The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(66)

My phone chirps again, the vibration triggering against my leg. I pull the phone up from the bag to my lap, glancing at the screen to see a text from Houston.

Nate invited us to his tournament this weekend. Cass wants you to go. I was supposed to tell you that a few days ago, but I got…distracted.



Biting my lip to hide the smile Houston puts on my face, I glance back up to the front of the class, the professor now engrossed in his own voice, the entire row in front of me staring at him with expressions of blankness—which match the notes they’ve written on their many empty computer screens. He’s right; a lot of these people are still going to fail.

I write back to Houston.

Ok. We’ll go.



I hit SEND and get a response from him almost immediately.

What are we doing here, Paige? What is this thing between us?



I liked his first question better. Yes, I’ll go to a baseball tournament with you. That’s an easy answer. The second question, unless he is expecting me to respond with we’re texting, that’s what we’re doing, which I very much doubt, is the kind riddled with expectations and pitfalls. That question is full-blown butterflies and fairytales. And I just kicked that shit out of my head. Okay, so maybe it was five minutes ago, but I kicked that shit out all the same.

Leah, Leah, Leah.

My finger is hovering over the response area when another message from him sneaks in.

Shit. That was not one of those SEND texts. That was supposed to be pretend.



Too late, Houston. It’s out there now.

Guess I can’t really take that back though, huh?



I write back quickly, because at least this part I can answer.

No.



Thank god he doesn’t text again. I check about a kajillion more times anyhow, because f*cking butterflies and fairytales! But my answer is always the only thing left to see.

No.

That’s the only word I see. No, no, no, no, no! I close my eyes, morphing it into Leah, Leah, Leah, Leah, Leah.

The class begins to shuffle notes and students are getting to their feet, which means it’s time to switch rooms and move to the lab. For added measure, I pair myself with the girl who usually sits up front and asks lots of questions. She’s one of those thorough students, and even though I don’t need her help for my grade, I do need her to stretch out this dissection assignment. I also need to see my sister—and her friend Rowe—for lunch, to talk about boy problems, which makes me want to throw up. Not because I don’t like talking about guys, and plotting and gossip. I just don’t like talking about feelings. I’m actually a little grateful Rowe will be there. She won’t pry like Cass. She’ll let me pretend things are hypothetical. I wonder if I can find a way to get my sister to leave? Probably not.

I stretch my lab project to the very end, and by one, Cass is texting me, demanding my drink order for the pizza place at the other end of campus. She’s also sent a picture of the greasiest pizza I’ve ever seen. I type that I’m on my way and have no intention of eating that insult for food.

Good, because it’s already halfway gone. Oh, and Houston’s here ;-)



As unappetizing as the pizza was to me, it’s the second part of her text that has my stomach in knots. It’s going to be pretty hard to talk about him when he’s actually there. Not to mention, he’s only there because of his stupid text f*ck up.

With every step closer I take to the restaurant, the less I want to be there. I can see my sister’s smile through the window; she’s laughing at something Houston said. He’s funny; of course she’s laughing. And Rowe is gazing between the two of them. Bonding is happening inside—they’re bonding. Houston is being charming, and my sister is going to like him, and she’s going to want there to be a me and him.

There is a me and him. But I also think maybe it only works if we keep it a secret. Otherwise, it becomes a me and him and a whole lot of other people.

“So lots of cold showers, huh?” Cass says through laughter as I step up to the booth. What the f*ck? Cold showers?

“You wouldn’t believe how many,” Houston says, startling when I drop myself into the booth next to him. His leg slides toward mine a second later. I kick it.

“Who’s taking cold showers?” I ask, lips pursed, my face ready to accuse Houston of sharing too much.

“Houston is,” Cass says, pulling off a piece of crust and eating it like a carrot. My face feels hot, and Houston suddenly looks guilty.

“And he’ll be taking more,” I say, my lips pursed. I glance up to the counter to wave the waitress over, and when I glance back, Houston’s eyes are wider.

“You’re planning on taking even longer showers to drain the hot water tank?” he says, the words coming out slowly, his eyes signaling mine that I got that wrong—so f*cking wrong.

“I am,” I say curtly, turning to the waitress and keeping up my persona. Frankly, it’s not unlike me to be a bitch just because I heard someone complaining about me. “Diet Coke, with a slice of lime, please.”

“She’s high maintenance,” Cass says, her mouth still full with her crust bite. “But I think you’ll find she grows on you.”

I smile into my lap and glance to the side at Cass, who winks. It’s been a while since she’s said something nice about me. It feels good.