Being Friends With Boys (24 page)

My hands go up into my hair. “Is that what people are saying? No!”

Her mouth twists up and her eyes get a mischievous glimmer. “Well, that’s not what probably half the school thinks at this point.”

I slide down to the floor. “I know,” I groan. “What I don’t know is what we’re going to do about it.”

After dinner I try to call Oliver, but his phone isn’t even on. Which means either he turned it off because he knew I was going to call him and he was too weirded out to talk about this, or he simply forgot to charge it again. I leave him a message that just says, “Don’t ignore me,” and then a text repeating the same thing.

Not even when I wake up in the morning has anything come in from him.

I still don’t know how to handle the rumor when we get to school, but I know I need to keep as far away from Oliver as I can when other people are around. I head to the library, pretend to try to catch up on the Algebra II assignments I haven’t done.

When the bell rings, I avoid eye contact with everybody in the halls. I have no idea how widely the rumor’s spread. It feels like, as Darby said, everyone must know about it. I don’t want a single person to have the opportunity to give me any kind of knowing look.

Not until third period, when Benji sidles up to me, holding our most recent test.

“One hundred percent,” he says, flicking the paper to make a loud snap.

I go over to Dr. Campbell’s desk and get my own test, moving in slow motion. Not because of the high test grade—which I can hardly believe when I see it—but because, suddenly, I know the answer to all my problems. If I can make it work.

Going back to my desk, everything about Benji is in high-def.

“Suck it, McLaughlin,” I murmur to him. “You’re not the only one getting A’s.”

He turns around, looks at the red letter at the top of my test.

“Good work, Coastal.” He holds up his hand for a high five.

I meet his eye, but I’m not really seeing him. “Well, it wasn’t all me.”

“No.” He winks, leaning in close. “I know it wasn’t.”

And I know I have to do this next thing. Do it for me. For Oliver. So, shaky-handed, while Dr. Campbell starts class, I write:
I don’t know what I would do without you in here. If you don’t have plans on Friday . . . would you want to go out? With me?

A hot feeling crescendos up my chest and through my face as I slip the paper under Benji’s elbow. It gets worse as I wait for him to respond. When I unfold the note he hands back to me, my hands are sweating so much I can actually see damp marks.

Would I?
is all he’s written. That, and his phone number.

Part one of my Plan to Make People Believe I Am Not Dating Oliver Drake is now in place.

“Where were you this morning?” Lish demands when I get to the parking lot at lunch. “I think Oliver was looking for you.” Wink.

“He was not. Because we are
not
going out.” I say this part loud enough for the girls around us to hear. “We’re just friends. You know that.”

She won’t get that pleased little smile off her face. “Right.”

I take her arm, pull her off to the side. “Listen, Lish. You have got to cut it out. It’s not funny. Please tell me you have not been telling everyone that we’re together.”

“Not me.” She holds up her hands. “I think it’s cool that it’s a secret.”

“It’s not a secret. It’s not anything. I never think of Oliver that way.”

She slits her eyes at me. “You expect me to believe that? I remember first semester last year, you know. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Which isn’t fair. I mean, of course it’s never been lost on me how good-looking Oliver is. And funny. And cool. And just awesome. But after that one week of wondering what it would be like if we ever got together, now all I can think is
No
. Kissing would do nothing but mess things up.

But Lish sees me pause, and pushes forward. “Whitney told us—”

“Since when do you talk to Whitney? You barely even know her. You weren’t even around when they were going out.”

“Oh sure, bring
that
up.” She rolls her eyes.

“Bring what up? This isn’t about you and me.” Acknowledging our whole we-weren’t-friends phase throws me off for a second, but I regain my clarity. “Look, Whitney Carroll is just psycho in general. She hates anyone who spends more time with Oliver than she does, including his mom.”

No lie—I was there during that fight.

I push on. “Forgive me if it’s just a little surprising that
you, my
friend
”—I almost say “best” there, but we both hear the omission—“would believe some dumb thing she said, over believing me.”

Lish’s face gets even meaner. “Don’t think I don’t still know you, Charlotte Augustine. Don’t think I don’t know you’re too cool for anything or anybody. Too cool to care.”

Now I have no idea what she is talking about. Or why this conversation has gone in this direction.

“I do care! That’s the thing. I care very much that you
believe me that Oliver and I are not together.
”

Half the parking lot is probably looking at us now. I seize the moment.

“Besides.” I lower my voice just a little, so she’ll think I’m telling her something special. “I’m going out with Benji.”

“McLaughlin?” she says, too loud. Perfect.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Lish gazes at me steadily, then tosses her head. “Okay, fine. You’re not with Oliver. But I don’t think it’s
me
you should be standing here telling.”

She means Whitney. And all her overdramatic friends.

“I’m not going to say one word to that girl. She’d probably beat me up.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried already.” Lish smiles, picturing it, then turns intense again, but in a gossipy way. “She was pretty
upset at the dance, you know. You should’ve heard her in the bathroom. Super. Drama.”

And suddenly, like that, we’re back to normal.

“I thought she was going to throw up, she was crying so hard,” D’Shelle says behind us, obviously having listened to the whole thing.

I shrug, not really looking at either of them. “I split after we played, so I didn’t know. I didn’t feel so good myself.”

Bronwyn jumps in. “She probably would’ve clawed your face and ripped your hair out if you hadn’t.”

I lift my heavy ponytail. “Lots to choose from.”

