Shut Out(33)

“I actually took a class. Anal-Retentive 101.” Cash laughed, and I smiled back, shaking my head. “No. It, um, started after my mother died.”

Cash’s face fell. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to talk about it if you—”

“It’s fine,” I said, realizing as I said it that it was true. “It was a long time ago. But after the accident, I just got so freaked out, so scared of something else bad happening, that I wanted to be in control of everything. That started with me being bossy and then the counting started, and that spawned a whole slew of idiosyncrasies. It’s silly, I know, but—”

“It’s not silly,” he said. “What’s silly is my deep-seated and unreasonable fear of fish.”

I frowned. “Fish? Like food?”

“No, that doesn’t bother me so much. Fish that are alive. I can’t swim in lakes or rivers or anything besides a swimming pool because I’m always convinced the fish are swimming all over me… all slimy and… ugh.”

I laughed, and Cash smiled.

“We all have our quirks,” he said. “This is yours. You wouldn’t be you without it.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking away, feeling embarrassed.

“All of that said,” he continued, and when I turned back to face him I realized he’d leaned close again. We weren’t touching, but he was definitely crossing the personal-bubble line. “I do think you should loosen up every once in a while. For your own sake.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know.”

He was so close, and his green eyes were looking right into mine. In that moment, I felt anything but uptight. I was completely relaxed. Completely comfortable.

Too comfortable, I realized, as the break room door swung open and I jumped away from him.

“Lissa,” Jenna said from the doorway, “your break ended almost a minute ago. Come on, I can’t have you slacking off when you’re on the clock.”

“Right,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Sorry. I’ll get back to work.”

“Good,” she said. “There are some magazines that need to be reorganized. And when you’re done with that, can you put away the books I just checked back in?”

I nodded, and Jenna walked away.

“My guess,” Cash said, smiling up at me, “is that she was just born that way.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said quickly, grabbing my book and tossing my apple into the trash. “See you, Cash.”

I forced myself to think of Randy while I worked in the magazine room. Despite our current issues, I had a great boyfriend. One who didn’t deserve a girlfriend with a wandering eye. Or mind.

But Homecoming was the next night, and I was determined to have a good time with my friends and my boyfriend and no Cash interfering with my thoughts.





chapter fifteen


Hamilton High had two Homecomings a year—one for football in September and another for basketball in January. When you’re a freshman it’s exciting because two Homecomings means two opportunities to dance with boys in a dark gymnasium (which, for some reason, seems glamorous when you’re fourteen) and have TV show–like high school experiences—or so you hope.

By senior year, the whole thing was far less glamorous, but if you had good friends to hang with, it could still be pretty fun.

I was having a decent time this year, despite my awkward, unromantic dinner with Randy before the dance. I’d picked a Thai restaurant in Oak Hill, the next town over, that I knew served great food and had a nice, dim, romantic atmosphere. But that atmosphere had been kind of crushed by Randy’s attitude. He’d barely talked to me, shrugged his shoulders in response to almost everything I said, and sent text messages throughout the meal.

“Who are you texting?” I asked playfully.

“Shane,” he grunted.

“Who’s he going to Homecoming with?”

“No one.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

I frowned and poked my fork at a piece of shrimp on my plate. Yes, I knew why Shane didn’t have a date. It’s because Shane wasn’t really the “dating” type. He was essentially the male version of Chloe. Neither of them would willingly spend an evening attached to a member of the opposite gender unless it ended with sex. Which, tonight, it clearly wouldn’t.

When the waiter brought the check, Randy paid for both our meals, though he didn’t seem to do it with pleasure.

Again, I tried to tell myself that this was a good thing. That his annoyance with the sex strike was a positive sign. That the girls would have their victory soon and the rivalry would be over and we’d get along again. I convinced myself that I should be happy he was pissed at me. It still didn’t feel good, though.

It struck me then that Randy and I were sort of playing the same game. I was withholding sexual activities and he was withholding… well, everything else. By avoiding conversation and being so distant, he was leaving me feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, too.

Whether I liked it or not, I didn’t complain about the way our paths separated once we got to the gymnasium. We needed a break from each other, so he went off to talk to his teammates—none of whom seemed to understand that dances were meant for dancing—and I found Chloe at our usual place by the refreshment table.