Текст книги "Shut Out"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

chapter fourteen

On Thursday, I was taking my fifteen-minute break on the sofa in the back room of the library, eating an apple and reading, when Cash walked in. I kept my eyes on the page as heat crept up my neck. I’d been trying to avoid him since our shift started—it was almost impossible to look at him after that dream I’d had a couple nights earlier.

“Hey, Lissa,” he said, sitting down on the other side of the couch. “What are you reading?”

I didn’t answer, just lifted my book a few inches so he could see the title.

“H. P. Lovecraft’s short stories,” he said. “Nice. I didn’t know you were into sci-fi.”

I nodded. “Sometimes. I try to read every genre.”

“Cool. Have you gotten around to Lysistrata yet?”

“No,” I said, flipping the page. “Sorry. I wanted to finish this collection first.”

“All right,” Cash said, sounding a little disappointed. “I’m just curious to see what you think about it.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

I peeked over the top of my book and watched as Cash unwrapped a Snickers bar. He was just wearing a maroon T-shirt and faded blue jeans, but he still looked amazing. Feeling guilty for ogling him, I hurriedly turned my attention back to the book. Don’t think about him, I told myself, keeping my eyes trained on the page as I picked up my red pen. Don’t think about him…. Just keep reading….

“Lissa,” Cash said slowly, drawing out the A at the end of my name. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but… Did you just mark a typo in your book?”

I bit my lip. “No. Of course not. Why would you say that?”

“Because you just marked something on the page with a red ink pen—like the ones teachers use to check papers.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Lissa.”

“What?” I asked, ducking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Let me see,” he said, not bothering to hide his laughter. “I don’t believe you.”

“Cash, stop it!” I cried. He was already leaning over me, pulling the book gently from my hands. I tugged back, and we wrestled over it for a few minutes. Then Cash poked me in the side and I let out a burst of laughter. In my momentary distraction, he swiped the book from me.

“Cash,” I whined.

He shook his head, staring at page 124. “I can’t believe it! You circled a misspelling. And you keep a red pen on you whenever you read?”

I ducked my head again and didn’t answer. Cash was sitting very close to me, his shoulder leaning against mine, our fingers nearly touching where we both held the book. My heart raced—from struggling to get the book back or his proximity, I wasn’t sure which.

Cash started flipping through the pages. “Damn,” he said. “This thing is covered in red.”

“It’s a newer edition,” I said, yanking the book back toward me. “It happens sometimes.”

“You should be a copy editor,” he said, letting go of the book. “I think you’d be good at it.”

“Maybe,” I muttered. Honestly, correcting spelling and punctuation errors for a living was more than a little appealing to me.

He leaned away from me and settled into his side of the couch again. “So,” he asked, smirking, “were you born this neurotic, or did it develop over time?”

“I actually took a class. Anal-Retentive 101.” Cash laughed, and I smiled back, shaking my head. “No. It, um, started after my mother died.”

Cash’s face fell. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to talk about it if you—”

“It’s fine,” I said, realizing as I said it that it was true. “It was a long time ago. But after the accident, I just got so freaked out, so scared of something else bad happening, that I wanted to be in control of everything. That started with me being bossy and then the counting started, and that spawned a whole slew of idiosyncrasies. It’s silly, I know, but—”

“It’s not silly,” he said. “What’s silly is my deep-seated and unreasonable fear of fish.”

I frowned. “Fish? Like food?”

“No, that doesn’t bother me so much. Fish that are alive. I can’t swim in lakes or rivers or anything besides a swimming pool because I’m always convinced the fish are swimming all over me… all slimy and… ugh.”

I laughed, and Cash smiled.

“We all have our quirks,” he said. “This is yours. You wouldn’t be you without it.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking away, feeling embarrassed.

“All of that said,” he continued, and when I turned back to face him I realized he’d leaned close again. We weren’t touching, but he was definitely crossing the personal-bubble line. “I do think you should loosen up every once in a while. For your own sake.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know.”

He was so close, and his green eyes were looking right into mine. In that moment, I felt anything but uptight. I was completely relaxed. Completely comfortable.

Too comfortable, I realized, as the break room door swung open and I jumped away from him.

