I can’t catch a break. I decide to play the only game I know. I pretend he’s not here.
“Hey Mom. Today was so awesome! JuneBug’s new boyfriend, Owen, has this crazy cool Winnebago. We went to a State park and spent the whole day there. Canoeing. Hiking. More canoeing. It was absolutely fruitly beautiful. I couldn’t have picked a more perfect day.”
I grab a plate and pick up a few of her hors d’ouvres. “Ooh. Are these what you are making for your catering of Israel’s art show? It’s going to be the Bomb! I just know it. Well, I’m going to go and take a bath. My muscles are so sore.”
I hardly look at Oliver during this entire awkward one-sided conversation. I race upstairs to the bathroom and start the water. I turn on my music on my phone. I sit in the tub for like forty-five minutes. Awwww, sweet bath bombs and hot water and dreamy music….
I get out, thinking I’ve accomplished what I set out to; letting Oliver know that I didn’t miss him, and that he can go home because I have nothing to say to him. Ha. I throw on my shorts and sweatshirt, no bra. I’m feeling pretty good, all cozy, relaxed, all warm and smelling nice; my favorite comfort zone.
I sit on the edge of the tub, lean my head upside down, and quick braid my hair from the bottom, leaving the top of it in a high ponytail. I walk down the hallway to my room. Bullocks and billiard balls! There’s my Mudpie Mojo, looking right at home, sprawled in my fuzzy white chair. Daaang it.
I steer clear around him and plop down on my bed. I snag a book from my bookshelf to hide behind. He sits there, staring at me, for like fifteen minutes. Fine. I’ll just wait him out. I am not talking first. “So, did you and Drake have a nice time?”
I peer up at him from behind my book. “Yes. Yes, we did. He’s a great guy. He’s not too hard to look at either. You’ve already seen that he can dance. He’s got pret-ty smooth moves.” I return to my book.
“Do you think you’ll see him again, then?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Probably. He’s a friend of Owen’s and Owen is seeing JuneBug now - so yeah, probably.”
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I look at him again. “You asked me if I’ll see him again. I said I probably will. It’s a yes or no question and I answered it as best I could.” I’m not going to make this easy on him. Not. At. All.
“Dang it, Katie. Are you dating Drake or not?”
“You’re interrupting my reading, Oliver.”
“You haven’t turned a single page in fifteen minutes, so I highly doubt it.”
“That’s because I can’t read with you all smoldering over there.” Dang it. My stupid mouth tells on me. Every time.
He smiles, all dimples, and leans forward. “It sounds to me like you’re not too interested in Drake.”
I lay down my book. “What does it matter to you? You Took That B. Livvy to the dance. So why do you care who I spend my time with?” I pick up my book again and bury my face in it.
He sighs. “I took Livvy to the dance because my mother made me and because she was crying and because she said you drew targets on her face.”
I laugh. “And you believed her? You didn’t even ask me! I mean, we were together, and you just took her word for it. So, whatever.” I pick up my book, yet again.
“I didn’t say I believed her. I just said my mom made me take her to the dance.”
I throw my book on the floor this time. “Your mom made you take her to the dance, Oliver? What are you, like twelve? Maybe you could, like, put on your big-boy pants and tell your mom that Livvy is your ex-girlfriend and I’m your new girlfriend and Livvy is like borderline psychotic. Maybe you could have told her that! But nooo. You take Livvy to the dance, leave me without a date, letting Livvy know her little two-year-old fit throwing works like a charm, and she’s winning the game.
And you know what? You two can have each other! So what if I love you, you’re not worth all this trouble.” With that, I lean over and grab my book off the floor.
I sit up. Oliver’s eyes are suddenly glued to the front of my shirt. I remember I’m not wearing a bra. That was so not intentional. His eyes are full of heat. My face turns beet red. Now what do I do? If I get up and go get a bra from my dresser, this will only draw more attention to my chest. I don’t want him thinking that I did that on purpose, because I didn’t. At the same time, I can’t say I’m sorry about it. Let the boy drool a little.
I’m not speaking again. I told him what I think about what happened. And Hades can freeze over before I ask him what happened with Livvy after the dance. He clears his throat. I keep reading my book.
“You said you loved me,” he says all quiet.
“I said a lot of things,” I ground out.
“Yeah, but I know what I heard.”
My eyes flash at him. “And I know who you took to the dance, and who’s to say if we get back together, that Red wouldn’t get between us like she just did.”
“What do you want me to say, Katie? I just want things to go back to the way they were, when we were, like together.”
I glare at him. “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you took Livvy’s word when she said I drew on pictures with a red marker like I’m some kind of crazy stalker person.”
