I spend the rest of the night eating grilled cheese sandwiches with my mom and pretending to watch television while secretly overanalyzing my character and letting my phone continue to buzz with incoming calls.

Am I mean? Is what I’m doing to Carter mean? In theory, it seems mean, but Carter is such an asshole… Doesn’t that mean that being mean to him isn’t mean?

Holy shit, that’s a lot of means. Maybe it’s a sign.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” my mom asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I tear my attention off the television and blink at her. “What?”

She gives a pressing look at the coffee table where my phone is ringing. “Your phone.”

“Um …” I stare at my phone like it’s the devil, knowing the only person who calls me is Elodie and my mom. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk to Elodie yet. Not when she’s going to be all yeah, this is super awesome. And I’ll be like, this is the worst idea of yours I’ve ever agreed to. I’m so screwed! “I don’t know.”

She gives me a curious look. “Are you sure everything’s okay? It’d suck if you got sick right before the graduation ceremony. And all because you ate some bad cheese.” Her insinuating tone implies that she doesn’t buy into my bad cheese story.

Damn my mom and her built-in lie detector senses.

Not wanting to explain the truth to her, I scoop up my phone. “Yeah, everything’s great. I was just waiting for a commercial break before I answered it.”

She studies me with suspicion but I slip out of the room before she can start playing mom detective. Once I’m in the hallway, I answer.

“El, I love you to death, but that so wasn’t cool,” I hiss into the phone as I duck into my bedroom and close the door.

“Ummm …” The deep voice definitely doesn’t belong to Elodie.

“Gaige?” I try again.

“Nope. Try again.” Now the male caller seems more amused now than confused.

I move my phone away from my ear to check who the caller is, but the number is listed as unknown.

Okay, then …

Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Is it Creepy Larry from the pool?”

A pause.

“What?” The person says through laughter. “That’s your third choice? Seriously?”

Oh, fuckety fuck, I know that laugh.

“Carter.” WTFFFFF?

“Aw, you got it on the fourth try.” His teasing tone is making me edgy. “I’m a little hurt I came after Creepy Larry from the pool. He doesn’t sound that important.”

“Oh, but he is.” I literally have no idea what’s going on. “He’s been a huge part of my life and taught me a life lesson that not all people hanging out at the pool are there to swim. And that I should be extra careful around guys who wear yellow nut huggers.”

“What?” His amusement has faded and is replaced by shock and a little bit of concern.

I sink down on the edge of my bed. “Sorry. Long story.”

The silence that fills the line is painfully awkward, but I don’t know what to say since I have no damn idea why he’s calling me. Unless he’s retracting his date offer.

Yep, that’s probably it.

“Well, maybe you can tell me the story next Friday,” he suggests, breaking the silence.

“Next Friday?” I sound like such an echo. A moronic echo.

“Yeah, on our date.” He gives a pause, as if waiting for me to say something. “You know, to my party next Friday night.”

“I know what you meant.” I choose my next words very carefully, feeling as though I’m walking into a trap. Because I’ve seen the games Carter and his friends play with people they think are beneath them. And I’m one of those people. “I thought that was a joke. The party invite, I mean.”

“If you thought it was a joke, then why did you agree?”

I nervously chew on my thumbnail. “I was joking, too.”

“Well, doesn’t a joke cancel out a joke?” He sounds way too entertained.

“Which would mean nothing happened at all.”

“Or it means that everything that happened was completely serious.”

“Or completely false.”

He chuckles. “Man, you’re a tough one to go up against. Normally, people don’t keep me on my toes.”

“That’s because, normally, they’re on their knees, kissing your ass.” I slap my hand over my mouth. Why did I just say that!

He chuckles again. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?”

I release a slow breath. “So, you’re admitting you know people kiss your ass?”

“Of course I’m admitting it,” he says shamelessly. “I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit it.”

“Or just oblivious.”

“I’m definitely not oblivious.” His tone conveys an underlying meaning.

Crap. Did he somehow find out about the plan?

“That might not be a good thing,” I say uneasily. “I mean, if you’re aware of everything, then that means you’re responsible for everything.”

“Everything?” he teases. “Man, that’s a lot of responsibility to put on one individual. Talk about the weight of the world being on my shoulders. Literally.”

“I don’t think the weight of the world can literally be on your shoulders. It’s physically and scientifically impossible.”

“I don’t know. If I’m responsible for everything, then why can’t the weight of the world actually be on my shoulders? They both seem about even in terms of plausibility.”

“I didn’t mean everything in the sense of everything,” I clarify, lying down on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I meant everything in the sense of everything that you do.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve been more specific,” he teases. “Because, in a literal sense, everything means everything.”

“Well, maybe you should stop taking things so literally, then.”

