Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(55)

“Great,” she says. “How about four o’clock? Does that work for you?”

“Yes, it does. Four o’clock tomorrow works for me. It does. Yes.” Jesus, I sound like someone who’s been kicked in the head by a horse.

“Awesome,” Leyna says. “Well, see you there.” She glances over her shoulder as she goes, flashing me a melt-my-heart smile just before she pushes through the door that leads out to the courtyard.

I’m grinning so big that my cheeks hurt. I feel like Jigglypuff leveled up with high happiness and Aprijuice. Man alive, things could not be any sweeter.

“Hello, Sean. Are you about ready to go?” Bzzz! Game over. I’d know that strained, nasal, disapproving voice anywhere. Evelyn.

I turn around to see her standing stiffly, strangling her books to her chest, a pinched look on her face like someone just forced her to swallow a mouthful of sour milk. Oh, crap. This is not going to be pleasant.





“I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE switched into Drama,” Evelyn says, shaking her head violently as we walk down the hallway. “I’m so stupid. I should have trusted my instincts.” If her textbooks had lungs, they’d be gasping for air.

“What are you talking about?” I say, calling on all of my drama skills to try to sound completely ignorant.

Evelyn stops dead in her tracks and turns on me. “You know what I’m talking about. Miss Hotsy-Totsy you were chatting with. Don’t think I don’t recognize her. She was that terrible actress at the auditions. What’s she trying to do? Seduce you so she can glom on to our movie?”

“What? No. I mean, maybe she auditioned, I don’t remember. A lot of kids in Drama did, but . . . We just did an acting exercise together. That’s what we were discussing —”

“I’m leading lady, mister.” She jabs me in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you forget it. You aren’t even filming this movie without me and my video camera.”

“Okay, just calm down, Ev —”

“Who the heck does she think she is, anyway? Looking at you like that. I’m gonna scratch her eyes out so she can never ogle someone else’s boyfriend like that ever again.”

“She wasn’t”— my mouth has gone cottony, making it hard to get my words out —“ogling anybody.”

“Oh, right.” Evelyn juts her chin out, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Tell me you didn’t see her slowly unzipping your pants with her gaze.”

I blink. “No, I did not see that.”

“What’s her name? I’m gonna have Nick do some digging. Tail her a bit. See what kind of home wrecker she is.”

I take a deep breath to try and bring my heart rate back from the stratosphere. “Don’t you think maybe you’re overreacting a bit?”

“Overreacting?” Evelyn grabs my arm and glares at me, a furious purple vein pulsing in her forehead. “What am I supposed to do? Sit by and watch as she steals you away?” She gets right up in my grill, releasing her Swiss-cheesy smell like an angered skunk. “Should I just let her snatch the love of my life away? I don’t think so.”

Love of her life? My junk shrivels. “She’s not snatching anything. We were just talking. That’s all. Just like I talk to people every day. Girls. Guys. Teachers. It means nothing. Less than nothing, even.”

Evelyn glances away, biting her lower lip. Then she looks back at me, her eyes starting to fill up. “Do you swear?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Totally.”

“On your”— her gaze falls to my crotch —“‘down there’?”

I blink hard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you swear on your ‘down there’? It’s the only way I’ll know if you’re telling the truth. No guy wants his . . . thingamabob to stop working.”

She can’t be serious.

Oh, but I can see she’s as serious as a .44 Magnum pointed at my head. If she wanted me to swear on anything else — my arm, my nose, my brain — I’d just go ahead and do it. No question. But some things you don’t want to screw with. Just in case anyone is listening.

But then — as if God knows this chick is bonkers and wants to throw me a life preserver — a memory pops into my head.

“Yes,” I say, trying to keep my expression earnest. “I swear. On my . . . thingamabob.” In my mind I am picturing the thingamabob I made in kindergarten out of clay, rocks, twigs, and pipe cleaners. The very thingamabob that my mother still has on top of one of our bookcases. It’s a thingamabob that I’m sure would be more than happy to take a bullet for me.

“Oh, snuggy bear! I’m so relieved!” Evelyn crumples into my arms and breaks into heaving sobs, trembling and snuffling against me. It’s a more dramatic personality switch than anything I’ve seen in drama class. “I’m so sorry. I totally schmucked up. Can you ever forgive me?”

I pat her back tentatively, as the clammy warmth of her snot and tears soaks through my shirt. “It’s fine. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Evelyn drags her nose across my shoulder, then lifts her head to look at me. “Really?”

I force myself to hold her rheumy red-eyed gaze. “Of course. It was an honest mistake. No big deal.”