Chapter Three
Nora
I clench my jaw and stab the key in the lock harder than I need to. I have no reason to be annoyed that Eli just called me predictable. I should take it as a compliment. Science is predictable. That’s why I like it. It should not bother me that he’ll be going to yet another party tonight, where he’ll probably hook up with some lacrosse-loving fangirl. That’s something we don’t talk about—sex—though it’s no secret he’s a player. I mean, look at him.
I wouldn’t be caught dead at Alex Koviak’s party. It’s not my crowd, plus Alex and I kissed at a party sophomore year, and that was the end of that. Worse, there’s a largeish group of girls in school who don’t like that I’ve dated and rejected so many guys. I used to be friends with a lot of them, but now they ignore me. The price of science.
This all translates into me not going to parties often, and honestly, I don’t think I’m missing much. I usually feel guilty when Eli invites me—he always does—and I turn him down, but not today. That was a jerk comment he made, and he can suck it.
I throw open the front door and step inside.
The house is dark and cool and quiet and relaxes me immediately. Mom’s at work and then she has class. She’s going to be a dental hygienist this time. The times before it was masseuse, phlebotomist, and nail technician, none of which stuck. I hope one of her hypotheses work out soon.
On the way upstairs, I pass my grandparents’ wedding picture and the sight of them comforts me. That’s how sure I am of Maggie and Harold Frye and their incredible love story. I touch Gigi’s face on the black-and-white print. She’s beautiful, and while I never met him, I think Grandpa was a stone-cold fox. The look on his face, on both their faces…so content…always fills me with hope that my hypothesis is solid. That my own Harold is only a kiss away.
Up in my room, I flip open my laptop and go to Emory’s site, trying to keep those embers of hope alive. They have one of the best medical research programs in the country, and I didn’t think I’d get in. It’s my dream school, but without scholarships, I can’t go. That’s why I haven’t told anyone. Plus, my stomach twists when I think about leaving Mom and Gigi.
And then there’s Eli.
My face heats up again when I think of that snarky comment in his truck.
He infuriates me, which wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t still have this pesky crush on him. It’s like a bite that itches the more I scratch it.
For example, right now, I hear the Costases’s garage door go up. I run into my bathroom, step into the bathtub, and stand on my toes to see through the small window.
I can’t stop myself, and I don’t even try. I’ve been doing this for years.
There he is, on the driveway, lugging a container of recyclable plastic to the curb. He’s changed his clothes from school. Now he’s wearing that sea-green T-shirt that makes his eyes even bluer. When he heads back inside, I sink down into the empty tub and hold my head in my hands. I’m pathetically obsessed with my completely off-limits best friend. I mean, how many times have I imagined him here, in this pink-tiled bathroom? He comes in from lacrosse practice, hot and sweaty. I turn on the shower, pull that jersey up, over his head. My fingers trail along his tanned chest, my lips follow…
It’s a harmless fantasy. Right?
I’m not so sure.
What if this stupid crush is affecting my test results? How can I experience the perfect first kiss if I’m imagining myself doing things with Eli that best friends don’t normally do?
I run a hand through my hair, my awesome new, celebratory hair, and climb out of the bathtub. Enough of this. I march back into my room, grab my pie and laptop, and plop onto my bed. First things first, get my emotions in check. I take a bite of pie…and instantly cringe. The crust is mushy and the filling is way too sweet. Bad pie fixes nothing!
Scowling, I open the scholarship page on the Emory website, click on the first application, and get to work. I’d be stupid not to try.
After an hour or so of filling out forms, I hear the signature asthmatic cough of Eli’s truck attempting to come to life. I focus even harder on the screen. I will not run to the window. I will not run to the window. And I don’t.
My chest fills with pride. There, see? I can control myself.
I feel kind of bad, though. He drives around in that wreck while I have a perfectly good car that Gigi bought me for my sixteenth birthday sitting in the garage.
I close my laptop as Eli tries the ignition again. Probably going to the party early. Every girl there will want him. Will any of them succeed?