“Yeah, I might have to try that.” He grows quiet, and then starts laughing. “Okay, I give up. You are officially the winner of round one in this little game.”

God, if he only knew the literal truth of his words. Or maybe he does. Perhaps he knows about Elodie’s plan and this is his way of getting back at us—by messing with my mind.

“Carter, I don’t want to come off as rude or anything—”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Um … What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not a rude person,” he clarifies, seeming dead serious. “So, I’m sure you never want to come off as rude.”

I push up on my elbows, confusion doing the disco in my brain. “Why do you think I’m not rude? Because sometimes I say rude things to you. Like today at school, when I gave you the definition of a pretty boy.”

“That wasn’t you, though.”

“Um, yeah, it was. Or did you think Elodie was some sort of ventriloquist and speaking for me? Because FYI, she isn’t. Although, it’d be sort of cool if she was.”

“Why’s that?” he asks curiously.

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Then I wouldn’t ever have to talk.”

Silence fills the line, and I mentally kick my own ass. See? This is why I don’t open my mouth very often. I suck at socializing. I’m awkward. A freak.

“So, is that why you’re so quiet?” he finally asks. “Because you don’t like to talk.”

“I guess so.” I don’t elaborate, figuring I’ve already given him too much information about myself already. God knows how he’s going to use this against me.

“Hmmm …” He gives a brief pause. “I always wondered about that.”

“Wondered about what?”

“Why you’re so quiet.”

My jaw involuntarily ticks, and for a crazy instant, I consider telling him that what he said to me in grade school added to my inability to function normally on a social level. But I don’t like blaming other people for my spastic, social awkwardness. And whether Carter teased me or not, I’d probably still be the quiet girl that I am now. It’s just how I was born.

Even back in preschool, I can remember fearing show and tell, because it meant that I had to stand up in front of the class and talk. My mom says I inherited that lovely little trait from my dad. It’s one of the very few things she’s told me about him.

I’m not sure what happened between the two of them, why he decided to bail, or where he went, but sometimes, when I’m walking down the street and pass an older guy who has the same eye color as me, I wonder if he’s my dad. I know it’s pathetic and more than likely my dad isn’t living in Fareland, but I can’t seem to break the habit. A stupid habit, too, since I get my eye color from my mom.

“You should do it more often,” Carter says, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re not too bad at it.”

“Talking?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, talking. I mean, I know I’ve only been talking to you for, like, five minutes, but you don’t seem too awful at it.”

“Give me ten minutes and we’ll see if you still think that.”

“Sounds like a deal,” he says through a soft, amused laugh. “So, what do you want to talk about for the next five minutes?”

I shrug again, even though he still can’t see me. Seriously, I have awkward social skills even while talking on the phone. “You could always start by telling me why you called … And how you got my number.”

“I got your number from Elodie,” he explains, and I shake my head. I should’ve known. “As for your other question … That answer is a bit more complicated.”

“Okay …?” How am I supposed to respond to that? I literally have no idea. And yes, I mean that in the literal sense. “Maybe if you told me, then it wouldn’t be so complicated.”

“Or maybe it’d make things even more complicated.”

“How?”

“Because I wouldn’t be able to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Well, no one can tell what anyone’s thinking. Unless you have telepathy … Do you?” Did I just ask him if he was a mind reader? Face palm.

See, Elodie? This is why your plan is never going to work.

Carter chuckles for the tenth time since he called me, and I’m starting to question the reasoning behind his alleged amusement.

“Unfortunately, I don’t. But it would be cool,” he tells me after he gets his chuckling under control.

“Yeah, it would,” I agree. “Elodie and I tried to do it once.”

“Read each other’s minds?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, we thought it did for a while, until we both realized we were just thinking about the same thing. For a couple of nine-year-olds, it was very disappointing and kind of crushed my dream of becoming a superhero.”

“You wanted to be a superhero who reads minds?” he questions. “How would that save the world from evil?”

“I wasn’t going to save the world from evil. I was going to save people who were hurting and not talking about it.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, I was kind of a sweet kid.” I roll onto my side and prop up onto my elbow. “My mom was also hurting back then, and I couldn’t figure out why. I think I secretly hoped that, if I could read her mind, I could fix her.”

“Why was she hurting?” he wonders.

“I’m not sure,” I lie.

The truth is, she was hurting because she was worried we were going to be evicted and that she was going to somehow have to get a third job. Back then, she was working two jobs already and they both paid shit. Of course, she didn’t tell me any of this, which is why she’s such a good mom—always trying to protect me from her financial problems. But late one night, when she thought I was in bed, I overheard her talking to my aunt Bethany about it. I remember she was crying and all I wanted to do was figure out why. So, I tried to read her mind. All I ended up getting was a headache. But eventually she confessed to my aunt why she was so upset. That was the day I realize just how truly poor we were. My aunt had suggested my mom ask my dad for help, but my mom shut down that conversation quickly. It left me wondering who my dad was and what sort of life he was living. Especially when my mom said, “I’d rather be poor for the rest of my life then ask that man for his corrupt money.”