“Lissa,” Jenna said from the doorway, “your break ended almost a minute ago. Come on, I can’t have you slacking off when you’re on the clock.”

“Right,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Sorry. I’ll get back to work.”

“Good,” she said. “There are some magazines that need to be reorganized. And when you’re done with that, can you put away the books I just checked back in?”

I nodded, and Jenna walked away.

“My guess,” Cash said, smiling up at me, “is that she was just born that way.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said quickly, grabbing my book and tossing my apple into the trash. “See you, Cash.”

I forced myself to think of Randy while I worked in the magazine room. Despite our current issues, I had a great boyfriend. One who didn’t deserve a girlfriend with a wandering eye. Or mind.

But Homecoming was the next night, and I was determined to have a good time with my friends and my boyfriend and no Cash interfering with my thoughts.

chapter fifteen

Hamilton High had two Homecomings a year—one for football in September and another for basketball in January. When you’re a freshman it’s exciting because two Homecomings means two opportunities to dance with boys in a dark gymnasium (which, for some reason, seems glamorous when you’re fourteen) and have TV show–like high school experiences—or so you hope.

By senior year, the whole thing was far less glamorous, but if you had good friends to hang with, it could still be pretty fun.

I was having a decent time this year, despite my awkward, unromantic dinner with Randy before the dance. I’d picked a Thai restaurant in Oak Hill, the next town over, that I knew served great food and had a nice, dim, romantic atmosphere. But that atmosphere had been kind of crushed by Randy’s attitude. He’d barely talked to me, shrugged his shoulders in response to almost everything I said, and sent text messages throughout the meal.

“Who are you texting?” I asked playfully.

“Shane,” he grunted.

“Who’s he going to Homecoming with?”

“No one.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

I frowned and poked my fork at a piece of shrimp on my plate. Yes, I knew why Shane didn’t have a date. It’s because Shane wasn’t really the “dating” type. He was essentially the male version of Chloe. Neither of them would willingly spend an evening attached to a member of the opposite gender unless it ended with sex. Which, tonight, it clearly wouldn’t.

When the waiter brought the check, Randy paid for both our meals, though he didn’t seem to do it with pleasure.

Again, I tried to tell myself that this was a good thing. That his annoyance with the sex strike was a positive sign. That the girls would have their victory soon and the rivalry would be over and we’d get along again. I convinced myself that I should be happy he was pissed at me. It still didn’t feel good, though.

It struck me then that Randy and I were sort of playing the same game. I was withholding sexual activities and he was withholding… well, everything else. By avoiding conversation and being so distant, he was leaving me feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, too.

Whether I liked it or not, I didn’t complain about the way our paths separated once we got to the gymnasium. We needed a break from each other, so he went off to talk to his teammates—none of whom seemed to understand that dances were meant for dancing—and I found Chloe at our usual place by the refreshment table.

“I still cannot believe Kelsey is wearing that,” she said after we’d been hanging out and eating pretzels for about an hour. “Someone should tell her that yellow isn’t her color. Oh, and I think that someone should be me. Be right back—”

I grabbed her elbow and held her in place. “Leave her alone.”

“Party pooper.” Chloe took a sip of her Diet Coke and scanned the dance floor again. “At least Susan had the sense to wear something cute. Oh, and Mary’s dress is so pretty. I wonder where she got that? It’s probably expensive, though. Damn it. And—hey, looky there.”

“What?” I looked up from the pan of cupcakes I had been examining on the table, trying to decide between chocolate-on-chocolate or chocolate-on-vanilla. “Look at what, Chloe?”

“Your lover boy is standing over there,” she said, gesturing across the dark gymnasium.

I squinted, thinking I’d see Randy standing there. Thinking he’d be looking at me. Thinking he’d walk over, take me in his arms, and tell me he was sorry for not taking me seriously and that he wanted the feud to end, too. Thinking we’d dance until midnight when they finally kicked us out and for once I wouldn’t care who was watching and—

No.

No, it wasn’t Randy at all. It was Cash. Cash was the one standing across the dance floor, and he wasn’t looking at me. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded loosely over his chest as he talked animatedly to a pretty sophomore in a dress so short I wondered if it was meant to be a shirt instead. He was flirting with her, and the girl was inching closer and closer, touching his arm when she laughed.