I imagine him here, next to me, in my bed, smiling, with that damn dimple. We face each other, knowing what we both want…
NO!
I have to think of something else. Anything else.
I roll onto my back and gaze at the stick-on constellations on my ceiling that have been there since I was little. I’ve always loved science, everything about it. I’ve always wanted to help people, animals, the planet. Emory could make all that possible in a big way.
Finally, the truck starts. Michael Jordan. Who names their truck? It’s actually kind of cute.
Oh my God, not even science can distract me. Frantically, I take another bite of the subpar pie. Its over-sweetness coats my tongue with a sour taste, but hey, at least I’m thinking about something else for a second. I close the container and toss it into the trash can next to my desk. So much for pie fixing everything.
I desperately want to have that kiss, to meet the One, but what if I’m missing the signs because I can’t stop fantasizing about Eli? In my shower. In my bed. In Michael Jordan. Under the bleachers at school. There is nowhere I haven’t imagined Eli and me together.
This has been going on for way too long. It’s time for a change.
I run my fingers through my curls again and know what I have to do.
Not that we won’t be friends anymore. I just need to break the Eli habit. There are three months to graduation, and there are still guys to kiss and possible scholarships to acquire. My car has been sitting in the garage since I hit the driver’s ed instructor two years ago and broke her leg. I can still hear the crunch and the bloodcurdling scream. I haven’t driven since.
Truth is, I’m terrified to get behind the wheel. I just can’t think of a better way to distance myself from Eli than to stop letting him drive me around every day. The only glitch: I need someone to teach me, and unfortunately, I think he’s the only one who can.
Two weeks. That’s my plan—two weeks to get over my driving anxiety and get some refresher lessons from Eli. Then I won’t need him anymore. I can move on to other boys, and maybe Emory, then we can really be just friends.
The next morning, I hear the thonking sound of the basketball on his driveway. Great. He’s awake. I force myself not to think of his bed head, or his probably shirtless chest. I need to stay focused if this plan is going to work. Mom can’t teach me how to drive. She made me crazy last time, always gasping and pushing imaginary brake pedals. Abby is always busy. Gigi can’t teach me anymore. It’s Eli or no one.
I head outside in the T-shirt I slept in and pajama pants.
Oh.
I turn in a circle and consider going back inside because I was right. He’s not wearing a shirt. Honestly, why does he have to tempt me like this?
What really makes me breathless, though, which I am right now, is when he wears his glasses. I don’t know what it is about those things. They’re just big, black retro-looking frames, and they are seriously killing me.
I throw my shoulders back and make my way toward him anyway, determined.
Just ask him the favor. Stick to the plan.
“Eli,” I start, but his little brother, Ari, runs out their back door before I can finish. I love Ari. He’s eleven, a sixth grader, and even though he’s Eli’s brother, he’s like mine, too.
“Nora Reid.” He likes to greet people with their full names. He runs over like he might hug me, and then he doesn’t. That’s okay.
“Ari Costas.” I tip my head toward Eli, who is holding the ball. “You showing him how to play?”
“Yes,” Ari agrees. “I’m showing him how to play.”
Eli smirks. “In your dreams, butthead.”
That smirk is so cute it makes me woozy. I swallow hard. “Pass it, Costas.” I clap my hands. “And how about maybe put a shirt on?”
“Why? You can’t handle this?” He throws me the ball and the action makes his pecs flex. I shake my head. God, he’s beautiful.
I watch the ground and dribble the ball. Focus! “Where are your contacts?”
“Girls like when he wears his glasses,” Ari says matter-of-factly.
I laugh out loud. Yes, Eli is as hot as the surface of Mercury, but he knows it. This fact brings me back to earth. “Oh,” I say, “is that so? A bare chest and hipster glasses and we’re falling at your feet. You really think that works?”
It does. It so works.
He grins. “I don’t know. You’re looking a little wobbly.”
“You wish.” I lift the ball, aim, and arc it toward the net for a resounding miss.
