Promposal (5 page)

I knew my friend needed me, and I also knew I couldn't let him down.

But I couldn't deny the nut-kicking realization that a relationship really wasn't going to happen with him, ever. We'd settled too deeply into the friend zone for me to dig my way out. Reality was hitting me hard upside the head right now.

Yeah, I got it, universe. Loud and clear.

I released his hand and rubbed my nose, which was beginning to freeze. Tried to avoid the pleading look in his eyes. “Okay, sure. I'll help.” What else could I say?
No, because I was hoping you and I would go instead?

“You. Are. A. God,” he said, relief clear on his face. “I know you'll help me make this the most amazing event ever.” Ethan dropped his sled and wrapped me in his arms, and it was almost impossible for me not to breathe his shampoo, the warmth of his skin, deeply in. “Thank you.
Thank you
.
”

I let my sled go too and gave him an awkward pat on the back, then moved away. “What are friends for?”

An hour later, I was sitting on my couch, a blanket tucked around me, watching some weird, random black-and-white murder mystery on TV. My phone was on the coffee table; I saw it buzz and light up, but I didn't move for it.

Right now, I just needed to nurse my wounds. Figure out how to piece my pathetic broken heart back together. All I had to do was get over Ethan by Monday, then help him win the guy of his dreams so they could enjoy their romantic prom together.

Piece of cake. I snorted.

Speaking of dessert . . . I hopped up and headed to the fridge. Surprisingly, Dad had gone to the grocery store while I was out, and he'd gotten us some ice cream. Yeah, it was cold, but come on. Rocky road ice cream. Like I was going to pass that up.

I made a huge, heaping bowl and settled back into my seat. Checked my phone.

I hope your day is going better than mine. :-P Whatcha doin? How was your eve w/ Ethan?

I typed Camilla a response.
Eating ice cream and watching a shitty movie.
She was smart enough to read between the lines.

Her reply dinged a minute later.
Nuff said. On my way. Will bring chips and Legolas.

She totally got me. That made me grin. I couldn't count how many marathons of
The Lord of the Rings
trilogy she and I had done over the last few years, if only because we loved to watch Orlando Bloom run around and look hot.

Perfect,
I texted back.
Rocky road awaits you.

O
w!” I cried out after an elbow clipped my side.

“Oh. Sorry,” some huge guy said as he kept barreling down the crowded hallway.

I grumbled under my breath as I rubbed my sore rib cage. Yeah, it was shaping up to be a real Monday, all right. I'd left my packed lunch on the kitchen counter this morning and didn't have any cash on me, so my stomach was grumbling like crazy with hunger. I'd bombed my French test. People all day had asked me what it felt like to be a celebrity on the news. Zach had already sent me half a dozen texts asking me how I was and if I wanted to hang out one day after school this week.

And now my rib was throbbing like mad.

A light touch on my elbow snapped my attention up.

“You okay? I saw what that meathead did. That had to hurt.” Noah McIntyre gave me a warm smile of concern.

I frowned, torn between appreciation for his concern and solidarity for Joshua's personal agony over the drama Noah was unknowingly causing. “Oh. Um, yeah. Thanks for asking.”

His eyes twinkled; the green color perfectly matched the scarf draped over his shoulders. “Maybe bring some armor tomorrow. It's a war zone in here.” With that, he sauntered off toward his class.

I huffed a sigh and dug my phone out of my pocket. I wanted to be angry with Noah, demand he stop being that damned attractive so Ethan would stop noticing him, but I knew that would be ridiculous. Not to mention the fact that he really was a nice guy.

I shot Joshua a text as I strolled along the edge of the hallway.
Making it thru the day ok?
Saturday night, we'd stayed up well past midnight, whining and eating way too much ice cream.

My phone vibrated. I opened it and saw a picture of Joshua's face, his eyes sad and mouth exaggerated in a deep frown. His text underneath said,
I'm dying on the inside. But at least my hair looks great.

I couldn't help but laugh.
That's right. Keep your dignity—& tell me what product you're using to get that fab volume.

Another picture, this time with him giving me a brave smile.

Hang in there,
I replied.
We'll figure this out together, I promise. For now, just tread H2O.

I stuck my phone in my pocket so I wouldn't get busted by a teacher and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. My heart thrummed beneath my rib cage. Psychology. Time to see Benjamin.

The phone buzzed again.

Okay. You busy Friday evening?

I groaned. After Zach's texts this morning asking me out, I'd explained I was busy with homework after school this week, hoping he'd take the hint and give me some breathing room. So much for the gentle approach.

I'll let you know,
I replied, then stuck the phone in my purse so I wouldn't feel him reply.

I clutched my book and notebook closer to my torso and stepped into the room. As had happened with every class today, I got a bunch of people buzzing to me about Friday's promposal.
Last class of the day,
I told myself. I just needed to get through the rest of today and then I could go home, and people would stop talking about it.

“You looked great on TV!” Janie, a cheerleader, told me.

“Thanks.” I smiled and headed toward my desk. Carter, hoodied head down on his desk, was already asleep behind me, and Benjamin had his notebook open and was writing something.

At least I could count on the two of them. For once, I was looking forward to Benjamin's typical silence. I'd had enough public attention for a lifetime.

Mrs. Brandwright stood from behind her desk. “Okay, let's get started. We have a lot of lecture to cover, and then for the last half of class we have another special project to start.”

