Read Her and Me and You Online
Authors: Lauren Strasnick
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Friendship, #Dating & Sex
Her and Me and You (14 page)
Later that night, around seven, Jeff came home.
“Hi, Dollface.” He kissed my forehead and took a bottle of seltzer out of the fridge. He held it to his neck, then took a long swig, settling into his favorite wooden chair. “What’s for dinner?”
“Tacos, maybe? I was thinking I’d drive down to Pepe’s. Another night of pasta, I just might hurl.”
Jeff laughed his sad little Jeff laugh and kicked off his loafers. “’
Kay, sounds good to me, whatever you want.” Then he handed me a twenty. I put Harry in the car because he loves hanging his head out the window at night while I drive, and we sped down the hill, to the beach, to Pepe’s, where I bought eight tacos: four potato, two fried fish, two chicken. I kept the warm white bag in my lap on the drive back, away from Harry, and thought about Mom for a second or two. Specifically, her hair: long and thick and dark, like mine. I sang along to a song on the radio I didn’t really know the words to, and when my cell rang, I checked the caller ID but I didn’t pick up. I didn’t recognize the number.
Jeff and I ate in front of the TV that night, watching some cheesy dating reality show that he loves and I hate, but I humor him because he’s my dad and his wife is dead and anything that makes him happy now, I’m into. So we finished dinner, I kissed him good night, and then I went out back to The Shack with my cell to listen to the message from my mystery caller. “Hi, Holly,” said the voice on my voice mail, “it’s Paul. Bennett. I’m just calling to see what you’re up to tonight. Gimme a ring.”
Click.
My heart shot up to my throat. We’d never talked on the phone. In fact, we’d never really talked.
I held the phone to my chest and considered calling back, I did, but the whole sex-in-his-car-at-the-beach thing had really struck me as a one-time deal. I called Nils instead.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“
You out back?”
“Yeah. Jeff’s asleep in front of the TV and I’m bored.”
“Be right there. I’m bringing CDs, though, okay?”
“Whatever you say.” I flipped my phone shut.
“Holly-hard-to-get. Hi.”
Paul and I were standing shoulder to shoulder outside my Chem class. He was wearing a battered old pair of khaki cut-offs, black aviators, and a brash grin. “You don’t return phone calls?”
I stared at him, mystified, as he shuffled backward. I shook my head.
“Too bad.” He blinked. “What do you have now, Chem?”
“Mm,” I managed.
“You stoked?”
“What for?”
“Class.” He cocked his head sideways, scanning my face for signs of humor, no doubt. “I’m kidding.”
I looked at him blankly. Why were we standing there, talking still?
“Holly?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, yeah. Tired, I guess.”
“Well . . . are you busy later?”
I nodded
yes I’m busy, sorry, can’t hang out
and watched, rapt,
as he swung his pretty head from side to side. “I don’t get you,” he said.
I hugged the door frame as a couple of kids tried squeezing past me. “What’s to get?” I asked, because seriously,
what’s to get?
I was baffled,
really
perplexed by his sudden and obsessive interest in me. I wore ratty Levi’s and dirty Chuck Taylors to school every day. I rarely brushed my hair. I had
one
friend besides my dog, and spent nights with my checked-out dad in front of the TV. What about me could possibly hold Paul’s interest?
He flashed me one last look, gliding a hand along the wall, then disappearing into a crowd of kids in flip-flops and jean shorts standing around in a big square pack.
Was this some big joke or was I suddenly irresistible? Did I even
like
Paul? Did Paul truly like me? I peeled myself away from the door frame, turned a quick pivot, and shuffled into class.
Nils had his elbows pressed against the black Formica desktop and was fidgeting with some metal contraption with a long, skinny rod. I dropped my books down next to him. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Bunsen burner.” Nils considered me. “What’s wrong with you?” He moved sideways, making room. “You look pinched.”
I grabbed a stool, dropped my bag to the floor, and plopped down next to him. “Just, no. Just—” I ran a finger
over a crooked little heart that had been etched into the side of the desk. “Why Nora? Like, why go after her? Do you like her even?”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
“No but, do you
like her
like her?”
“I like her enough.”
Ick.
This sort of thing was classic
New Nils
-speak. Nils
post
Keri Blumenthal. Yes, maybe he’d had some experience this past year, and yeah, maybe I hadn’t even gone past kissing with anyone pre-Paul . . .
still
, that didn’t give Nils the right to be cagey and smug when I needed real, straightforward answers.
“What does that mean?”
Nils looked at me. He shrugged. “She’s a nice way to pass the time.”
I flinched. “Oh. Duh, of course.” Then I opened my Chem book to the dog-eared page and pretended to read. So that was it. Sex. A way for Paul Bennett to pass the time.
Holly-pass-time. Holly-ho-bag.
I pressed my forehead to the crease in my textbook.
“What’re you doing?”
“Resting.”
“What do you care about Nora Bittenbender, anyway?”
“I don’t.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
I sat up. “I’m fine.” I gestured toward the Bunsen burner. “Come on. What the hell are we doing with this thing, anyway?”
“We’re making s’mores,” said Nils, pulling a misshapen Hershey’s Kiss from his pocket and a crushed packet of saltines off the neighboring desk.
“Gross,” I said, smiling for real this time, feeling a smidge better. “Just gross.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
