If I'm Being Honest(30)

He looks skeptical. “How will that help?”

I weigh how to answer. There’s really no nice way to say what Grant needs to hear. But telling him he’s too pathetic to be desirable might be a little harsh. It’s the kind of thing Kate would say. I settle for a milder version of the truth. “You’re an overeager puppy dog when it comes to Hannah,” I tell him gently. “You need to cool it and let me take over for a while. Just two weeks. If it doesn’t work, you can unleash everything you’ve got at this Rocky Horror thing.”

Grant pauses, looking unconvinced but like he wants to believe me. “You really want to help me?” he finally asks.

I nod. “I do.”

Grant gets up and pulls his backpack over one shoulder. He glances to the door, and my hopes deflate. Who was I kidding? Of course Grant wouldn’t want my help. “I would have to be pretty desperate to put my fate in the hands of Cameron Bright, the girl who wrecked my life in the first place,” he says, avoiding my eyes.

“Grant,” I try hopefully. “You passed desperate when you were modeling lingerie for the innocent bystanders in a bookstore.”

Grant grins, and a little of the discouragement eases in my chest. He finally looks me square in the eye. I hold my breath.

“Fair enough,” he says, and I feel a rush of relief. “Two weeks.” He walks past me. I give myself mental congratulations before turning my thoughts to how I’m going to handle Hannah.

I hear Grant’s voice behind me. “By the way”—I turn, startled he’s still here—“it’s Link,” he says, like I should have any idea what he’s talking about.

“What?”

“Boy-Zelda,” Grant clarifies earnestly. “His name’s Link. Thought you might want to know.” I roll my eyes, and he heads for the door. “And, Cameron,” he adds, pausing once more, “thanks.”

With that, he gives me a genuine smile. Unexpectedly, I find myself returning it.

I’m heading toward the entrance to the library, sneakers squeaking loudly on the hardwood, when I catch sight of somebody at the table next to the stacks—right where Grant and I were talking. Walking toward Grant, I’d noticed the binders and books on the table, and it takes me a moment to register who’s returned to them.

Watching me with open interest is BB. Brendan.

I feel my face redden. I didn’t hear him sit down while I was talking to Grant. From the look on his face, however, I’d guess he heard everything. “You’re not in the robotics room,” I blurt.

He tilts his head. “Why would you think I’d be in the robotics room?”

“You’re in the robotics room every lunch,” I say before realizing it’s not something a non-stalker would know.

“That’s a really invasive thing to know about me,” Brendan confirms.

“I know,” I sigh. “Sorry.”

He studies me, and I find myself curious what he’s going to say. “They’re holding the freshman Math Olympiad in the robotics room,” he says after a second. “That’s my reason for being here,” he continues. “I’m interested in yours. I guess I’m not the only person you’re apologizing to.”

“Or trying,” I reply. There’s less of the hostility I was expecting in his expression. He’s looking at me with amusement, and something else. It might be intrigue. “Some people are more cooperative than others,” I say lightly.

Brendan gives half a laugh. I feel my shoulders loosen. “Well, let’s not give Grant too much credit. You hardly even insulted him in your apology.” His mouth twitches, like he’s on the verge of grinning, but he doesn’t yet.

“I could apologize for that, too, if you want. I was just trying to undo damage to your reputation,” I tell him.

Some of the levity fades from Brendan’s face. He looks like he’s genuinely considering what I said. For the second time in the past hour, I feel an unexpected punch of nervousness. Brendan could open his mouth and tell me I’ve totally misread him, or tell me to get lost for the four hundredth time.

Instead, he shrugs. “Believe it or not, I don’t really care whether you or anyone else think I’m a loser. I’m just curious”—he closes his book—“why the personality change? ‘Apologetic’ isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind when I think of Cameron Bright.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how often is that?”

A funny noise comes out of the back of Brendan’s throat. “Not that—just—when I grade your homework in Computer Science,” he finishes, thoroughly flustered. “Really, though,” he recovers, “why bother apologizing to people like me and Grant?”

I decide to let him off the hook for that flimsy cover-up. Computer Science homework. Ha. “Is being a better person not reason enough?” I ask with feigned innocence. It’s good he’s talking to me. Wherever this conversation is going, it’s a far cry from our last exchanges.

“Not for you.” Now Brendan grins. I have to suppress a laugh of my own. He’s blunt, but he’s not wrong.

“Fair,” I say.

“Then why?” Brendan’s watching me curiously, and I have an idea. I walk up to the table and place a hand on his textbook.