Текст книги "Shut Out"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

chapter twelve

“So you’ve been reading Aristophanes, huh?”

I jumped, and the book I was trying to shelve slipped from my hand and thudded to the floor. My empty fingers groped for the stability of the wooden shelves as the ladder wobbled beneath me, my feet scurrying to regain their balance.

“Whoa,” Cash said.

His hands were on my hips then, steadying me. My T-shirt had ridden up slightly as I’d stretched my arms to the highest shelves, so his fingers made direct contact with the exposed skin just above the waistband of my jeans. A small burst of fire pulsed through me, starting at the places where he was touching me and spreading to the rest of my body.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

“Fine.”

His hands were still on me.

I wondered why he didn’t let me go. I was fine now; he could have pulled his hands back. But he didn’t. And I wanted him to keep touching me. I knew I shouldn’t—if my own boyfriend’s touch made me stiffen, Cash’s should revolt me—but my body hummed in stark disagreement with my brain.

His hands stayed on my hips as I climbed down the ladder, guiding me to safety on the floor in front of him. Once my sneakers hit the thin brown carpet, he let me go, his fists moving instantly into his pockets.

“You okay?” he repeated, as if I hadn’t answered.

“Fine,” I said again. “God, are you taking a class in sneaking up on people or what?”

Cash shrugged a shoulder. “Natural talent, I guess.”

“A natural talent that is going to get me killed one day. Can you please not do that? I could have fallen off the ladder and broken my neck. Or at the very least my leg or my ankle or something. Or my wrist, and then shelving books would have been hard, and Jenna would have yelled at me—and at you for making me fall, and…” I trailed off. I should have just shut up after “Fine.”

“I’ll work on it,” Cash said with a sheepish smile.

“Right. Good.”

“So,” he said. “Aristophanes?”

“What?”

“I was trying to ask if you’d been reading Aristophanes,” he repeated. “You know, the Greek playwright? One of the forerunners of satire?”

“I’ve never heard of him,” I admitted, a little ashamed. “Who is he? What has he written?”

“Oh, uh, well,” Cash said, his cheeks turning just a touch red. “His most famous play is probably The Clouds. They don’t really teach him in high school, though—too racy. I guess the fact that I know who he is really proves what a dork I am, huh?” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor.

Great. He was a hottie, a good kisser, and a literature buff. God really must have had a sense of humor, because if I had to name my biggest turn-on, it was literature. And he had just recommended a book that I didn’t know, that wasn’t taught in school. If I were single, there would be no better pick-up line.

Suddenly, I found myself thinking back to Atonement—you know, the scene in the book where the two main characters have sex in the library? Even though Chloe said doing it against bookshelves would be really uncomfortable (and she’d probably know), it was still a fantasy of mine. Like, what’s more romantic than a quiet place full of books?

But I shouldn’t have been thinking about my library fantasies.

Especially while I was staring at Cash.

In the middle of a library.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to sound cool and detached. Instead, what came out was pretty flirtatious. What was it about this guy that always made me do that? “It’s funny. You can’t do geometry but you read Greek plays?”

Cash’s blush deepened. “Yeah… I know it’s a little lame. But you’re sure you’ve never read anything by Aristophanes? Not even one play?”

“It’s not lame,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I love the Greeks. I’ve read Antigone and Medea and Oedipus and—”

“Wow,” Cash teased. “No wonder you seem so tense sometimes; all you read are tragedies. Do you have something against smiling?”

“No, I just… always end up reading the tragedies, I guess.”

He leaned a little closer. “Maybe reading a comedy would be just the thing to help you loosen up a bit. You have a great smile—I’d like to see it more often.”

I looked down, smoothing my hair behind my ear. “Thank you.” Then we were staring at each other and I felt my heart speed up and I knew this wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in, so I said, “Anyway, yes. I mean, I’m sure—I haven’t read anything by Aristophanes.”

I turned and knelt down to pick up the book I’d dropped off the ladder, needing to look at anything besides Cash. Why did I always fall into his trap?

Maybe if I ignored him, he would walk away. I could go back to shelving and Jenna could give him something to do and I wouldn’t have to look at him for the rest of the day. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

“He wrote about a sex strike, you know.”

“What?”

I looked up and found Cash grinning down at me. So much for ignoring him. Quickly, I shifted back into a standing position, hugging the retrieved book to my chest.

“Aristophanes,” Cash said, moving a little closer to me. “He wrote a play about a group of women in Athens going on a sex strike to convince their husbands to end a war. I figured maybe that was where you got the idea.”

