#famous(58)

“Oh.” I laughed, relieved. Maybe studio lighting fries your brain briefly. “Okay, cool.” I typed in a quick response. “I’m really doing this?”

“Absolutely.”

I hit send.





chapter forty


KYLE

MONDAY, 3:30 P.M.

Okay, I had fifteen minutes to get everything together before Rachel got here. That was plenty of time, right?

Mom had a deposition she couldn’t move, so she’d made me promise to DVR the show. Which took care of one obstacle: we could watch in the main living room without Mom drilling her.

Should I make snacks? It seemed like something you were supposed to do when people came over, at least new people. I poured a bag of chips into a bowl and put it on the coffee table. It looked kind of pathetic on its own, so I threw some popcorn in the microwave and grabbed the Tupperware of fruit salad Mom always had in the fridge and set it next to the chips. Girls liked fruit salad.

I turned the TV on, made sure the Laura Show was still scheduled to air at four. Check. What else should I do? I could change shirts. Rachel hadn’t been at school. She wouldn’t know I’d done it.

Besides, Rachel’s clothes always looked like they’d been made just for her, like no one else could have come up with them, or pulled them off. Other girls at school all tried to wear the same things at the same time, like they’d all walked off the same catalog page, but Rachel dressed like someone . . . interesting.

But I liked this shirt. It was one Carter left behind over the summer. He’s more built than I am, but I’m taller. The shirt was faded in a cool way. You could tell someone had worn it forever, not bought it that way. And it was a little too tight across the chest, which made me look less skinny. It seemed like the kind of shirt Rachel would think looked cool. Plus, I wasn’t really sure what other shirts were clean.

I looked around, wondering what else I should be doing. What would Mom do? I realized I was bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. Jeez, dude, it’s just Rachel. You’re just friends, right? I forced myself to stay flat on the floor. I could still feel anxious energy pulsing around my body. Trying to get me to move.

The microwave pinged, and I threw the popcorn into a bowl. I set it on the coffee table seconds before the doorbell rang.

“Hey, Rachel.” I leaned up against the entryway wall like I’d seen Carter do when girls came over. Carter doing it: cool, casual. Me doing it: the creep in a bad movie. I stood back up. Oof.

“Hey.” She looked behind me. “Nice place.”

“Oh, um, thanks. My dad’s a banker.” Oooooof. C’mon, man, really? That sounded so flipping weak. Thank goodness Ollie wasn’t here to see my total lack of game. And why was I trying to have game? Jeez, I was a mess.

I swept my arm back, trying to pretend I hadn’t just said that. “Right this way.”

Rachel stepped inside, slipping her shoes off at the door. They weren’t high; they were some kind of sneakers. But without them on it was even more obvious how tiny she was. Like, not even up to my shoulder. It was weird to realize. She had the kind of personality that seemed ten feet tall.

I walked us into the living room and pointed Rachel to the couch.

“Do you want anything to drink? Pop or something? We’ve got Sprite and root beer. And my mom probably has Diet Coke.”

“Do you have coffee?”

“Uh, maybe?” I opened a cupboard. Mom drank coffee, but I wasn’t sure how she made it.

“Don’t worry about it. Water’s probably better anyway.” She settled into the corner of the couch, hugging one knee to her chest and setting her chin on top. “I’m going to need it if you expect me to eat four thousand chips.”

“Sorry. I thought maybe you’d want snacks.”

“No, snacks are good. I just can’t promise to eat my weight in them within the next hour.”

I laughed. I could feel my shoulders relaxing. Why had I been so worried about Rachel, again? Talking to her was always so easy. Like, natural. I grabbed a Sprite and Rachel’s water and headed to the couch, flipping on the TV as I sat. She scooted a little farther into the corner so she wouldn’t slide into me. My chest tightened watching her move away. Whatever, though. I had no reason to care, right?

“We have a little while before the segment’s gonna air,” I said. The “up next” commercials were on the screen. “Tell me about the dresses.”

Rachel dug her forehead into her knee. When she tilted her face toward me, her cheeks were red. Man, those eyelashes. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to feel them on my face, fluttering against my cheek. I blinked. Stop staring, Bonham. Jeez.

“Let’s just say I’m glad that’s not what we’re watching today.” Rachel smirked. I looked for the dimple on her cheek. It was there, a perfect pinpoint. “They didn’t let me pick the dresses, and I only realized way too late that Mary clearly wanted some to be hideous, I guess for comic relief. As though I need help looking like a joke, right?”

I frowned. I knew Rachel was kidding, but I didn’t like it. “I bet you looked great.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Okay, so they were ugly.”

“Yeah. Well, most of them. The one at the end was . . .” Rachel’s eyes went sparkly. I bet that’s how they looked when she saw an amazing painting or play. Like fireflies were exploding inside her. How could someone say so much with her eyes? “Let’s put it this way, you won’t have to be totally embarrassed to have me as your date.”