Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(53)
“EYE ON THE BALL, GREENFELD,” the coach yells. “AND LAUGHLIN. FOCUS. GODDAMMIT.” I look up to see Garrett waving at me frantically with both arms.
“Hello, Garrett,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Simon laughs. I have to admit, I like the feeling of being pursued, even if it’s only Garrett. It just feels nice. And maybe nice is kind of refreshing. Abby Suso makes me feel all kinds of things, but nice isn’t one of them.
Stop. Thinking. About. Abby. Jesus Christ.
“This is just so weird.” Simon sighs.
And it is.
I mean, here’s a surprise: I have an actual date to prom, and Abby Suso’s going alone.
I don’t know if I should text her.
I mean, it’s not like we’re fighting. And it doesn’t have to be weird. It was just a kiss. And I’m sure it only happened because she was tipsy. I should just send her something friendly and casual, because we’re casual friends who send casual texts. It’s just that every time I try to type something, my brain shuts down completely. I can’t even type “hello” to this girl without bursting into flames.
I’m pretty sure this is the kind of crush you can die from.
I try to distract myself by stalking my own Tumblr, scrolling through my posts in reverse order. The further back I go, the shittier my drawings get—proportions all wrong, messed-up shading. I guess I should be glad I’ve improved, but I feel weirdly embarrassed about the older work. I wish I had the kind of talent that emerged fully formed. I don’t like people seeing me in progress. It’s like stepping off a stage and finding out your underwear was showing. Not that my metaphorical underwear is particularly well hidden now. I still see flaws in my work, everywhere I look. It’s exhausting and mortifying and almost unbearable.
Except.
Okay.
I have yet another message from an anon, asking if I take commissions. i like your art so much, im so in love with it, it says.
So in love, they’d pay me for it. They’re asking to pay me for it. I think of the drum kit I don’t have. The car we couldn’t afford to fix. I think of my two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar prom dress.
I think of Abby.
But I can’t take commissions, because what if I draw the thing, and it’s a steaming pile of shit? What if they ask for their money back? Or what if I post my commission rates and people just fall over laughing? What if no one ever contacts me? Maybe this anon is actually just trolling me. Maybe it’s like the dudes in teen movies who pretend to ask the nerdy girl to prom.
My mouth goes dry. It’s hard to explain. Maybe I should delete my whole Tumblr account. Except.
I don’t know.
I’m curious.
Which doesn’t mean I’m doing this. It doesn’t mean anything at all.
24
I STEP OFF THE BUS on Monday, and Garrett pops out of the stairwell like a jack-in-the-box. “Burke!”
I jump. “Jesus, Garrett!”
“So, guess what,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“I’m mad at you.”
“Why?”
He smiles and ruffles his hair. “You disappeared before the game ended. Again. Why do you always do that?”
“Because.” My mind goes blank. I mean, not blank, exactly. But it’s definitely not giving me anything useful to work with.
Because.
Because Abby kissed me. Because she may not be straight. Which means I had to update every single one of my daydreams to reflect this. We’re talking about a massive overhaul, Garrett. I don’t think you realize how many Abby-related fantasies live in this brain.
“This was the most boring spring break ever,” Garrett says. Now he’s walking beside me, matching my pace. “You should have stayed home to entertain me.”
“Entertain you?” I side-eye him.
“Well, Burke, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, nudging me. “But now that you mention it . . .”
Then he winks at me, so—yeah. We’re done here. “I’ll see you at lunch, Garrett,” I say, patting him once on the arm before veering down a side hall.
“I made dinner reservations!” he calls after me. “For prom!”
I give him a thumbs-up over my shoulder. What a fucking slightly adorable doofus.
I haven’t talked to Abby since I stepped out of her car on Wednesday—and when I realize that, it throws me. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. But then again, I’ve thought about her approximately ten billion times a day.
All morning, I feel like I’m quietly buzzing. I don’t have any classes with Abby until the afternoon. But there’s lunch. At noon. In six and a half minutes. I can’t stop staring at the clock.
Bram’s already at the table when I get there, and I take a seat beside him, facing the door. It occurs to me that I have no idea whether Simon talked to him. So, that’s awkward. Hey, Bram—your boyfriend might move to Philly, and he told me first.
And then it actually hits me. Simon told me first. And if I’m being totally honest, I’m sort of gleeful about that. No one ever picks me first. But he did. I feel this sudden wave of affection for Simon. I think he might be the best friend I’ve ever had.
And maybe I should actually come out to him. Tell him I’m bi. I can picture it perfectly. I think he’ll laugh when I tell him. Not in a douchey way. I just think he’ll be happy.