“That’s not funny,” I told Chloe, forcing my eyes off Cash and continuing my mental cupcake debate. I reminded myself that I had no reason to be upset. I was with Randy. I shouldn’t care about Cash at all.

Still, I couldn’t fight that nagging feeling in my stomach. That irrational possessiveness over Cash. I just wanted to march over there and pull him away, keep him to myself and hide him from all the other girls.

Crap. Cash wasn’t supposed to be on my mind tonight. I’d promised myself.

“I think it’s funny,” she teased. “Randy might not, though.”

I groaned. If only she knew.

“Speaking of Randy,” Chloe continued, “you should probably go find him. It’s almost time for the Homecoming Court announcements.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “All right. I’ll be back.”

I grabbed a chocolate-on-chocolate cupcake and headed off in search of Randy. Really, there was no important reason for me to find him, but I did want to be next to him when they announced that he’d won. It was just good girlfriend behavior. I should be there to smile and cheer and hug him when the “unexpected” announcement came—whether he liked it or not.

When I finally reached the other side of the gym, I found Shane leaning against the wall, sipping a Coke that was probably spiked with something. Knowing Shane, something strong.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey there, Lissa Daniels,” he said. He raised his Coke. “Would you like to say hello to your distant cousin, Jack?”

“No, thank you.”

Shane shrugged and took a swig of his Jack and Coke. “So what’s up?”

“Not much,” I said. “Where’s Randy?”

And right then—when Shane’s big blue eyes darted toward me and away so fast I barely noticed, and his free hand shoved forcefully into his jeans pocket—right then I knew something was wrong.

“Shane?” I asked slowly.

“He’s, uh, in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a minute.”

I thought back to when I had been standing with Chloe next to the refreshments table. It had been a good ten minutes since I’d noticed Randy over here with Shane—way, way more time than he needed in the bathroom.

“Thanks,” I said, moving around Shane and heading toward the boys’ bathroom.

“What?” Shane sounded terrified as he reached for my arm with one hand while struggling to hold on to his bottle of Coke with the other. “Lissa, wait a sec. You can’t go into the boys’ bathroom.”

I sidestepped his attempts to reach me. I wasn’t just going to wait around to find out what was going on.

“Lissa, wait. You really don’t want to do that—”

And I knew he was hiding something from me.

As fast as my heels allowed me to move, I shoved through the freshmen, toward the bathrooms. I pushed against the heavy wooden door of the boys’ room—a door that was supposed to be propped open by a doorstop at all times. As soon as I stepped into the tiny hallway, separated from the rest of the large bathroom by a tiled wall, I heard the noises.

A suction-y noise mixed with heavy breathing and one very female giggle.

I skirted around the wall as fast as I could, daring myself to see who was on the other side. Even though, really, I already knew.

Sure enough, there was Randy. He was with some leggy blond girl (or maybe she only looked leggy because of the way Randy had her skirt hiked up to her hips, exposing a string of her thong). They were leaning against the wall opposite the urinals—classy—with her back pressed against the tiles and his front pressing into her. They were making out in the most vulgar way possible, and by the way her fingers were scurrying across the zipper of his pants, it appeared as though the scene was about to turn into a lot more than just making out.

“Oh my fucking God.”

“Lissa,” Randy gasped, his mouth still only inches from The Blonde’s. I hated that he said my name so close to her lips. Hated that he said my name at all. It wasn’t his to say. Not anymore.

I turned and hurried out of the bathroom, back into the gymnasium.

“Lissa, hold up!”

I don’t know how Randy managed to disentangle himself from The Blonde so quickly, but suddenly he was there behind me, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, jerking out of his grip. “Just leave me alone, Randy.”

“Lissa, don’t be mad.”

“I don’t want to talk about this here,” I hissed, knowing we’d already attracted the attention of a few bystanders. Deep down, I wanted to scream, How could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? But my instincts kicked in before I could do anything so dramatic. Instead, I was stiff, cut off. Chloe called me Little Miss Ice Queen, and that’s how I felt. Emotionless. I was safer that way.