He sighs. “You do remember that you had Livvy by the hair on her head like you were going to scalp her? I mean, you can’t deny that because someone caught it on camera. And I saw you with my own eyes.”
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “I’m not denying it, Oliver. But Livvy exposed my private life to the whole class. She read my business out loud. To everyone. And you know what? This conversation is just stupid! You going to tell me that dudes don’t punch each other out for smaller reasons than that, or none at all? You’ve never hit someone in anger?”
I’m on a roll. “Guys do it all the time, but because I’m a girl, I’m not allowed to have anger and rage? I’m not allowed to punch someone who totally deserves it?”
“What? No! That’s not what I’m saying.” He finally looks a little worried.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not used to girls who fight.” He crosses his arms on his chest.
I snort. “Yeah, you are. Livvy’s a fighter. Her viciousness is well hidden. She’s sneakier. She attacks from behind. Do you not recall that twice now, she’s attacked me first, without provocation. The first time she tried to knock me out cold with a can of corn. Who does that? The second time she threw all this old crap in my face from my past, and none of it was my fault!
“Who is stalking who here? I’m not like, going through all her FaceBook history, trying to find dirt on her. She’s doing all that to me. And it’s all over you. So, maybe the smart thing for me to do is leave you alone.” I stare him down. “It would sure save me a lot of trouble.” I sigh. “What’s the point of me fighting for you if you won’t fight for me?” I look down at my hands. “If you won’t fight for us.”
“Is that what you want? For me to leave you alone?” He sounds so sad.
I force myself to look him in the eye. “It’s not what I want or don’t want, Oliver. It’s what you chose. I mean, you really sold me on the whole ‘you’re like no one I’ve ever met, and our conversations are so different, and you’re really special’. I was practically eating from your hand…but then you turn around and dump me before a dance, which was total humiliation…to go back to your ex-girlfriend, the girl who despises me, and then you have the nerve to ask me how my date with Drake went. Well. Screw you.”
He clenches his fists. Even so, I’m not worried. “It, um, was a date, then, with Drake? I mean, I thought he was just Owen’s friend or something.”
“I don’t know, Oliver. He’s a great guy. He even tried to kiss me, once...and I almost did. I kind of even wanted to. But, um, I couldn’t. I’m not the kind of girl who kisses someone when I’m still hung up on someone else.”
I don’t like to admit this to Oliver, but I won’t lie to him. His eyes fill with hope as my words register. I hate the seesaw we’re on. He stands up and approaches the foot of my bed, as if he’s asking permission.
I know if I allow him to sit down, it’s over for me. My resistance to Oliver weakens with proximity. My heart decides as my head nods. He sits down softly on the end of my bed. He holds my foot in his hand. He draws circles on the bottom of it with his finger—he knows this drives me crazy.
I pull my foot away from him. He scoots closer to me. He’s getting to me, and we both know it. What am I going to do? “Oliver. Where have your lips been since the last time they touched mine?” That’s the closest I’m getting to asking him about Livvy, the fire-breathing dragon, and that’s being nice.
He smiles a little. Then he sees my face. He knows I mean business. “Um, dodging Livvy’s? I’m not going to say she didn’t try.”
I clear my throat. “And, um, are there any girls out there thinking you might be calling them up or stopping by any time soon for any particular reason?”
He laughs. “You really aren’t going to say her name, are you? No, she has no reason to think I’m interested in anyone but you. I know I took her to the dance, but I haven’t talked to her since that night.”
He’s looking at me—mostly my mouth. My resistance runs for the door. “Katie Sapphire Albright.” My heart melts. My toes curl.
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you now?”
Even though I know this probably isn’t the best idea, and I should make him suffer a little longer, I figure with all the pictures JuneBug has already posted on social media of our awesome time at the State Park hanging out with the guys in the Winnebago, he’s suffered enough. I scooch up to sit beside him on the side of the bed and lean my head on his shoulder. He takes that as a yes.
He attacks my mouth with the fire of a thousand suns. Yes, it is that hot. I hold back a moan that wants to emerge from my lady core. Oh, holy range rovers, this kiss was almost worth all the turmoil we’ve put each other through in the last three days. Oliver absolutely embodies my favorite song, Head Over Feet, by Alanis Morissette.
I know I’m in serious trouble of losing my heart altogether as I relish Oliver’s magical lips just a little longer. I hear a throat clearing. Oh, crap. I think it comes from my doorway. Please, by all that’s holy, let it not be coming from my mother.
I come up for air. Nope. It’s my hot fake-adopted older brother, Israel. That’s a little funny. Oliver keeps his arm around me and pulls me closer. Apparently, he doesn’t see the humor in this situation as much as I do.