She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(9)
I shrug, studying my apple. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you’re not.”
My phone buzzes again, and I’m a little too eager to look at it. I hear Cam’s laugh, but I ignore him.
Gage: Would you rather… go to the movies, or make memories?
This question has me pausing. It’s like the others today, but, somehow, it seems as if he’s asking me personally, not just for information.
“Did Gage Christensen just ask you on a date?”
I glance at Cam, who is leaning over the table to read my phone screen. I slap at him, and put the phone in my lap, clicking power without answering.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is part of our assignment.” But my heart is pounding, the beat erratic while it calls me a liar.
I finish my lunch without answering, talking to Cam about his math assignment, ignoring his knowing glances and suggestive comments. By the time I’m walking to my next class, I’m ninety percent sure I’ve overreacted, and there is nothing suggestive about Gage’s text. Pulling out my phone, I reply.
Me: Movies are boring.
Before I’m in my seat, my phone buzzes.
Gage: Does that mean you want to make some memories with me this weekend, Kenny?
No. But my fingers don’t type that. Instead, I click the power off and slide my notebook out, looking straight ahead. I don’t want to make memories with Gage Christensen. I don’t want to make memories with anyone. That’s why I’ve always stayed on the outskirts. Life is easier if I only depend on myself. I can’t let a cute boy with just the right amount of charm and sass make me forget that.
But I can’t concentrate on the words being said when the teacher starts talking. Instead, all I can hear is the rapid beating of my heart as it drums in my ears.
Ninety minutes later, when I pull out my phone and see the new message, I read:
Gage: Come on, Kenny, take a chance on your life-partner.
Me: What did you have in mind?
Chapter 8
Week 1, Part 2: Swing, Batter Batter
Gage
Kenny is waiting on her front step when I pull up to the curb in front of her house on Saturday afternoon.
All week, she insisted we did not need to spend time together outside of school in order to complete our assignment. Technically, she might be right. The assignment does only say to learn things like favorite colors and hobbies, movies, foods, music. But… it also says, think first date. That’s the part I’m holding onto.
“I’m a visual learner,” I told her yesterday at lunch. Her friend, Cam, who I have to think might just be on my side, almost choked on his sandwich. “I can’t just know you because we’ve sent some texts back and forth—besides, you’re not very good at texting.”
Kenny is the person who stops abruptly in the middle of a conversation and waits hours to respond again. And, when she does respond, it’s never with a sure, or a yes. It’s either, no or a question, like why? I thought she was coming around when she asked me what I had in mind for making memories, but then she began back peddling, saying we didn’t need to spend time together, blah blah blah. I cut her off, then I told her I would come to her house and get her Saturday afternoon. Because she’s antagonistic—or just plain ornery—she tried to insist on taking a bus to meet me.
“Not on your life.” This did not please her, but Cam started nodding his head, so I counted it as a done deal.
Now, I’m pulling my truck to a stop and she’s already on her way down the walk before I’ve turned the engine off.
When she wrenches open the door, I raise a brow. “Do I need to come inside and meet your parents? Let them know I’m a safe driver, and my intentions are honorable?”
I see her lips twitch when she hoists herself in, but she doesn’t let them curve. So stoic, my Kenny. “No one’s here. They went to the beach for the day since no one had to work for the first time in ages.” Slamming the door harder than necessary, she turns to put on her seatbelt. I don’t start the engine, though.
“You could have called me and cancelled, Kenny. Or rescheduled for later tonight. You didn’t have to miss beach time with your family.”
She shrugs, looking down at her lap. I follow her eyes, and mine widen a little, when I see the Kenny’s wearing shorts. Honest to goodness, cut off jean shorts that stop way higher than mid-thigh. And Kenny has stems—legs that look like they start in the vicinity of the sky and go on forever until they end at her feet, encased in teal Vans. Swallowing, I look away.
This is not the time to be mesmerized by smooth olive skin and slender legs. I shift in my seat, suddenly tense.
“It’s no big deal. We live in Southern California—the beach will be there another day.”
She plays it cool, adding a shoulder shrug, but she’s still looking at her shorts. I see it, the hint of pink on her cheeks that tells me maybe Kenny is a little embarrassed. Reaching over, I put my hand on the back of her seat, waiting for her to look at me. “Did you miss the family beach day because you were excited to see me, Kenny?”
Her scoff is quick and loud, but the pink gets brighter. “It’s Kennedy. And don’t flatter yourself. I just figured that, if I rescheduled, you might do something desperate, like GPS track my phone and stalk me to the beach.”