“You brought this on yourself, you know. I didn’t have a choice,” Randy snapped, not letting me go. “What was I supposed to do? Keep waiting for you? Been there, done that.”

“Randy, stop.”

But he didn’t. He was in a rage now. Whether at me for catching him or at himself for getting caught, I don’t know, but while I closed myself off, he exploded.

“You promised,” Randy reminded me. I was painfully aware of how loudly he was speaking. “When we got back together at the end of the summer, you promised you’d stop being such a prude. That we’d do it. And then you went and started this stupid-ass sex strike, and what am I supposed to do? Keep waiting?”

I felt my cheeks burning, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t believe he was saying this. Saying it in front of everyone.

“Hey,” Randy called, looking away from me, his eyes searching the group around us, “just so all you girls know”—his eyes focused on me again, steely and meaner than I’d ever seen them—“your ringleader here is a hypocrite. She’s making all of you give up sex, but really, she’s not giving up anything. Lissa is a virgin.” It was the most spiteful look he had ever given me.

I expected there to be an audible gasp—like in movies—but there wasn’t. The only sounds were the fading pulse of a techno song and a screech of feedback as the Spanish teacher, Mrs. Romali, took the stage. “Time to announce the winners of this year’s Homecoming Court!” she yelled cheerfully, unaware of the humiliation I was facing.

I turned slowly away from Randy, hoping only freshmen and sophomores had gathered to witness my embarrassment. Not my friends. Not the girls. Not people I knew.

But of course I’d never get that lucky.

Among the faces staring back at me were Ellen, Kelsey, Susan, Mary, Chloe… and Cash. They’d all heard. They all knew that I was a liar.

Like I was playing Red Rover on the playground, I hurtled through the wall of people in front of me.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Virgin right over.

This time, Randy didn’t stop me. He was done embarrassing me for the night. I ran despite my heels. Despite the crowd. Despite the pain searing my calves. I ran out of the gym and through the empty hall and out the blue-and-orange double doors into the warm, welcoming arms of the parking lot.

Only it wasn’t warm or welcoming. Not at all. The parking lot was chilly, a cool September breeze wafting past me, and it was empty and dark. It looked like the set of a horror film. In the dark with all the abandoned cars, it seemed like the kind of place you’d find a dead body.

And what made it worse?

Randy had been my ride.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Then, slowly, the ice around me melted. I slammed a fist into the brick wall of the school building and choked back a burst of tears as all the emotions I’d pushed away burned through me like a wildfire.

“Lissa?”

I looked over at the exit, expecting to find Randy coming after me again, to apologize or grovel or maybe just to hurt me some more.

Instead, it was Cash.

“Leave me alone,” I said automatically. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” he said. He looked so nice in his semiformal clothes—black dress pants and a red button-up—and I knew that his appearance wasn’t what I should have been thinking about at that moment.

“What do you want?” I asked.

He hesitated. I watched as he ran a nervous hand over his cropped brown hair. “Do you need a ride home?”

I stared at him for a moment. He’d just seen an epic, soap opera–esque reveal about my love life and one of the most public breakups in Hamilton High history, yet all he could say was, Do you need a ride home?

“No.”

“Lissa,” he said doubtfully.

“I’ll walk.”

“You live six miles from here.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I took you home after Vikki’s party this summer….”

I stared at him in the dim light of the parking lot, waiting for him to finish that thought. He’d almost brought it up once before, in the library elevator, but he’d never really crossed into that territory. I wondered if he would now, if maybe he’d bring it up and I’d get the answers I’d been waiting for.

Cash cleared his throat. “I’m ready to get out of here, anyway.”

I sighed. It was probably better that I didn’t get my answers. I couldn’t take more hurt tonight.

“Lissa? Come on. Seriously, I’ll drive you.”

I thought about arguing with him again, but I was too tired, too angry, and too lost to even try. He was right; I couldn’t walk home, and who could I ask for a ride? I was sure Chloe and the other girls were pissed at me for how I’d misled them about my sex life, and there was no way I’d let Randy drive me home after what I’d seen.

“Fine,” I muttered. “A ride home would be nice…. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said. “My car’s on the back side of the lot.”

