollowed some of it out. The texture is almost like a malt ball in the middle, but it still tastes like chocolate. And Wispa Gold is the same thing but with caramel too.”

They all sounded weird but also mostly wonderful. “What’s your favorite?”

“I like Flake bars myself,” he said. “The process for making them is a secret, kind of like the formula for Coke. Very mysterious and appealing.”

He made it all sound so sexy and romantic. Which was totally not how I wanted to be thinking about him. I opened up the Flake bar and took a bite. He was right about it having an unusual texture; little pieces of it literally flaked off as I sank my teeth into it. “This is really good.”

“Try the Wispa,” he said. “Same chocolate, but a very different experience.”

I peeled off the wrapper and tried it. Right again—it was gritty, and the inside of it once I’d taken a bite looked like coral.

“You like it?”

“I think I like the Flake better.”

“Is that why you saved some for later?” Raj tapped his upper lip, and I licked mine to find a crumb of the Flake bar there. So embarrassing. Except Raj hadn’t taken his eyes off me the whole time. Maybe Alex was right; maybe he really was into me. For a second my heart jumped at the idea of it—apparently the Novalert had finally worn off—but then I remembered the things that kept me away. The things about him, and the things about me.

“Wispa Gold now,” he said.

“I’ll pass on that one,” I said. “Too much going on. I like things simple. Plain.”

“Unadulterated, you mean. Plain sounds boring, and I don’t think you’re boring.”

“You don’t know me that well, though,” I said. “Maybe you’re giving me too much credit.”

“I don’t think so. I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

I felt my face turning red under the makeup. I hoped he couldn’t see. “This is all very nice, but I don’t understand—”

“What I’m doing here?” He smiled. “We’re celebrating. I’d hoped to celebrate at the party, but you’re not at the party. You’re here, so we’re celebrating here. Alex told me about the SAT.”

I was flattered that he’d given it—me—this much thought. I didn’t know what to say. “Thanks. I feel bad that you left the party, though.”

“Don’t. Those parties get old quick. It was all lovely and novel when it started, but now it’s just an excuse for the ladies to buy formalwear. I keep suggesting they spice things up a bit, maybe have themes or secret passcodes or something more than just fancy drinks and fancy DJs and the like, but so far I’ve not been very convincing, I’m afraid.”

I thought about Alex’s Closet of Wonders. He was probably right about the clothes, at least. I held up my bottle and tilted it toward his. “Well, cheers.”