I felt the heat rise into my cheeks. “You know about the…?”

“Everyone does,” Cash said. “All the guys on the team are talking about it.”

“Oh.”

“So,” he said, leaning against the bookshelves beside me, keeping his eyes trained on mine. “Why are you doing it?”

“To end the rivalry.”

“No. I know that part. I mean…” He hesitated, running a hand over his head and smoothing his short brown hair. “I mean, what made you decide to do it now? Like, what pushed you over the edge or whatever?”

I bit my lip and looked over at the books to my left. We were in the D’s. The spine of A Tale of Two Cities jumped out at me from the shelf, golden letters popping off the black binding.

I wasn’t going to tell Cash the truth. No way. I wasn’t going to tell him about my boyfriend putting the fights before me, or about the booty call. He was the last person I wanted to know about my problems with Randy. Not that we had many. Just this stupid feud.

Instead, I needed him to know that I was perfectly happy with my relationship. Maybe if he got the message, he’d stop flirting with me. Stop reminding me of his rejection.

“I got really upset when that kid tore his ACL,” I said, deciding to tell part of the truth. “When you told Randy about it in the cafeteria, I realized that the fighting had gone too far. And then Randy got a little banged up, too, and I just… I knew the war wouldn’t end until both sides called it quits, so I came up with the plan to have a strike. The girls all loved it.”

“Yeah, poor Pete.” Cash sighed. His flirty smile melted for an instant into a softer, more natural one. “I think he’ll be able to play next season. I told him I’d practice with him in the spring so he doesn’t lose his place on the team.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“He’s a good kid. He deserves a shot.” He hesitated for a second, glancing away from me when he asked, “So how does Randy feel about this sex-strike thing? I’m sure he hates it.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, shifting a little so we weren’t standing so close.

“I don’t, uh—I just know it’s hard on a lot of us guys,” he said quickly. “Just wondering how he’s coping.”

“Randy’s cool with it,” I said, which wasn’t really a lie. He hadn’t taken me seriously enough to be unhappy about the strike. “I mean, he’s gotten hurt in this rivalry. I’m sure he’ll be grateful once it’s all over.”

“Uh-huh. Well, that’s nice.” For a second, Cash looked annoyed. Or at least I thought he did. Because I blinked and the expression had left his face. He was smiling again, and I was sure I’d imagined the whole thing. “I should get back to work,” he said. “See you around, Lissa.”

Then he turned and left me between the stacks, not as happy to see him go as I’d hoped I’d be.

Logan was five minutes and sixteen seconds late to pick me up. I didn’t even bother asking where he’d been, because I was sure he’d been at home since right after five, when his shift finished at the auto parts store. Most likely, he’d just lost track of time. I didn’t quite understand how anyone could do that. I was always aware of what time it was. Constantly. How did someone let seconds or minutes or hours just slip away from them?

I don’t know. But Logan was the master of it.

We were about to head out the door when I heard Cash call to me from across the room. I turned and found him hurrying toward me.

“Here,” he said, handing a thin paperback to me. “I checked it out for you earlier.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Lysistrata,” he said. “The Aristophanes play I told you about. I thought you might find it interesting. Considering your plans and all.”

“Oh, um… Thanks.”

“No problem. Let me know what you think.” He smirked and touched my shoulder playfully. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like getting away from the tragedies.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’ll let you get going. See you later, Lissa.”

“All right. See you,” I said, moving toward the library door, holding the copy of Lysistrata to my chest. I was sort of curious to read it. “Okay, Logan, let’s go…. Logan?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Logan was talking to Jenna at the front desk, and she was totally chatting it up with him. Flipping her hair, batting her eyes, smiling. Ugh. My skin crawled. Jenna didn’t smile. Not unless she really wanted something.

Like my brother, apparently.

“Logan,” I said too loudly. “Hey, come on. Let’s go.”

“All right, all right.” He sighed, stepping away from the desk.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to erase from my memory the image of Jenna and my brother flirting.

“You don’t have to be so demanding, you know,” Logan said, walking out to his Jeep with me at his side. “It really isn’t very attractive.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it. Now can we just get out of here?”

I took a look back at the library as we drove away. I could see Cash walking across the parking lot, a streetlight casting his shadow across the pavement. When I looked away, I realized I was hugging the copy of Lysistrata like it was a prized possession.

Quickly, I stuffed the book into my backpack and, before Logan could notice anything was up, I started commandeering the radio dial.

chapter thirteen

I dreamed about Cash that night.

