Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(62)

He turned back, one eyebrow raised, his hair tousled from the wind, his skin a healthy glow from the time we’d spent outside. He was adorable. My heart fluttered.

“You coming?” he asked.

“I’m coming.”

He was right to warn me, because even after his warning, I wasn’t expecting his sister’s reaction. At first it was completely normal. We walked into the kitchen, where his sister had spread peanut butter on some bread and was now adding sliced bananas to it.

Donavan looked at me. “Are you hungry?”

Was I? I hadn’t eaten all day, but my stomach felt like a nervous mess.

“Well, obviously,” his sister said, not looking up. “Hence the sandwich.”

“Kennedy, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Then who were you talking to?” She looked up and immediately met my eyes. I didn’t think she’d recognize who I was so fast, because most people took a moment to process someone out of context, but she must’ve known Donavan had been tutoring me or something because her mouth immediately dropped open.

“Kennedy, this is—” he started to say.

His sister interrupted him with, “I know who she is! I don’t live under a rock.”

I laughed a little. One didn’t have to live under a rock to not know who I was. In fact, there was a very specific set of qualifications people needed to have to actually know who I was. Those included: be related to me in some way, go to Pacific High School, or be a rabid fan of The Cafeteria, apparently. Well . . . at least before the article those were the qualifications. Now . . . “Hi,” I said. “Good to meet you, Kennedy.”

She had stopped topping her peanut butter with bananas and was now shaking her hands out and doing a running motion with her legs. “Donavan! Why would you bring her here without warning me! Look at me. Do I look ready to meet a celebrity?”

“You look fine, Kennedy,” he said, and I nodded my agreement.

“Fine? Fine! Fine is not a good compliment. If you learned this, maybe you’d have a girlfriend.”

Donavan and I exchanged a quick smile.

She sighed a big drawn-out sigh. “Well, I guess it’s too late now, the first impression is over. You will forever know me as the after-volleyball-hair, peanut-butter-and-banana girl.”

“It could be worse,” I said.

“It could?” she asked.

“The first time I met your brother . . . and the second and third for that matter . . . I was decomposing-flesh girl.”

“How is that worse? My brother is not a celebrity. My brother is nobody!”

“Thanks, Kennedy. Love you, too.”

She waved her hand at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Well,” I said. “I think you’re charming. And I’m not a celebrity either so we’re good.”

“I love your hair,” she said. “And you have beautiful skin, I see why that zit cream picked you for their commercial. I’m sorry everyone is being mean to you on the internet lately.”

I sucked in a breath, her last comment catching me off guard.

“Kennedy, she’s trying to forget about that,” Donavan said. “Let’s not bring it up again.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, then her eyes lit up. “You can stay here as long as you want!” She pushed her sandwich toward me. “You should eat this. And we can turn off the internet in the house and watch movies. Or The Cafeteria! Do you want to watch it? I have all six seasons on DVD.”

“Kennedy, she doesn’t want to watch herself on television.”

I shrugged. “I could watch myself on television.”

Kennedy laughed, and Donavan only looked surprised.

“What?” I said. “It’s a good show. You said so yourself.”

His eyes lit up in amusement.

I grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed. “Does that make me a diva?” I asked.

This time he actually chuckled. “Not at all. I’m glad to see your confidence back.”

A gasp sounded, and I turned to see Kennedy’s mouth open again. “Wait,” she said, looking at our clasped hands, then at the hoodie I wore. “Are you two . . . no. Wait, are you?”

I started to say yes when Donavan said, “No, we’re not. Now go turn on the TV.”

She ran out of the kitchen, and I dropped Donavan’s hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “She’s usually not so excitable.”

“You warned me.”

He pointed at her abandoned sandwich. “Does that appeal to you at all?”

“No, thanks.” I pulled my dead phone out of my pocket. “Do you have a charger I can borrow? I left mine in my trailer.”

“Yes, I’ll go get it.”

He left, and I stood in the kitchen alone. Had I been stupid to think that the kiss on the beach meant something? He’d had an hour while I slept to analyze it over and over again. Had he decided it was a mistake? Had he just done it because he felt sorry for me? Because he was a nice guy? I didn’t need his pity. I didn’t want it either.





Thirty


“I didn’t say you could eat my sandwich,” Kennedy said as we walked into the living room.

After Donavan had plugged my phone into the charger on the kitchen counter, he had put Kennedy’s sandwich on a plate and had already taken three big bites.