Everyone titters.

“I guess it was kind of stupid, huh?” Lish half apologizes.

“It’s not surprising, I guess.” I still can’t look fully at her.

“Yeah, now that you’re famous.” She grabs my arm and shines her toothy smile on everyone. “The whole school wants to be in your business.”

I’m counting on it
, I think, but instead I just mutter, “Too bad for them, then,” and change the subject to an easier topic: the guy Bronwyn likes in our Enviro class.

While Bronwyn dissects all the things he did and did not say to her today, I realize part two of my Plan to Make People Believe I Am Not Dating Oliver Drake has been executed with relative success. Now all I have to do is talk to Oliver.

School obviously isn’t going to be the place for us to have any kind of conversation—people don’t need to see us with our heads bowed together, that’s for sure—but I wait for Oliver outside of psych anyway. When he sees me there, his face twitches a little in annoyance, but he does, at least, say hey.

I remind myself I have to act normal. That I’m the one who can fix this. I give him a punch on the arm. “You giving me a ride to practice this afternoon, bud?”

“I don’t think—” he starts, but even he realizes how dumb that is. “Sure.”

“Thanks” is all I say. We go into class.

During the entire walk to Oliver’s car, we don’t say a thing. I want to be telling him about Taryn and Sylvia and yesterday’s rehearsal, but it’s clear that until we get the whole I Know What People Are Saying business cleared up, I have to focus on getting
him
focused, first.

As soon as we shut the car doors, I turn in my seat and look at him. His fault, my fault, their fault—it doesn’t matter. We have to deal.

“So, Whitney’s continuing to be a bit of a problem, huh?” I start.

He looks at me, face unreadable. “You could say that.”

I let myself exhale. But I can’t hold his gaze while I say the
rest. The weirdness of this conversation is made three-hundredfold weirder because it’s
Oliver
.

I’m quick. A Band-Aid torn off: “I heard what she’s telling people.”

He starts the car, doesn’t say anything while he backs out. I wait. As we leave the lot, I see people’s faces turned our way. I hope Oliver is trying as hard as I am not to care.

“I think it’s better if we just act normal,” I go on. “I mean, it’s not true, obviously, and if we act like we’re all bugged out about people thinking it’s true . . .”

“Even
Eli
asked me about it, man.”

“I know. That’s Lish’s fault.”

He looks sideways at me. “Such a blabbermouth.”

I sigh. “She is. But I talked to her today, so.”

“Talking isn’t going to be enough.” Everything in him is frowning.

“I’m working on that. I mean, there are things in motion. Alternate . . . realities.”

Oliver’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

I cough. “Yeah, well, you’re apparently not going to start making out with anyone in the parking lot, so . . .”

I pause. Because it occurs to me that he actually could. Make an effort. With another girl. There are certainly plenty he could have his pick of. It’s surprising that he’s stayed without a new one
for so long. And it’s beyond annoying that I’m the only one who thought about being with someone else.

“Who is it?” he asks, both dying to know and disbelieving.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it too much,” I tell him, “but I think it will fix everything.”

I hope so, anyway
, I tell myself, not looking as we drive past Benji’s car.

By the time we get to Oliver’s, things are back to a relatively normal level of comfortableness between us. Which I guess should make it easier to face my next uncomfortable situation of the afternoon: Fabian.

It’s not like I’m still all heartbroken, the way I was over the weekend. That pretty much dissipated after the roller coaster of this week. But it’s not like, when he comes in, I don’t still feel that sparkle, not like I’m not immediately happy just being in the same space with him. It’s not like I don’t still wish he felt for me what I
thought
he felt.

But now I have to deal with knowing that when he smiles at me, it means he likes me but doesn’t Like me. And it’s harder than I want it to be.

Luckily, we have Mrs. Drake’s gourmet snacks to focus on at first, and the excitement of being back together, after the dance. Since this is the first time we’ve all been in one place
since then, there’s a lot to say. Including what to do next.

“I still say we work on some covers,” Eli says, eyeing Oliver.

I’m in a new cover band
, I almost pipe up. I’m not sure why I can’t tell them—maybe because who I really want to tell is Trip—but it doesn’t feel like a good idea. And maybe I want to have something that’s all my own for a while.

“It’s just that everybody does that,” Oliver says, mouth still full of sandwich.

“Because that’s what the people
like
,” Eli insists.

“They liked what we did on Friday night,” Oliver answers. “Or did you not hear? Have you not been there in the mornings, man? I’m still getting punks coming up to me, wanting to know where they can hear us next. Kid in my AP Physics class asked if we needed a
roadie
.”

I don’t know how the other guys feel about it, but Oliver’s cockiness is actually making me wince. I want to tell him to tone it down a little.

He senses my squeamishness. “You writing more?” he asks.

I shrug, considering my own sandwich now. “Haven’t yet, but I can.”

Eli groans. “But it’ll take
time
to put together new stuff. Covers we could learn in, like, a day. Me and Fabian already know a ton of shit, and it’s not like Coldplay’s bass is that hard to pick up.”

I look at Oliver, barely able to hold in my laugh. When his closed-lip smile falls on me, I know everything’s okay.

“Coldplay’s lame,” we both say at the same time.

“I’m just saying—” Eli goes on.

“Charlotte, what do
you
want to sing?” Fabian asks.

All I can think of is the stuff we messed around with at Taryn and Sylvia’s. The wild feeling I got, singing something that had nothing to do with me.