Not a prophetic dream where he died in a fiery car accident, or a goofy dream where we walked on Mars and ate cotton candy or something stupid like that. No, this dream was… Well, it involved me, Cash, and that library sex scene from Atonement that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about whenever Cash was around—even though I couldn’t help it. And in my dream, there was nothing uncomfortable about the bookshelves.

I rolled over and slapped the snooze button, but lying there, as the dream flooded into my conscious brain, I discovered that the extra seven minutes of sleep wouldn’t do me any good this morning. The shame would keep me awake instead.

I climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, turning off my alarm clock along the way. I couldn’t get my mind out of the dream. Even after I was done showering and getting dressed, or when I ran downstairs to catch the bus.

Somehow, having a dream like that about Cash made me feel… guilty.

“Why would you feel bad about that?” Chloe asked in our first-block computer applications class after I confided in her. “It’s not like you can help what you dream about. And damn, the boy is hot. Who doesn’t have raunchy dreams about him? Too bad he’s such a tease. He could be the ultimate stud if he wanted, but he won’t even move beyond the flirty stage with girls. Maybe he’s part of some crazy religion or something.”

I blushed and opened up an Excel spreadsheet to start the project we’d been assigned. I always told Chloe everything. About my family, my relationship with Randy (the parts that weren’t too private, at least), my college plans, and even my dirty dreams. But there was something she didn’t know about: what happened between Cash and me at Vikki McPhee’s party over the summer.

“Seriously, though,” she pressed, leaning over to see what buttons I was clicking to start the arithmetic functions on the spreadsheet. “Why do you feel guilty?”

“I don’t know…. Because I have a boyfriend?” I offered, not mentioning the fact that I’d never had that kind of dream about Randy. “Doesn’t that make it sort of wrong?”

“No,” Chloe said flatly. “It doesn’t. You can’t help who or what you dream about. It’s not like you’re cheating on him. Besides, boys can do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, checking my screen again to figure out how I’d created the assigned bar graph, “boys check out girls, talk about girls, and totally dream about girls they aren’t dating, and it’s cool as long as they don’t actually act on it. But when a girl like you does the same thing, she feels dirty or guilty or whatever. I don’t get that.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I guess I don’t, either.”

There were a lot of things I wasn’t getting lately. Like how it wasn’t okay to like sex too much because then you were a slut, but not having it made a girl weird. Or how boys like Cash could get away with flirting too much but a girl would get trash-talked for doing the same thing. Or how my boyfriend seemed to think it was okay for him to put me second to this rivalry crap, but when I decided to do something about it, he wouldn’t take me seriously.

I was starting to think I just didn’t understand anything. Like there was some handbook to adolescence and dating and boys that was passed out in middle school on a day when I was absent or something. I wondered if other girls were as clueless about all this stuff as I was.

“Lissa, I’m clueless,” Chloe whispered as our computer teacher, Mrs. Moulton, walked past. For a second, I was really weirded out, totally thinking she’d heard my thoughts, but then she added, “What’s the difference between a bar graph and a line graph? And why does it even fucking matter? Help me over here!”

I laughed, relieved, and leaned over to help her with the assignment.

Things between Randy and me had been off since Monday night, when I’d told him about the sex strike. He wasn’t giving me the silent treatment or avoiding me, exactly. He was just being… distant. He wasn’t quite as touchy-feely as usual, maybe because he’d finally realized it wouldn’t work, and he didn’t talk as much as he normally did when I was around.

It hurt to have Randy act so coldly toward me, but I hoped that meant the strike was working. That he was finally getting frustrated enough to do something about it. That all the boys were, and the war would end soon.

But at the moment, sitting next to him at lunch was becoming unnecessarily awkward—though I’m sure my behavior that day was no warmer; I could barely look Randy in the eye after the dream I’d had about Cash.

So after thirteen minutes of uneasy conversation had passed at the lunch table, I decided I’d had enough.

“So, Homecoming,” I said loudly, interrupting a conversation Randy was having with Shane. I was sure it wasn’t important, anyway. “It’s this Friday. We should make sure our plans are set.”

Randy looked at me, confused. “What plans?” he asked. “I mean… you have your dress or whatever, and I have the clothes you made me buy for it. What else is there to plan?”

“I think we should go to dinner first,” I told him. “Just you and me. Quiet and romantic, you know? We can eat and then head to the dance.”

“Sure,” Randy said. “Whatever you want. Just tell me where to take you when I pick you up. Your call.”