I don’t know whether she meant corrupt in the literal sense, or if she just didn’t like my dad. But I could never get answers since she rarely talks to me about him, which frustrates me sometimes. I keep the frustration to myself, though, not wanting to upset her.

Eventually those days of her hurting and worrying faded as our life changed. We’re not as poor now as we used to be. In fact, a couple years later, my aunt and mom started a housekeeping business, which they currently run today. My mom still does a lot of the grunt work, and sometimes I help to make some extra cash on weekends that I’ve been saving up for college, even though my mom insists she’ll take care of the tuition. I know she can’t afford it, though, and more than likely she’s going to try to take out a loan. But I’m not going to let her. College is my thing. I should pay for it.

“Have you ever tried to read anyone else’s mind?” Carter asks, the sound of music filling up the background.

I wonder where he is.

If I were braver, I’d ask.

“Maybe a couple of times,” I admit, then bite down on my tongue.

This is probably going to come back to bite me in the ass. I can hear the rumors already. Did you know that Ensley thinks she’s a mind reader? She should seriously be locked up in a padded room.

I think it might be time to end this call before I give him more information to use against me.

I sit up on the bed and lower my feet to the floor. “Hey, Carter, I have to go. My mom needs some help with something.”

“Can you give me one more minute?” he asks quickly. “I need to ask you something. Besides, you have one minute left before your time’s up, and so far, you haven’t changed my mind about your allegedly bad talking skills.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, conflicted. On one hand, I feel like I’ve already told him way too much personal stuff about me. But on the other hand, I want to find out why he called.

If Elodie were here, she’d be whispering in my ear to keep him on the line for as long as possible. That it’s the first step to make him fall in love with me.

Eye roll. That’s never going to happen.

Being me, I say, “Sure. I think I can spare one more minute.”

“Good.” Strangely, he sounds relieved, which makes me question again what he’s up to. “So, the reason I called is going to sound a bit weird, but I need you to hear me out before you say yes or no.”

“Okay.” Hesitancy rings in my voice.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he tries to reassure me. But his reassurance only fuels the nervous bubble inflating in the pit of my stomach. “It’s about doing something this Saturday night.”

“Doing what, exactly?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s a surprise. Well, sort of.”

Sounds a bit suspicious if you ask me. “Does it involve a vat of pig’s blood?”

Honestly, I don’t think he’s going to get the reference, so when he says, “No, Ens, I’m not planning on Carrie-ing you,” I’m shocked. Maybe just as shocked that he called me Ens. No one calls me that except for my closest friends, so basically Elodie and Gaige and sometimes my mom does, unless she’s mad at me, then I get full named.

“Sorry,” I feel the need to apologize. “I had to be sure.”

“That I wasn’t going to dump a vat of pig’s blood on your head?” He seems offended, which throws me for a turn.

A big, sharp, squirrely, unfamiliar turn.

I don’t know why he seems so upset that I’d think that. Does he not remember the last decade of him constantly teasing me?

“Sorry,” I say again. “This is all just a little weird.”

“What is?” Puzzlement laces his tone. I can’t tell if he’s faking it or not.

The girl inside me who crushes on Carter wants to believe he’s being genuine, but the girl who’s had to endure his mocking and teasing for almost ten years is skeptical.

“You, me, talking on the phone …” I trace a circular pattern on my comforter. “This isn’t a normal thing.”

“Yeah, I know. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Sure.”

A pause.

“So, will you?” he asks. “Do something with me on Saturday?”

Wariness floods my mind. “Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’d be doing?”

“If I did, then it wouldn’t be a surprise. Besides, before I can take you to the place, you have to pass a test so I know you’re trustworthy enough to keep where I take you a secret.”

I chew on my bottom lip, feeling guilty over his trustworthy remark. I used to be a trustworthy person, but after today, I’m not sure I am.

“How do I prove that to you? Doesn’t learning to trust someone take time?”

“That all depends on the person.”

“So, you think I’m the sort of person you can learn to trust within an hour?”

“Maybe I pretty much trust you already.”

“You don’t even know me,” I say quietly. “For all you know, I could be the biggest liar and manipulator ever.”

“Clearly, you haven’t spent much time around my friends,” he says with a hint of disdain.

“No, I haven’t.” Bitterness creeps into my tone.

He must sense the direction of our conversation, because he changes the subject. “I’d need to pick you up at about five, and we’ll probably be out until at least midnight. Is that going to be a problem? I’m not sure if you have a curfew or not.”

