Tyed(44)

"Fine. And Shane? Please don't try to hit on me again." I rub my flushed cheeks.

That's it. I kept my promise to Ty, my loyalty to Izzy, and it feels...well, it sucks.

Shane looks up at the sky and sighs in frustration. "Talked to Izzy?"

I shrug. "You don't want me, dude. And that's fine, I don't do blonds who aren't Charlie Hunnam. But don't do anything just for the sake of crushing Izzy. I won't ever forgive you."

Shane looks tongue-tied. The tables have turned. Now I'm the one preaching to him.

He opens his mouth, his stormy-blue eyes laser-focused on mine. "I'm not —" he starts, but I learned a good trick from the master of mind-games.

I stop him mid-sentence, my hand on his heaving chest. "I'm going to kiss you now. If you truly want me—me and not my sister—give me your lips. If not, turn your cheek." I pause, biting at the corner of my lip as I contemplate my next sentence. "And I'll still be your friend."

I tiptoe to Shane, and I'm smiling, confident that he'll do the right thing. This is my best friend, here. He always does the right thing.

Third grade—Izzy and I got our hands on a pair of scissors and gave him the worst haircut in human history. He didn't rat, even when he got into so much trouble.

Sixth grade—he stood up to a bully at school, even though he didn't even know Liz Shudell, the girl who got victimized by the turd ass who wouldn't let her walk the hallways in peace.

Junior year—he turned down one of the hottest girls in high school because she was drunk when she tried getting it on with him.

Senior year—guess who he took to prom? That's right, Rhonda Chan, who was in a wheelchair at the time and crazy bummed about it.

Now, we're grown-ups (sort of) standing on a campus sidewalk and getting attention, for sure, but I still trust Shane like I did in third grade. I close my eyes, my lips reaching for his skin. I smile when I feel the two-day stubble on his cheek. He didn't act on it. He is not mine.

Well, he is, but now I know he is Izzy's too.

Shane looks all kinds of pissed off, his lips thin and his forehead wrinkled, when he picks up the content of his bag.

"Thank you for the money, by the way. You shouldn't have covered for him. But you did. You always do."

"It was a misunderstanding," I admit.

"Yeah, there seems to be a lot of those whenever Ty is around."

"Jesus, Shane," I look away, not really wanting to face him. Why does he always do this recently? Rain on my parade when all I want is to dance in the puddles.

"Talk to your boyfriend, B," he grunts in annoyance.

"He is not my boyfriend." I actually twirl when I walk toward my final exam, the last one before I’m done with my degree, and send him a cheerful smile.

"Whatever, dude. Just do it."

***

After my test, I try my best to make a beeline out of the building and back to the Mini, but as it happens, I’m graceful as a blind elephant and manage to make a lot of noise stumbling in the hallway and dropping my phone on the floor. I hear Professor Penniman’s voice from an open door down the hall.

“Ms. Stern, come in.”

It sucks donkey balls to be me right now.

I wad my gum into a tissue and dump it in her trash can. Best to pretend I’m a half-decent human being. I smile to Penniman, who is a prim, New England-type in her early fifties, and wait for further instructions.

“Sit down,” she orders without lifting her eyes from the papers on her desk. I flop down into the chair opposite her, lacing my fingers together and tapping my foot against the table. I dread to think why she called me in here. Maybe she thinks I plagiarized the article. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame her. I usually suck.

“I want to talk to you about your assignment regarding…what was it about?” She lifts her chin and one eyebrow behind her reading glasses. “MMA. Yes. Well, to be honest, it was quite excellent.”

Great, so why are you saying this in a tone implying I sexually abused a kitten?

I nod, waiting for a but…

“I think we both know you’ve exceeded every expectation I’ve had, and I believe I know why.”

Jesus, did Shane arrange a press conference to let everyone know about me and Ty? I feel my pulse. Everywhere. My ears. My eyes. My neck. My arms. My heart. I'm so not used to being praised. There must be a catch somewhere here.

“The reason why you did so well is because journalism should have been your major. You poured so much passion into this article I couldn’t help but notice. Now, I happen to know Diablo Hill magazine is looking for an intern in their sports section, and I’ve put forward your name.”

Penniman slides a business card at me with Diablo Hill’s editor’s name. “Give Cameron a call. He’s expecting to hear from you.”

My hands shake when I take the card, and I blink in disbelief. So that’s how it feels, to be respected professionally. Butterflies flip inside my stomach like firecrackers. It’s not Heart. It’s not Brain. It’s…Me.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, stammering, “I…thank you.”

Professor Penniman goes back to her pile of papers and waves me off like I’m an irritating mosquito. “Don’t make me regret this, Stern. It’s a huge opportunity.”