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Authors: Lisa Aldin

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BOOK: One of the Guys
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I sigh. “What?”

“Being feminine does not equal less than, Toni,” Emma says. “You're allowed to embrace your womanhood if you want to.”

I tie my hair into a low ponytail, considering this. She's right. Why should
girlie
have such a negative connotation anyway?

“Embrace my womanhood.” I nod. “That's on my to-do list.”

Emma and I arrive on Ollie's doorstep an hour before he's scheduled to appear at Lemon's house. As Emma rings the door bell, I glance at the rose bushes lining the front of the house, remembering the Halloween party, remembering the Emma/Loch kiss. My stomach twists. Probably because I ate too much junk food.

The success of the business rests on tonight. I will do everything in my power to keep Ollie from screwing this up. He opens the door wearing plaid pajama pants and a black T-shirt, his curly hair sticking out in every direction. He scratches his big ears, his eyes heavy with sleep. What appears to be toothpaste decorates the corner of his mouth.

I'm glad we came. We're needed.

He grumbles as we head to his room, about as happy to see me as I am to see him. He mutters a hello to Emma. We follow him down the hallway. His mom waves from the kitchen, where she's hunched over a computer, piles of papers surrounding her. She's a divorce attorney. Works a ton.

Ollie's room is bright and cluttered. Snowboards hang on the neon green walls, and a huge pile of laundry is stacked on his bed. He saves
everything
. Tickets to baseball games from years ago. Stuffed animals with mystery stains on them. Boxes stuffed full of old school papers and assignments dating back to seventh grade.

For a boy determined to “move on,” he sure has trouble letting go of stuff, but I don't point this out. No fighting. Tonight's about business.

Emma walks around the room, checking out various objects as if she's touring a museum. Empty chip bags accenting his oak desk. The unmade blue bedspread. A giant rubber band ball on the floor.

“What are you planning to wear, Ollie?” I ask.

Ollie spins around, presenting himself. “I hope I'm not overdressed.”

Emma begins to shuffle hangers around in the closet. Her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth as she inspects everything. “Jeez. Got enough T-shirts?” she asks.

“You can't look like a slob,” I say. “You're the first impression of
Toni Valentine's Rent-a-Gent Service
. First impressions can make or break a new venture.”

Ollie turns his ear toward me. “Um…
what
service?”

“Every business needs a name,” I say, blushing. I like the name, but Ollie has a way of making me feel stupid. I hate that.

“I think it's catchy,” Emma says. She pulls out a navy blazer and matching tie from the closet. “Here. This is conservative.” She tosses the blazer to Ollie. He catches it.

“Why can't I be myself?” He inspects the blazer like it's road kill.

“You aren't being paid to be yourself,” I say. “You're being paid to be a polite Republican gentleman. Who would never stick old chewing gum underneath his desk.”

Ollie tugs at his ear. Emma, curious, checks out the bottom of his desk. Her shiny hair flips as she bends over. She straightens, smiling. “Quite a collection you've got there.”

“I don't have time to clean.” Ollie turns away, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Can we just get this over with so I can get paid?”

Emma returns to the closet and holds up a white shirt and a pair of khaki pants. “These are perfect,” she says. “Now go change.”

Ollie takes the clothes, grumbles under his breath again, and disappears into his bathroom. When he shuts the door, Emma and I exchange a look, both shaking our heads.

“Is he always like that?” she whispers.

“He's undergoing some changes.”
Plus, he sort of hates me right now
.

Distracted, I check my watch. Forty-five minutes until Ollie is expected at Lemon's front door, prepared to schmooze her parents. He'll need at least twenty minutes to drive across town.

I bang on the bathroom door. “We don't have all night!”

A muffled “shut up!” sounds through the door. I flip off the door with both hands. Emma opens a drawer on Ollie's desk and shuffles through the junk inside.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Snooping.” She opens the next drawer, humming softly.

“Why?” I think back to when I left her alone in my room while I changed into my Halloween costume. Did she snoop through my stuff, too?

“I'm curious.” Emma tosses a bouncy ball in the air and places it back in the drawer. “We should know everything we can about our employees, don't you think?”

“Ollie's a good guy,” I say. “Mostly.”

Emma's eyes widen when she opens the bottom drawer. “Bingo,” she says, dangling a black notebook between her fingers. It doesn't look familiar.

“What is that?” I ask, approaching.

She flips through the pages and says, “Ollie's thoughts. For the taking.” When the bathroom door squeaks open, she slams the notebook shut and tucks the journal in the back of her jeans as she stands up. Is she crazy? Ollie's going to flip out if he catches her going through his private stuff like that. Another thought: Ollie has a
journal
?

He walks out of the bathroom with his arms stretched to the side. “I look like a freak,” he says with a sour expression.

In reality, he doesn't look too bad. The shirt is wrinkled around the bottom, but all he needs to do is tuck that in to hide it. His tie hangs to the side and his hair appears like wisps of black smoke atop his head. The toothpaste is still on the corner of his mouth. Emma gets to work smoothing out the rough edges, starting with the tie.

“I tied it right,” he says. “I'm not an idiot.”

“Let me do my work.” Emma stands an inch from his face.

Ollie looks away, his cheeks reddening. This is more the Ollie I know, not the one at the party. Ollie's sort of nervous around girls. When Emma unbuttons the khakis, Ollie jumps back, startled.

