Shuffle, Repeat(43)
“Nothing,” I say on autopilot, because I’m busy trying to add my latest win to our shared playlist. (Thanks, blog post about teenage conformity contributing to limitations in success!)
“Aren’t you going to at least bake him cookies or something?”
Oh hell. He’s talking about Itch. I still haven’t told Oliver that we broke up, and the longer it takes, the weirder it’ll be to mention it.
“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Cookies. That’s great.” Hell hell hell. “What are you guys doing?”
“I was hoping you’d have a brilliant idea. Maybe something a little unique.”
“Flowers?”
“Call me crazy,” says Oliver, “but I sort of thought that you, with your genius brain, might come up with something slightly more original than flowers.”
“Cookies shaped like flowers?”
“You suck,” says Oliver, but he laughs.
I don’t laugh. I’m bugged. Seriously bugged. Worst of all, it’s not just that I’m continuing this stupid lie-by-omission. It’s that I don’t want to come up with a cutesy gift for cutesy Oliver to give to cutesy Ainsley on Valentine’s Day.
Jeez.
Get a life.
? ? ?
I bring it up to Darbs later in the day. “Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Like with Ethan or something?”
“Gross, no.” She picks through the wads of paper crammed in her locker.
“Hey, I don’t know. You think stupid prom is so romantic.”
“Yeah, because you can smuggle in beer. Make a date out of it. Valentine’s Day isn’t even a real holiday. It’s made up by people who sell cards.”
She’s got a point.
Suddenly, Theo is between us, leaning against the lockers and looking down at Darbs. “I got a fake ID,” he tells her. “I can hook you up with beer for Valentine’s Day.”
Darbs gives him the once-over. “In exchange for what?”
“A blow job.”
Seriously, a nuclear bomb is more subtle than Theo.
“I’d rather be boiled in hot oil,” Darbs tells him. “Or die from a thousand salted paper cuts.”
“Why not?” He points at me. “She gives road head every day.”
“I do not!” I explode, furious and mortified. “And do you have any idea what an epic douche you are?”
“Whatever.” Theo stays focused on Darbs. “Come on, you’ll do anyone. Boys. Girls. Everyone’s your type. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Darbs and I both glare at him. “Actually, I only have one type,” Darbs says. “Human. And you don’t qualify.”
She slams her locker door shut and starts down the hall. I’m about to follow when Theo grabs me by the shoulder. “Hafferty.”
I yank away. “What do you want?”
“Stop cock blocking me, already.”
I laugh out loud. “I could roll a red carpet out for you, and Darbs still wouldn’t be into it.”
“Not her,” says Theo. “Oliver.”
I momentarily wonder if Theo has lost his mind. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just grass.” Theo frowns down at me. “But of course you say no, because you’re a loser killjoy, and he listens. Back off already. No one’s buying the ‘now I’m cool’ act. Let us have some fun.” He glowers at me before stomping away.
Maybe I should be upset about the slam, but instead, I zero in on the part that seemed like a compliment. Like a good thing. It was a reminder: Oliver listens to me.
? ? ?
The next day, I’m in physics. Class started ten minutes ago and Oliver still hasn’t shown up. I wouldn’t think twice about it except he drove me to school this morning and never said anything about missing class. Also, Ainsley stopped by my desk on her way in to ask if I’ve seen him.
No idea.
I’m taking notes on rotational inertia when a hesitant underclassman opens the door. As he walks to the teacher’s desk, I realize why he’s familiar. It’s because he’s the smallest sophomore on the football team, the one who once—very temporarily—sported the silhouette of a penis and balls on his head, thanks to Theo Nizzola.
He says something quietly to Mrs. Nelson and they both look at me. Mrs. Nelson crooks her finger for me to approach her desk and I comply, knowing the rest of the class is wondering what I did wrong. “Go down to the office,” she says.
“Why?”
The sophomore shrugs. “They said they needed your information. I think some files got corrupted in the school computer or something.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, and he nods before padding from the room.
“Should I take my stuff?” I ask Mrs. Nelson, but she’s already at the board, writing about triple integrals in her big, loopy scrawl, so I make an executive decision and pack everything up. Better safe than sorry. I head out, taking care to pull the physics door closed behind me, and turn to go down the hallway….
Oliver is standing right in front of me.
I jump. “What the hell!” I say out loud, and then remember we’re right outside a classroom. I bring my voice down to a stage whisper. “What are you doing here?” Oliver opens his mouth but I cut off whatever he’s about to say. “Actually, tell me later. I got called to the office.”