“Usually, I don’t.” But usually, I’m just hanging out with Elodie and sometimes with Gaige. And even though I’m an adult now, I’m not sure how my mom’s going to react when I tell her I’m going out with Carter. I crinkle my nose as I picture telling her. Yeah, she’s going to shit a brick. “I’ll have to talk to my mom and let you know. And I don’t get off work until about four, so would it be possible for you to pick me up at five thirty instead?” I sound so formal.

I sound like a moron.

I sound like a girl who’s never gone out on a date.

So, yeah, I basically sound like myself.

God, this is such a bad idea. Not only am I agreeing to go out on a date with Carter, who probably has ulterior motives, but I’m agreeing to go out with Carter so I can try to make him fall in love with me and then break his heart.

Guilt consumes my chest and I almost tell him I can’t go. Then my phone buzzes with an incoming message, distracting me.

“Yeah, that works,” Carter replies. “It’ll give me a half an hour less to figure out if I can trust you, but I’m pretty sure it’s only going to take a few minutes.”

His faith in me makes me feel even more guilty.

“Hey, can you hold on a second?” he says. “I got another call coming in.”

“Sure.”

While he puts me on hold, I open the message I received.

Elodie: Did Carter just ask you out again?

Me: Yeah … How did you know that?

Elodie: Because I’m spying on him right now. You’re going to say yes, right?

Me: I don’t know if I should.

Elodie: You have to. This is the perfect chance to put our plan in motion!

Me: I already agreed to go to the party next Friday, which FYI, is a disaster in the making.

Elodie: No way! It’s the perfect opportunity for Carter to start falling head over heels in love with you.

I love Elodie to death, but the girl is acting batshit crazy right now.

Me: You do realize that all of his friends are going to be at this party and they’re probably going to make fun of Carter for being there with me. Honestly, I’m betting he’s playing us. Or, well, me anyway.

Elodie: I’m positive he’s not.

Me: How can you be so sure?

Elodie: Because I’m a mind reader. Or have you forgotten?

Me: Forgotten how you failed at your attempts at mind reading? No, I remember that pretty clearly.

Elodie: I just pretended to fail so you wouldn’t feel bad that you sucked.

Me: Aw, you’re such a great friend.

Elodie: About time you realized that.

I shake my head, unable to stop a smile from spreading across my face.

“Hey, are you still there?” Carter’s voice floats through the receiver.

“Yep,” I answer loudly as I type a quick bye to Elodie.

Before I put the phone to my ear, she sends one last text.

Elodie: Agree to go out with him on Saturday. Please, please, pretty please. I’ll owe you big time.

“Sorry about that,” Carter says, sounding a bit breathless.

What on earth is he doing that he’s out of breath?

His fuck-chest pops into my mind for some weird reason, and I frown. Okay, maybe I don’t want to know why he sounds like he just ran a marathon.

“So, we’re on for Saturday, right?” he asks after he’s calmed down his might-of-just-had-sex breathing.

“Um …” My heart pounds in my chest. Freakin’ giggle berries, what the heck should I do? Part of me wants to say yes for Elodie, and yeah, I’ll admit, a little bit for myself. But the other part of me worries I’m setting myself up for disaster.

“Is that ‘um’ a yes or a no?” he asks teasingly, a hint of worry residing in his voice.

The worry makes me worry, yet I somehow find my lips sputtering, “Yes … It’s a yes.”

Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. If this all backfires in my face, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

“Awesome,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at five thirty, then.”

“Do you want me to text you my address?” The instant I utter the words, I realize he’s actually going to have to come to my place. While I’m not ashamed of where I live, I can see Carter using it against me, especially if he tells his friends.

“I already have the address,” he says.

What? “How?”

“I have my ways.”

The nervous bubble in my stomach triples in size. “Okay, I’ll see you on Saturday, then.”

“Can’t wait. I promise you’re going to have a lot of fun. At least, I hope so.” He gives a short pause. “And Ens, you’re not as bad as you think.”

Now I’m even more lost. “About what?”

“With the whole talking thing. This is actually one of the best conversations I’ve had in a long time.”

“If that’s true, then I feel sorry for you.”

“Well, then throw me a pity party because it’s completely true.”

“I’m getting my confetti and kazoo out right now.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, definitely the most entertaining conversation I’ve had in a long time.”

I wonder if he’s telling the truth. No, what I’m really wondering is if any of this conversation is true.

“See you tomorrow,” he says through a chuckle.

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter stupidly.

“Bye, Ens.” He sounds amused by me again. And again, I have no clue why.

“Bye.” I hang up and flop back on the bed.

I lie there for a moment before reality crashes into me and punches me in the chest, like a big, mean ninja.

My eyes widen. “Holy shit, I have to go on a date with Carter. This is going to be a disaster.”

And the sad part is that I created the mess all on my own.