As we crossed the parking lot, I heard a muffled round of cheers go up from inside the gymnasium, and I was sure Mrs. Romali had just crowned Randy Homecoming king.

chapter sixteen

“Look,” Cash said as we pulled away from the high school. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. That’s understandable. But… But just so you know, he’s a jackass. Any decent guy wouldn’t have done that to you.”

If I’d had the nerve, I would have reminded him that a decent guy wouldn’t have kissed me, acted like I was special, and then forgotten about me, either.

Instead, I just ran my fingers through my hair and said, “Thanks.”

We went along in silence as Cash’s Toyota turned through the dark, curving roads of Hamilton toward the subdivision where I lived. The dream I’d had Tuesday night slithered into my thoughts. The feel of his hands on my hips, his breath on my neck, my head leaning back against the bookshelves as his lips traced a line between my jaw and shoulder. It had been so private, had felt so real and good. Sitting beside him now, in the dim glow of the speedometer’s light, with only a foot or less space separating us—I felt claustrophobic and… guilty.

I wasn’t sure why. I mean, Chloe was right. I couldn’t control whom my dreams were about, and it wasn’t like I’d cheated on Randy.

It wasn’t like he felt guilty for cheating on me.

I glanced at Cash out of the corner of my eye. He was facing out toward the road ahead of us, and I watched as the passing streetlamps cast the silhouette of his profile across the car. Strong jaw, straight nose, broad shoulders. It felt strangely intimate to watch him drive, his eyes on the road instead of looking back at me.

I wanted to kiss Cash again. Right now. I wanted him to pull the car over and make out with me right there on the side of the road. I don’t know if I wanted to spite Randy or just lose myself. Either one sounded good. I could still remember the way Cash’s lips had felt on mine—in real life, not just in my dream—and how much I’d liked it. How special it had made me feel.

But Cash had rejected me once already, and after what had just happened with Randy, I knew I couldn’t take it again.

“Do you want me to walk you in?”

“What?” I blinked and realized the car had come to a stop and Cash was looking at me—he’d caught me watching him. Embarrassed, I turned away. We were in front of my house. “N-no,” I stammered, scrambling for the door handle.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” I shoved the door open and slid out of the car, glanced over my shoulder once to mumble “Thank you,” shut the door, and hurried away from the car before I could change my mind.

*   *   *

The first time Randy and I broke up was at the end of June, and it was because I wouldn’t sleep with him. Not that either of us advertised that little detail. Instead, I skirted around the truth when people asked, saying, “Things just weren’t working out,” and trusting, of course, that Randy wouldn’t tell anyone the real reason for our breakup—it would make him look like less of a man to his testosterone-crazed friends, after all, if they knew that he couldn’t get into my pants.

The hardest part of that breakup, though, was telling Dad and Logan. They were devastated. They tried not to show it, but all summer long they said things like “I’m sure you two will work it out” and “I wonder how Randy’s doing—I bet he misses you.” Little hints that I should call him or give things another shot.

They were thrilled when we got back together after the car accident. Little did they know I’d promised to sleep with Randy when we reconciled—a promise I never kept.

So here I was, barely two months later, walking down the stairs in my Rainbow Brite pajamas, preparing to tell them that we’d split up again—for good this time.

Dad was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Raisin Bran when I came into the kitchen. “Morning, sunshine,” he said cheerfully. “How was the dance? I didn’t even notice you come in last night, but when Logan got home he peeped into your room and you were in there, fast asleep.”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting down across from him and pouring my own bowl of cereal. “You were watching a game when I got home. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Aw, that’s all right. My team lost, anyway. So how was the dance?”

“Um.” I took a bite of cereal, chewing slowly to put this off as long as I could. “Actually, we should talk…. Where’s Logan?”

“Sleeping, I assume. He got in late last night.”

“Really? Why? Where was he?”

“Date.”

I narrowed my eyes at Dad. “With who?”

Dad sighed. “Logan’s a grown-up, remember? He doesn’t have to tell us whom he is going out with.”

“Fine,” I said, hoping it wasn’t Jenna, and poked my spoon at a raisin floating in my milk. “Okay, then I’ll just tell you alone, I guess.”

“Tell me what, sweetheart?”

Deep breath. One, two, three…

“Randy and I broke up last night.”

