Lying Out Loud(21)

“Noted. I’m a very appreciative person. You’re lucky to have me.”

“And you’re so modest, too.” She elbowed me with a grin. “But what are we going to do about Ryder? If me avoiding him isn’t going to work, then —”

But before Amy had even gotten the question out, we found ourselves face-to-face with the devil himself. Ryder had just rounded the corner, and he was heading our way.

Amy only had time to mutter a nervous “Crap” before he was standing right in front of us.

“Amy,” he said with a bright smile.

A smile that should’ve been for me. But I shook off the sudden, irrational pang of jealousy.

“Hi,” Amy said, fidgeting next to me.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Okay.” She glanced at me, her eyes begging for help. Only then did Ryder actually seem to notice that I was standing there.

“Oh, Sonny,” he said. “Hi to you, too.”

“Hey. Did you read the chapters for Mr. Buckley’s class?”

“I always read the chapters.” His voice was flat and obvious, without a trace of humor.

“Right,” I said, feeling like an idiot for asking. Because of course he had. He was Ryder Cross. And despite the progress we’d made, apparently we weren’t quite at small talk level yet. “Really interesting stuff we’ve been reading about. England and beheadings and all.”

But his eyes were already back on Amy.

“Listen,” he said. “I know you’ve been busy lately, but I was thinking maybe we could get together this weekend. There’s an Iranian film that just came out, and I thought we could go see it together.”

“Um … well.” Amy looked at me again, as if I could somehow help her out of this one.

When I just shrugged, her eyes began searching elsewhere, and after a second she grabbed my arm.

“I have to pee,” she announced. “Be right back.”

And she promptly began dragging me toward the bathroom, leaving Ryder with a look of pronounced confusion etched on his face.

“Well, that’s one way to make him stop worshipping you,” I said once we were standing in front of the row of sinks. “Talking about your bodily functions.”

“He keeps asking me out,” she said. “And he’s just going to ask again if I tell him I’m busy this weekend.”

“I know,” I said. “We’ve gotta come up with another way to … Wait.”

“What?”

“I have an idea. Avoiding him isn’t going to work, right? You’re too nice and he just keeps trying. So maybe when you do have to talk to him, you could do things like what you just did.”

“Talk about my bodily functions?”

“Among other things,” I said. “Be weird. Be all the things he can’t stand.”

“I don’t know what he can’t stand,” she said.

“Well … I know he doesn’t like people who are flaky. Or people who are late for things. He hates when people are irresponsible and he’s kind of a snob, so pop culture references get on his nerves.”

“So … I should act like you?” she offered.

“Hey now.”

“I’m kidding.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “But … I don’t know. I don’t want to be rude.”

“Yes,” I said. “You do. For once in your life you do.”

“Sonny …”

“It won’t kill you,” I assured her. “Come on. Please. Just be a little weird. And not cute, adorkable weird. He’d probably be into that.”

“I don’t —”

“No time,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I dragged her back out of the bathroom. As expected, Ryder was still waiting right where we’d left him. He smiled at Amy.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Oh, ye —” She stopped, glanced at me, and then cleared her throat. “No. I’m a little bloated, so …”

Ryder raised an eyebrow. “Okay … anyway. So about that date?”

“Can’t,” Amy said. “I, uh … There’s a Real Housewives marathon on this weekend. I have to watch it.”

“You watch reality TV?” As expected, he appeared to be disgusted by this revelation.

“She’s obsessed,” I said, chiming in. “Deeply obsessed. She’s seen every season of The Real World, too. Even the old ones that came on back in the nineties.”

Amy nodded. “Yep. So I’ll be busy this weekend.”

“Can’t you record it?” Ryder asked. “The marathon?”

“I … um … No. I can’t. I have to, uh, live-tweet it.” But she couldn’t resist adding, “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Maybe another time. Next Saturday —”

“Amy, don’t you need to get to class?” I asked. “The bell’s about to ring. You’ll be late. Again.”

“Huh? Oh.” She nodded. “Right. Late. I’m always late. Late Amy. That’s what my teachers call me, so … Okay. Bye.”

She took off down the hallway. Ryder frowned after her, then he turned to me. “That was … different. Is she okay?”