Chapter Eight
Kassidy
#4—Crush on a boy
It’s the night before school starts, and I’m having second thoughts. If I were going back to Hamilton Academy, I’d have an entire week of summer left. I glance at my uniforms from last year, hanging in the closet. My heart pinches. Exhaling in frustration, I pick up a T-shirt from the pile of clothes on my bed. I’m still not any closer to figuring out what to wear tomorrow.
Tossing the shirt aside, I snatch up my phone. Nothing from Archer. I had been hoping he’d text tonight. When we met, he’d promised to show me around campus. I’ve sort of been banking on it.
Not that he has any obligation to me.
My gut twists as I imagine getting lost, or eating lunch alone. I could text him. Sophie’s pointed that out to me numerous times. Technically, he texted me first. But that was the night we met. What if he’s changed his mind since then?
As difficult as tomorrow will be, deep down I’m relieved I’m not going back to Hamilton. I’d never survive.
Sinking down onto my bed, I reach out and grab the top Sophie talked me into buying. As I stare down at it, a memory sparks of the first time I saw Kate. It was impossible to miss her as she walked through the doors of Hamilton Academy. She’d paired her school uniform with striped tights and chunky boots, and she had her blond hair in boxer braids with little bows at the ends. I couldn’t tell if she was a tomboy or girly-girl. Everyone wanted to get to know her. Everyone wanted to be her friend.
For some reason, I was the one she chose.
And I’d always felt special because of it.
Without her friendship, I’m a little lost. Wetness burning my eyes, I blow out a breath and grab a pair of jeans from the pile.
Then I put them next to one of my favorite T-shirts. Simple. Easy. Nondescript. It’s perfect.
I’m not the kind of girl who’s comfortable standing out. I’ve never been like Kate.
The squeaking of the door catches my attention. Dropping the clothes onto my bedspread, I whirl around. Nancy Drew slips inside through my partially opened door and moves quickly forward on her paws. Purring, she slides between my legs. Bending down, I run my fingertips over her silky fur.
“Are you gonna miss me tomorrow?” I coo. When her purring deepens, I sink all the way onto the ground. “I wish I could hide you away in my backpack.” She comes closer, nuzzling me with her face.
“Who are you talking to?” Sophie pushes my door open all the way. When her gaze connects with Nancy, she curls her nose. “Oh. I thought maybe you were on the phone.”
“So, you interrupted me?” I raise my brows. She shrugs, a splash of pink appearing on her cheeks as if I flung it on with a paintbrush. “You thought I was talking to Archer, huh?”
“Yeah.” I stand up, and Nancy leaps away from me, making her way toward the doorway where Sophie stands. Her brows furrow, her eyes narrowing. “That thing is evil.” When she touches her arm, I see a red line over her flesh.
“’Cause you’re mean to her,” I point out, feeling absolutely no sympathy.
“I didn’t do anything. She just came at me.” Sophie frowns, pressing her body against the doorframe as Nancy Drew passes. I suppress a giggle.
“I guess she can just sense it, then.” I float my arms around in a large circle. “The meanness is in your aura.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Since when are you into auras?”
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m also not on the phone with Archer.” I try to sound cheerful, but my words fall flat.
Pushing herself off the wall, Sophie saunters forward. When I was younger, I would run across the word “saunter” in books, and I couldn’t understand what that would look like. Walking for me is simply a way to get from point A to point B. It’s not fluid or graceful at all. But Sophie’s walk turns heads, commands attention. “He still hasn’t called,” she states it like a fact, not a question. “That’s so weird, especially since he texted right away after the concert.” Tapping her finger against her chin, she appears to be trying to solve some mystery much more important than why a boy hasn’t called me.
My shoulders bob up and down. “Maybe he forgot about me.”
“Then we have to remind him.” In one giant step, she reaches my bed. She thrusts her arms forward, weeding through the clothes.
When she tosses my T-shirt and jeans onto the ground, I bend over to retrieve them. “Hey, that’s what I plan to wear tomorrow.”
“What about the top we picked out?”
“You mean the top you picked out,” I say.
“You liked it, too,” she insists. “And it’s perfect for tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” I chomp down on my lower lip.
“It’s your first day at a new school. You need to make a good impression.”
I bristle. “I need to be myself.”
This stops her. Sighing, she nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
My stomach sinks. “It’s okay. I know you’re just trying to help.”
She smiles. “You want to have some ice cream with me? I saw some in the freezer.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I was just gonna go watch some TV.” When her smile curls downward, I add, “But you can join me if you want.”
“And have nightmares the next few nights? No thanks.” Shuddering, she steps around me. “Why you choose to watch those scary shows I’ll never understand.”
I laugh. “They’re not scary.”
“They are to me.” Studying me, she bites her lip. “It’s weird, though. You lose it if someone sneezes on you, but you’re completely calm watching shows about people being murdered.”
“We all fear different things, I guess.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Yeah, I guess.” I follow her out into the hallway. Dad rounds the corner before we reach the family room.
“Hey, girls. Hopefully you’re not headed into the kitchen for ice cream.” His dark eyes sparkle, and his lips curl upward at the corners. He runs a thick hand over his salt and pepper hair.
“Dad,” Sophie whines. “Please tell me you didn’t eat it all.”
“I didn’t eat it all,” he says, putting emphasis on the word “all.” I shake my head. Dad has a major sweet tooth.
“There better be some left.” Sophie shoves past us.
Dad smirks.
“You left plenty for her, didn’t you?” I don’t really ask it as a question.
“Of course I did.” He winks. “Are you all ready for school tomorrow?”
The familiar nerves attack my insides again. I pull in a breath. “I think so.”
“You’ll be fine,” Dad assures me. “Remember how nervous you were before starting Hamilton? And you made friends right away.”
I nod, but the memories crash over me. They roll around in my mind like a movie. When it reaches the painful part, I squeeze my eyes shut. Imagining that it is a movie I press the stop button. Exhaling, I open my eyes again, forcing myself to focus on the present.
“You okay?” Dad studies me intently.
“Yeah,” I say swiftly. “I’ve already made a friend at my new school.”
“Really?”
I nod. “His name’s Archer. I met him at the concert.”
“A boy?” Dad straightens his spine. Already I can see that overprotective thing happening, and I regret my words.
“He’s just a friend, Dad. Okay?”
“Ooh, are we dishing out the 411 about the boy Kass met at the concert?” Mom rushes over, catching the tail end of the conversation. Her hair is in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants. Is it possible that she looks more like a teenager than I do? Glancing down at my flannel pants and wrinkled T-shirt, I’m thinking she does. Ugh.
“He’s Ross Devlin’s twin brother,” Mom says to Dad. He responds with a blank stare.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Dad frowns.
“No. You’re not,” I say with a giggle. “Ross is the lead singer of the Playlisters.”
“Hashtag epic,” Mom says
“For the millionth time, that’s not how you use hashtags,” I say.
Reaching forward, Mom touches my nose in a playful way. “Hashtag grumpy.”
Despite myself, I giggle.
“If it got you to smile then I absolutely used it in the right way.”
Man, why did I have to encourage her? “Trust me, you have never used them in the correct way. Smiles or not.”
“Fine.” She pulls me into a hug. “Well, this out of touch old lady is headed to bed early. It’s been a long day.” Drawing back, she peers into my eyes. “You have everything you need for tomorrow?”
I nod, an unexpected knot rising in my throat. After flashing me one more smile, she heads down the hallway toward her room. Dad says good night and then follows her.
I’m about to head in the opposite direction, when my phone signals a text message. Pulse quickening, I hurry into my room, silently praying it’s from Archer.