“Oh.” Dad hesitated before putting his spoon down on the table and focusing all his attention on me. I could already see the cloud of disappointment in his eyes. “Well, I know things can get dramatic at school dances. Maybe you’ll see him at school on Monday and you two will talk it over and—”

I shook my head. “No, Dad. It’s over. I’m not getting back together with him this time.” I pushed my bowl of cereal away from me, my appetite gone. “Sorry. I’m really sorry; I know you and Logan love him, and I know he’s like part of the family, but after last night… I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Lissa, honey, don’t apologize to me.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “What happened?”

I rubbed at the corners of my eyes with my free hand, feeling tears begin to spring up. “Last night at the dance, I caught him kissing another girl.” No need to go into the dirty details about the bathroom and the girl’s thong. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Hey, I said stop apologizing.” Dad squeezed my hand. “Listen, honey, Logan and I… We do think a lot of Randy. But if he doesn’t respect you, then he has lost our respect, okay?”

The tears were actually slipping down my cheeks now. So embarrassing. Maybe I had just been in too much shock last night to really cry, and sitting here, talking to Dad, it was finally hitting me. I hated it, though. I didn’t want to cry over Randy.

“But he was like a second son to you,” I reminded Dad. “He played football and watched games with you. He made you happy.”

“But making you this upset does not make me happy,” Dad said. “Lissa, what made me happiest about Randy was that, as far as I knew, he made you happy. Sure, it was nice that we had things in common, but that doesn’t matter in the long run. Who you date is your decision. If you want to date an unshaven, sports-loathing vegetarian poet, I’ll still be happy for you—just as long as you’re happy with it.”

I managed a crooked smile. “Even a soccer player?”

Dad laughed. “Even a soccer player… Though Logan may disagree on that one.”

“Well, he won’t even tell us who he’s dating, so he can just deal.”

Dad smiled and patted my hand before pulling his away and returning to his bowl of cereal. “I love you,” he said. “And I’ll welcome any boy you date with open arms. And if they hurt you, I’ll… Well, I’ll make Logan think of some way to make them pay, because I’m pretty useless.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I do leave some mean shin bruises.”

I laughed and stood up to walk around the table. I wrapped my arms around Dad’s neck from behind and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Thank you, Dad. I just wish it hadn’t worked out this way. I know you loved him. You don’t have to deny it.”

“I’ll love the next one even more.”

I released Dad. “There may not be a next one. I’m giving up on boys.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” Dad looked over his shoulder at me. “But you’ll have another one in no time. I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll see.” I picked up my half-eaten bowl of cereal and took it to the sink. “But thanks. For being so sweet, I’ll let you have dessert after dinner tonight. What would you like me to make?”

“You’re making dinner?” Dad asked. “I thought your friends were coming over for a girl-slumber-over-sleep-party thing.”

I rinsed out my bowl. “Slumber party. And no. I have a feeling no one will show up tonight. Some other stuff happened after I caught Randy…. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t think they’ll be talking to me for a while.”

“Even Chloe?”

“Especially Chloe.”

Just as the words left my mouth, the doorbell rang. I finished cleaning my bowl, wiped my hands on the dish towel, and headed into the living room. “Coming!” I shouted as the doorbell rang again.

“Rainbow Brite? Really, Lissa? How old are you?”

“Chloe?” I stared at her standing in the open doorway. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Pissed at you? Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you, too. Why haven’t you been answering your cell? I called it, like, a gazillion times.”

“I haven’t heard it ring,” I told her, stepping aside so she could walk in. “I didn’t charge it when I came in last night, so it might be dead. I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to call me today—except maybe Randy, and I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Ugh. Who would?” Chloe slipped off her sandals and positioned them neatly on the front mat, just the way I liked. “But whatever. Enough chitchat. You have, like, twenty girls showing up here in about four hours, and we have a lot to talk about and work to do before they get here.”

“Wait. What? Twenty girls? You mean they’re still coming?”

But Chloe was already halfway up the stairs to my bedroom.

I glanced toward Dad, who’d wheeled his chair into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. I shrugged my shoulders, and he just smiled at me. “I’ll order pizza tonight,” he said. “Go have fun.”

“Thanks, Dad.” And I ran upstairs after Chloe.