“What are you doing?” he stammers. “I don't move
that
fast…”

Emma giggles. “Just tuck in your shirt, okay?”

Ollie sighs and tucks in the shirt. Emma circles him. She smooths the blazer around the shoulders, picks off a piece of lint, and attempts to flatten his hair.

“I want my money now,” he says.

“You'll get your cut when the date is complete,” I say, losing patience. “If Lemon isn't happy with your performance, she will get a full refund. No one gets paid yet. This is a
team
effort.”

As Ollie yanks at the tie, Emma slaps his hand away, straightening it again.

“What if she falls in love with me?” Ollie glances at Emma.

I smirk. “You're not her type.”

Emma disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a tissue. She wipes away the toothpaste on Ollie's mouth. “I'm not a kid!” he whines.

“Are you sure? You kind of act like one,” she says, smiling. Ollie just stares at her, speechless. Good. Someone who can shut him up.

I clap once and say, “It's time! Here we go!
Rent-a-Gent
is officially in business!”

Ollie grabs his keys. “I'm only doing this for money to go to Colorado. You know. To leave this place.”

He stomps out the door. I stand there, annoyed, until Emma whispers, “Like you wouldn't want to know what's going on inside his head?” She dangles the journal in front of my face.

“Put it back,” I whisper. “He'll notice that's missing.”

“Not in this mess. Besides, this one's full. It's old.” She slides the journal into the back of her jeans and saunters out of the room. I follow, too exhausted to protest. As we watch the red VW Bug pull out of the driveway, Emma and I exchange nervous glances.

Now we wait.

thirteen

H
OURS LATER, MY STOMACH ACHES
from laughing so hard, my nails glitter with pink, and my hair rests in dainty waves over the shoulders of my
Mario Brothers
T-shirt. All side-effects from hanging out with Emma Elizabeth Swanson. A warning label should come with this girl.

My feet folded underneath me, I sit on my bedroom floor and lean against my desk chair. I nervously toss my phone from hand to hand. A clump of Junior Mints is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“This must be a good sign,” Emma says, checking her watch. “It's almost midnight. No bad news. Yet.” She's sprawled on her back across my black comforter, her head hanging over the edge as she looks at my room upside down. The ends of her hair tickle the floor and the collar of her pale green cotton pajamas brushes her cheeks.

After sending him off like a mother waving her kid off to prom, there has been no word from Ollie. Waiting is agony, and I keep picturing him yelling at me.
“When are you gonna grow up, Tonya?”

I pull my knees to my chest and rest my scratched chin on them.

“We should have check-in times,” I say, locking away the resentment toward Ollie. For now. “We need a text or something letting us know that all is well in Fake Date Land. What if he got kidnapped or something? What if Lemon got kidnapped?”

“Please. This is Vermont.” Emma tosses a Junior Mint into the air and catches it with her mouth. Impressive that she doesn't choke. “Something tells me Ollie can take care of himself. He may not have time to text. He's got to be alert and prepared for anything. Lemon's gonna be too distracted to call. Hey, is that his real name? Ollie?”

“Luke.” Again, I think of the four names scratched into the wooden dock. I lift my head up. “Ollie's a nickname. We all have them.”

Emma turns on her belly. “We?”

“Oh. My friends…”
Can I still call them that?
“Ollie, Cowboy, Loch, and McRib. The kids of Newbury Lane. Well, we used to be anyway.”

The pink drains from her face as Emma flips right side up again. “I want a nickname. I've never had one.”

“Not even when you were a kid?” I dig my toes into the carpet.

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Well, what do you want to be called?” I tilt my head.

“You can't give
yourself
a nickname.” Emma sighs dramatically. “Someone else has to choose it for you or it doesn't count.”

As I'm about to suggest Peach or Princess, the bedroom door creaks open and my gut jerks. Loch mentioned he might stop by after work. His shift ended an hour ago.

Not that I'm keeping track of him or anything.

Four black paws stalk into the room. Tom Brady the cat enters with an air of pride, his chin raised high, his tail gracefully moving back and forth as he walks. He stops, gives me a look, and jumps on the bed. He curls up next to Emma.

“Hey there, pretty kitty.” Emma runs her hand down Brady's back. The cat looks at me with slit eyes as he purrs. He makes no attempt to bite Emma. In fact, he rubs his head along her hand, putting on quite the love-show.

“The old jealousy tactic,” a voice says from the doorway.

Loch crosses his arms across his white button-down shirt. He smiles as he kicks off his shoes, grabs a bag of chips, and sits down beside me. I'm so, so happy he's here. I resist the urge to hug him. He offers me the bag of chips. I stuff a handful into my mouth. My palms are slick with sweat, but I can't figure out why. Is Loch the cause? Makes no sense. He's the most familiar and stable presence in my life. He shouldn't conjure nerves.

Emma sits up, disturbing Tom Brady's resting place. The cat curls up on my pillow. Great. I can look forward to cat hair in my face later. Emma runs her fingers through her hair, straightens her pajamas, and bounces off the bed. She lands with a thud on the pale pink carpet. She raises her index finger and says, “I'll be right back. Bathroom.” She's out the door and down the hall before anyone can respond.

Loch's eyes move to my nails. “Did I interrupt a magical girl ritual?”

BOOK: One of the Guys
8.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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