Make Me Bad(13)

“Computer on the fritz?” he asks, and when I glance up, I see he’s wearing the barest hint of a smirk. My stomach flips upside down like an amusement park ride. This won’t work. He can’t stay here, lingering, giving me hope where there is none.

“It’s fine. Anyway, sorry to disappoint you, but the only place we need volunteers is down here, in the children’s department. I don’t think you’re quite cut out for it. Baby talk, screaming toddlers, poopy pants…” I scrunch my nose so he gets the idea.

He looks out into the distance as if surveying the landscape for all the possibilities I just outlined. He doesn’t look as deterred as I would have thought.

“Really…lots of poop,” I add, trying—for some insane reason—to convince him to leave. I think it’s because of how I feel in this moment: so totally out of control. I know I’m making a fool of myself and yet I can’t stop doing it. I want him to take a step back. Better yet, I want him to take ten steps back. I’d come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn’t see him again any time soon. I reasoned with myself that it was for the best. What could possibly come from spending time around Ben Rosenberg other than one-sided feelings and a whole hell of a lot of heartache?

Then I realize I have one more solid reason why it’s not a good idea for him to volunteer here, with me.

“Besides, I’m supposed to stay away from you. Bad news, apparently. Are you, Ben?”

“What?”

“Bad news?”

He looks like I’m confusing the hell out of him, and maybe I am.

I pick the books up off my desk and start walking back toward the stacks. He’s forced to follow if he wants to continue the conversation.

“Why would you think that?”

I glance at him over my shoulder. I swear he was looking at my butt, but I can’t be sure. “My dad warned me about you. He said you and your family think you’re entitled to anything and everything in Clifton Cove, even the people.”

“It sounds like your dad doesn’t know me very well.” His words are bitten out in annoyance.

I feel bad now, for hurting his feelings, for assuming he’s one way when maybe he’s the exact opposite. We’re between the tall stacks now. I’ve unintentionally hidden us away. It feels like there’s not a soul in sight. I press the books to my chest and turn my gaze up to him. He’s watching me with his brows furrowed and his mouth tugged into a sharp line.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry if I did.”

He doesn’t reply.

My heart rate picks up and I wish we weren’t so alone right now. There are a dozen kids down here—would it be so hard for one of them to run over in our direction and kill the tension building up between us? Maybe produce one of those poopy pants I warned him about?

I’m trying to come up with a solution for our problems. He needs to volunteer here to fulfill his community service requirement, and I need him as far away from me as possible. One of us is going to end up having to concede, and it’ll likely be me. I’ve never been great at standing my ground, but maybe there’s something I can get out of this after all.

My birthday flashes back into my mind, that lonely moment when I was staring at my reflection in the glass, the wish I made underneath my desk.

Inspiration strikes and I run with it before my brain has time to decide if it’s a good idea or a bad one. Chances are, it’s the latter.

“Here’s the thing: I’ll let you volunteer here if you do something for me.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. “What?”

“No, forget it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Madison, say it.”

His tone is hard and his words are so commanding, I suddenly blurt out, “I want you to help me change.”

“Change?” His gaze drops to my dress like I mean it in the literal sense rather than the figurative. “How?”

I’m going to have to be more specific, and being more specific means putting more of myself out there for him to judge and ridicule. There’s no way I’ll finish explaining my request without him laughing himself right on out of this library.

But, if I’m not honest, nothing will change. This year will be the same as the year before that and the year before that. In eleven months, I’ll be standing in this exact room, blowing out candles on a crummy ol’ birthday cake courtesy of Mrs. Allen. Eli will be off honeymooning with Kevin and Katy will be gone, replaced by some new bored intern desperately wishing they could go home.

So, I take a deep breath and speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

“I want you to, y’know…help make me…different.”

“Different?”

Right, yes. What does different mean? I’ve spent my entire life in this exact role: the good girl. The rule-follower. The curfew-keeper.

“I want you to help make me bad.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

There. I’ve said it.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that. You were covering your mouth with your hand.”

Oh right. Oops.

He leans forward and forcibly lowers my hand. We’re touching and my skin is on FIRE and maybe he realizes it because he lets go. It’s too late, though; I can still feel his warmth there, and on a whim, I make a fist as if to try to keep his cooties on me for as long as possible.