I scowled. Yeah, I thought. Because that’s romantic.

“Why don’t you pick?” I suggested. “And then surprise me.”

“Nah,” he said, poking his fork at a disgusting-looking pile of macaroni and cheese. “You said you don’t like surprises.”

“I don’t…. But you did a great job last time.”

“You just pick. I wouldn’t want to choose the wrong one and then piss you off or something.”

It’ll be over soon, I told myself, knowing the strike was the cause of Randy’s distance. The boys had figured out the plan. They knew there would be no action until the rivalry was over. The girls had the advantage. We had the power.

We were in control.

With a sweet smile and a chipper voice, I said, “Fine. I’ll pick a place in Oak Hill and get us a reservation for eight o’clock. It’ll be a great night.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he murmured, his voice right on the verge of sarcasm in a way that made me sure he was mentally adding, Even if I won’t get any.

That’s right, I thought back, as if he could hear me. You won’t.

Chloe came over later that day to help me plan the next sleepover while I made dinner.

“You think we need another one?” Chloe asked as she painted her nails at the kitchen table. I’d shoved a towel under her hands, worried she’d spill the polish. She’d selected an electric blue color that I would never be brave enough to wear. “I mean, we just had one, so why do we have to do it again?”

“I think we should have them on a regular basis,” I told her. “It’ll keep things consistent and organized. The other girls really enjoyed it. I think the unity may help us win.”

“Whatever.” Chloe sighed. “Just as long as we win soon. It’s been two weeks already, and I’m seriously not a fan of this whole celibacy thing.”

“I know you’re not.” I plucked one of my mother’s old cookbooks from the stack on top of the fridge and sat down across from her. “But I’m glad you’re helping me.”

“Yeah, well, you owe me.”

I flipped open the cookbook and started looking for a recipe I might actually have a shot at concocting successfully. I was a decent cook, but not like my mother. She could whip up anything without even looking at a book. She was the type of person who followed the recipe once and then found ways to tweak it, make it her own, and make it better.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t had time to pass that knowledge on to me.

And God forbid my father or brother attempt to use the stove. The house would be in flames within moments. The idea of either of them making anything more complex than a tuna sandwich gave me nightmares.

“So you gonna have it here?” Chloe asked.

I cringed at the thought, and she laughed.

“Oh, come on. You’re supposed to be the leader here, Little Miss Bossy Pants. Step up.”

“Fine. I guess I could. But what about Dad and Logan?”

“I’m sure there will be some sort of sporting event on TV to keep your dad occupied,” she said. “And Logan… Well, I can distract him if you’d like.”

I gave Chloe a sharp look.

“I’m kidding. Sort of. I mean, yeah, your brother is hot, but I wouldn’t do anything with him you wouldn’t approve of… unless I knew for sure we’d get away with it and you’d never have to find out and—”

“Chloe!”

“That time I really was kidding. Chill.”

“Not funny.”

“What? I can’t help who I fantasize about. You can’t help that you have kinky dreams involving unattainable soccer studs, so it isn’t my fault that my deep dark fantasy involves me, your brother, and a—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” I cried, covering my ears. “I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence! It’s bad enough that he’s flirting with my coworker.”

“He’s flirting with Cash? Now that’s hot.”

“What? No! Jenna, not Cash. Geez, Chloe.”

“Whoa,” she said. “Logan has a thing for the Wicked Witch of the Library? No fucking way.”

“He’s been flirting with her lately… and she definitely likes him.”

“Weird…. Maybe that means he has a thing for dominatrices. Whips and spiky heels and all that.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Why do you like torturing me?”

“Because you are torturing me with this whole no-sex thing.” Chloe sighed. “Lissa, I’m sexually frustrated.”

“Are you even old enough to know what sexual frustration feels like?”

“Now I am. And thanks to this strike, I know that when I’m sexually frustrated, I like to punish others. You are the logical target here.”

“You’re evil.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Sometimes,” I muttered.

She blew me a kiss across the table and winked. “Seriously, though, it’ll be fine. Throwing the sleepover here, I mean. I’ll come over early on Saturday and help you set up before and clean up afterward, okay?”

“Really? Thanks.”

“Whatever. It gives me a good reason to get away from my mother. She’s decided to quit smoking again, so she’s crabby as hell.” Chloe stood up and walked around the table to stand behind me. “Now,” she said, leaning over my shoulder, “let’s figure out what you’re making for dinner. I’m starved, and I’ve decided you’re feeding me, too.”