He nabs the rebound and tosses it back to me. “Come on, Reid, aim for the box!”
He’s given me this advice about a million times over the years. “I am, Coach!” Which is not even remotely true. The next time, I aim for the stupid box and voilà, it goes in.
“See?” he says smugly. “Maybe I am more than just a pretty face.” He pushes the glasses up on his nose. I try to hide the shudder that ripples through me. He’s a pretty face, and more. He’s just not my pretty face, and never can be.
That’s why you’re out here, Nora!
I clear my throat and cross my arms. “Eli?”
“Yeah?” he says. “Hey, what’s up with your hair anyway?”
“What?” I touch it. Oh God, I didn’t even look at it before I ran outside. The humidity. It’s got to be huge.
He lifts a hand and waves it around. “It’s like, everywhere.”
My insides clench. He doesn’t like my hair? I immediately corral it into a ponytail. “I just got up. Jeez.”
“No, I mean, it’s not bad,” he says. “It’s just different.”
Ari walks to his brother and takes the ball from him. “He likes your hair. He thinks your hair is pretty.”
The world goes silent. Because the thing about Ari is, he doesn’t lie. He’s wonderful and brilliant and funny, and he’s on the autism spectrum, which is another medical mystery I’d like to research. Ari is sensitive to emotions and sounds, remembers all sorts of facts about things like weather and sports, and he never, ever lies.
“What the fuh—?” Eli catches himself, and his face goes blank. “I did not say that.”
I smile at Ari while my mind whirls like one of those paper pinwheels in the wind. “He does, does he?”
“Yes. And he also wants to kiss you.”
I swallow hard and say nothing.
Eli’s tanned face reddens, I swear it does. “Uh. What? There is no way in hell.” He lifts his chin to me. “No offense.”
Now my face gets hot. “Oh, don’t worry, none taken.” Although I’m not going to lie, I’ve totally taken offense. “No way” I understand. But “in hell”? That’s a little extreme.
“Mom!” Ari shouts. “Eli said a bad word.” He runs into the house to tell his mother.
A weird silence falls between Eli and me until he dribbles the ball. Thonk. “Just so you know, I never said that,” he says.
Why would he say that? That ship sailed five years ago in Madison Dunn’s garage. “I know.”
He drills the ball hard into the driveway again, not making eye contact. “I mean, I’m not an idiot. I would never say that, or think it.”
I scratch my head. That’s enough of this conversation. “All right. I got it.” Time to make my plan happen. “Hey, do you have time to head out to the center? Just for a short visit?”
His forehead wrinkles. “Now? I guess.”
“Good.” I bite my bottom lip. “Also, I was thinking maybe we could take my car?” I make fists of my hands—I’m more nervous than I thought. He dribbles the ball again. “And that maybe I can drive?” I almost whisper.
“You want to drive?”
I blink, not really wanting to drive at all. “Yeah. I mean, yes. I want to get my license. For real this time.”
“You?” Two more thonks of the ball. “Drive?”
“God. Yes. Me. Drive.” My mouth is dry and I sound like a caveman. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’m just ready, and I can’t tell Mom. Not yet. She thinks I should never drive again.”
He says nothing, like maybe he agrees with Mom.
I see he’s going to take some convincing. “Just think. When I can drive, you’ll be free of me. Here’s your chance to get your life back.”
He palms the ball back and forth between his hands, then drops it. Thonk. “I don’t mind driving you around.”
“I know, I know.” I look toward our garage where the death trap awaits. “It’s just that I’m eighteen. Realistically I need to be able to drive. Right?”
And also, maybe it’ll help me stop picturing you naked in my bathtub?
When I glance up, his eyes are burning into me.
He drops the ball on the driveway and it rolls away. “Okay, but if you hit something—or someone—I’m out. Like, I will flee the scene. You’ll be on your own.”
I frown. “Thanks. That really helps my confidence.”
Eli inhales deep. “Okay. Grab your keys, Dale Jr.”
“Who?”
He rubs his forehead. “Never mind. Get dressed and let’s go.”