The Holiday Switch(25)

Now I’m lost. “Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

He laughs. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Lila. It’s simply an observation, much like you’ve made about me. Because I can tell, you don’t like me very much.”

The way he says this spears me with a lightning bolt of guilt. “I…I don’t know why you think that. I haven’t done anything to you.”

    “But you don’t agree with the things I ask or do.”

“There’s a difference between correction and disapproval,” I say. “And I correct.”

He chews and laughs. “Nope, you disapprove.”

“I disagree.”

“Okay.” He smiles this wide grin that’s both disarming and placating all at once. Because we both know that he’s made his point—there’s no hiding that our personalities aren’t in sync. “So what are you planning to major in? I bet you applied to ten colleges all early action. With the way you follow my tita’s checklists, I bet your life is a spreadsheet.”

My face heats—am I that transparent? But at the same time, I’m proud of all I accomplished. Organization is, after all, my strong point. “Eight. But I got into my first choice.” I take a sip of my water to clear my thoughts. “Syracuse.”

He looks up, eyes crinkling, and he beams. He looks almost as happy as when I saw him at the climbing gym. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yep.” Pride seeps into my tone. “For bio.”

“Huh.” He sips his soda.

His reaction is curious, but I go on. “Then hopefully right into medical school.”

He nods, still sipping.

“That must be a good drink.”

“Oh, ah, yeah.” His phone—his actual phone, now that we’ve swapped back—lights up. It takes all of me not to look at what weird new text he received. Then it buzzes a second and then a third time.

“Do you mind?” He gestures.

    “No, go ahead.”

He scrolls up and chuckles. Then he glances up for a beat. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I wipe my fingers on my napkin. “Wow, we took that family platter out.”

“You’re a good restaurant date.” His eyes widen. “I mean, not a date, but you know.” He clears his throat.

Is that shyness I detect? Whatever it is, it sends my heart into double time, adding to the emotional whiplash of our roller-coaster conversation.

Which means I need to get out of here. This is wrong, all these feelings, whatever they are.

I reach out to grab my phone, but as I do, his hand beats me to it. My hand hovers over his, and though we’re not touching, tingles run up my arm.

“Wait. Before you go.” His lifts his gaze to me, and I still. Then, slowly he withdraws his hand.

I clear my throat, my gut now screaming at me. “What’s up?”

“I wasn’t sure how to bring this up. I’ve been sitting here, thinking that maybe I shouldn’t because chilling with you has been okay, but there’s no way I can’t. Lila, I know. And I know that you know.”

His words are confusing, to say the least. I frown. “What you just said was a whole lot of I knows, but not much else. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grabs his soda glass and wipes the condensation with a thumb, his jaw muscle working.

In the silence I wonder: How does one get a jaw muscle? Does he do jaw exercises when he tones his shoulders and back muscles? Was that something he built up slowly at the climbing gym?

    “Are you listening?” Teddy’s eyebrows are raised.

“No.” Shaking my head, I try again. “I mean, I don’t get it. You’re going to have to give me a little bit more to go on.”

He sighs. “You aren’t sly, Santos. I saw you and your friends at the climbing gym. Spying.”

Tiny microbeads of sweat build up at my temples. “What climbing gym?”

His eyeballs roll back for a beat. “The one you went to last night.”

“Mmm.” I tap my chin to distract myself. Because distraction is the key while I try to sort out my alibi. “Last night? Nope. Not me.”

He sighs. “The three of you were hard to miss.”

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So we’re going to pretend. All right.” He sits up. “Look, you can’t tell anyone that I was there. Not a soul, especially not Tita Lou.”

Interesting.

Here’s the thing about being a big sister. I can see through the fluff and slight panic. Teddy is desperate, which means that there’s something to tell. And seeing him stress is vindication.

Then again, why would I care?

I reel back my thoughts to square one. “For the record, I was not spying.”

“Lila…okay, fine.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But don’t tell Tita Lou. Please.”

My tummy flip-flops at his distress. I might be big-sister bossy, but I’m not mean. “Fine, fine, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” He exhales.

“But can I ask why?”

    “I’d rather you not. It’s complicated.” He avoids my eyes.