Bookishly Ever After (Ever After #1)(33)
I tried that slow smile again and scrapped it for a normal grin. “Mission accomplished.”
As soon as he was out of earshot, Em grabbed at my arm. “Holy crap, where the hell did you pull that from?”
I looked back at the target, wishing someone had caught that on camera. “I wish I knew. ‘Little Miss Robin Hood?’”
“It was either that, or jump up and down in shock. You officially impressed me.”
“I—” but before I could finish, a yell came from Dev’s direction.
“Am I knitworthy yet?”
I burst into laughter and ignored the confused look Em threw my way.
19
By the time I got to English class on Wednesday morning, Dev was already in the seat in front of mine. He and Sarah had been in a mini desk war for the past few weeks and it looked like he had beaten her today. I never realized my desk was in prime sitting territory.
Dev turned around without even saying hi and said, “Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?”
I made a face. “Driving up to Massachusetts. My aunt’s hosting this year. You?”
“Quiet. Mom’s talking about making tofurkey and inviting my sister’s boyfriend over for dinner. Dad’s been sharpening his sword collection.”
I let out a laugh. “Sounds better than watching Gran look for her false teeth and Aunt Sophia’s soap turkey.” His brows knit together and, laughing some more, I explained. “It actually tastes like soap. I swear, it’s like she scrubs it down every year with bar soap and never rinses or something.”
“That’s…wow.” Dev leaned closer, propping an elbow on my desk. “I guess I can’t complain about tofurkey anymore.”
“Nope. Sounds delicious. Your mom can adopt me if she wants.” I tried not to get flustered by his closeness and instead forced myself to lean closer. “We’re leaving tonight. Wanna trade?”
“As tempting as soap turkey sounds, no. But it’s too bad. I’d been hoping you would show me how to use a bow this weekend. I guess I’ll have to go looking for something else to entertain me.” He really did seem disappointed.
Dev’s cellphone sat on top of his desk. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled a Marissa-like move and reached around him to grab it, quickly programming my number into it.
“In case watching your dad threaten to kill someone isn’t entertainment enough, text me if you need any book recommendations,” I whispered as I handed it back to him. His fingers brushed mine and I couldn’t tell if the little shock I felt was from static, the phone, or him.
“Ms. Martins, Mr. Jacobs. Will I have to separate you two?” Ms. Zhdanova asked as she stood up from her desk, earning a few giggles from somewhere in the back of the classroom.
I quickly sat up straight, trying not to look guilty. But Dev tossed a small grin over his shoulder before turning to face her, looking incredibly cool and composed as he pulled out his copy of 1984. A minute later, my bag vibrated. I snuck my cell out and checked it under my desk. Zhdanova turned back from what she was writing on the board at my stifled laugh.
Do you think Zhdanova would die of shock if I used dystopian in a sentence?
I froze, and when she started writing again, texted as fast as I could. I dare you. As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Counter witty sentence with a fifth-grade dare. Yeah, really intelligent. I held my breath as he looked down at his phone.
His shoulders shook in silent laughter and I breathed a sigh of relief, until he looked back over his shoulder. “Watch me,” he said so softly I practically had to read his lips. “Ms. Zhdanova, would this be classified as a dystopian?”
Our English teacher froze before nodding with a surprised expression. “It looks like Ms. Martins is rubbing off on you. But, yes, it would be.” She broke into a discussion of the future worldview in the book and I started taking furious notes.
My phone vibrated, this time rattling against the underside of my desk. I glanced down and felt that electric shock run through me one more time. I agree. You are definitely a bad influence on me. I started to try and write a not-stupid reply when Zhdanova’s voice cut through the air:
“Phones!” The woman had eyes in the back of her head, I swear.
Fifth-grade me whacked Dev in the back with my copy of 1984.
20
As a concession for surviving Thanksgiving dinner and Great-Aunt Amelia’s two-hour breakdown of every health problem she had had in the past year, including a TMI blow-by-blow of her UTI, Trixie and I were given a pass from the rest of the family visits in Massachusetts on Friday. Dad dropped Trixie off in the part of Boston packed full of fabric shops and I was left in front of The Midnight Read. The indie bookstore was probably my favorite part of family visits.
I snapped a picture of the bookstore’s logo of a book on horseback with a tri-corner hat and sent it to Alec before stepping inside. With all the weird video game characters he’d come up with, he’d get a kick out of that. The smell of old and new books mixed with coffee hit me the second I opened the door and I broke into a grin. Home. Lambertfield didn’t have anything this awesome. I ordered a gingerbread latte and settled into one of the big couches in the antique book section. Just being in the same space as them was amazing. The store even had the peacock-feather-cover version of Pride and Prejudice and a first-edition Anne of Green Gables behind carved wood and glass doors. I angled my seat so I faced them. My eyes traced the pattern of the covers as I sipped at my latte. Maybe if I took quadruple shifts at Oh, Knit!, I could afford them. In a year or two or three.