That got some excitement going. People stirred in their seats and began whispering. Mrs. Brandwright's class projects were usually fun and strange. Last semester, we discussed parenting and were assigned baby dolls we had to carry around with us for a week. One guy had kept his nestled under his shirt the whole time, like he was pregnant.

Mrs. Brandwright began her furious scrawl across the chalkboard while talking in a fast clip, and the class quieted down as we began writing notes. I was too busy to even look at Benjamin. Well, not more than once or twice, anyway.

There was a startling tap on my left knee, the side against the
wall. I peeked down and saw Benjamin's left arm dropped to his side, his hand touching my kneecap.

My heart gave a strange thud as I dropped my left arm. My fingers brushed his and I took the small note folded in his hand. He ducked his head back down and continued writing in his notebook.

I couldn't stop the slight tremor in my hand. What was Benjamin passing me a note about? Anticipation bubbled in my chest, and I forced myself to unfold the note slowly so Mrs. Brandwright wouldn't notice.

His writing was lean and strong, confident. The page only had one line of text with four words.

Saw you on TV.

I stared at the brief note for a good minute, wondering what to reply. This was so unexpected that my brain was pretty much useless right now. I swallowed, forced my brain to focus.

Write something clever,
I ordered myself.

You and the rest of the school, hah,
I added below his line.

Really witty, Camilla. But in my defense, he didn't give me much to work with.

I folded it back up and tried to hunch in my seat so I could tap his elbow. He dropped his arm, and I pressed the note into his fingers; my skin shivered in delight when our bare flesh touched again.

In a couple of minutes, I saw his left arm drop once more. I reached down and took the note from him, still unable to believe that I was actually passing notes with Benjamin, of all people. What planet was this? And even more ironic, I had the promposal to thank—Zach, specifically.

I opened the paper . . .

. . . and saw a doodle, similar in style to the ones that filled his notebook pages. It was an old-fashioned TV and in the middle of the screen was a rough sketch of my face in profile, but it was unmistakably me—my wavy hair, the slope of my nose, my lips. Coming off the top of my head and over the TV was an empty thought bubble.

I swallowed. Obviously a reference to my TV appearance. And he wanted me to fill in the thought bubble; that much was clear. But what should I write?

“Okay,” Mrs. Brandwright interrupted my pondering. “Time for fun.”

I sighed and tucked the note away. Well, at least I'd have time to chew on the perfect response. To write something that would keep the lines of conversation open with Benjamin. Despite the brevity of the note's text, this was the most we'd talked, well, ever. And he'd surprised me with that picture of me.

Surprised and flattered me. I was tempted to open it and stare at it, but I knew I'd get busted.

The class tucked away their books, and I did the same. We sat quietly as Mrs. Brandwright moved to the front of her desk and leaned against the edge.

“So, we've been talking about social mores. About how difficult it is to break out of them, how it pushes our comfort zones. We retreat into the safety of ‘manners' because we don't want to offend.” She paused, and her eyes had an excited gleam. “Well, we're about to challenge all of that.” She stepped to the far side of the room. “I'm going to put you into small groups, and your project will involve not only testing your own comfort zones, but also testing those of others. The project will involve various experiments
you will design to disrupt social norms—nothing illegal, unethical, or immoral, folks,” she warned. “But do push the envelope and try to think outside the box. Have fun with it.”

As she moved up and down the aisles, grouping people, I realized she was assigning people by their spots in the rows. There was a 50 percent chance I was going to be paired up with Benjamin.

Finally, she made it to my row. She grouped the first three people, and then she pointed to Benjamin, me, and Carter.

“Now that you have your groups, here's your assignment. Today I want you to brainstorm ideas on how you can disrupt public norms, plus ideal locations to do your experiment. Your end goal will be to record and analyze how your targets react to your actions in comparison to how you anticipated they would react. Group up!”

Chairs scraped as people formed small clusters around the room.

Benjamin turned his chair around, and I rotated mine to face the middle of the room. Carter kept his facing forward, and his head was propped up in his hands.

I cleared my throat in a lame attempt to get my nerves under control. But I couldn't deny the twinge of eagerness in my heart. I was going to be doing an out-of-school experiment with Benjamin. And Carter, too, but we all knew he'd do the absolute bare minimum, if even that.

“So,” I started as I whipped my notebook to a blank page. “Um, anyone have any ideas?” Brilliant, Camilla.

After a moment, Benjamin said, “Let's take a few minutes to jot down some ideas on our own. Then we can discuss them, pick the strongest.” The voice of reason.

I gave a dumb nod and bent over my paper.

Carter gave a soft grunt, and out of the corners of my eyes I saw his head nod a few times, getting closer and closer to his desk.

Think,
I ordered myself.
Outside the box. Be creative.
I stared at my paper and willed myself to come up with something awesome. What situations would make others uncomfortable?

Oh, say, like a televised promposal?

I smothered an uncomfortable laugh. It was bad enough going through it myself. I wouldn't want to subject anyone else to that kind of misery.

I wrote down a couple of ideas. Stared at the page another long minute. Wrote another one down.

“Got anything?” Benjamin asked.

Thud.
Carter's head hit the desk.

I rolled my eyes. “That's about what I expected from him. Anyway, I wrote down, ‘Stand too close to someone,' ‘Have a public argument,' ‘Propose marriage randomly,' and ‘Stare at people.' ”

He chuckled and my heart flipped at the rich sound. “I wrote, ‘Try to hold hands with strangers,' ‘Do a survey with uncomfortably personal questions,' and ‘PDA.' ”

Public displays of affection? My breathing grew shallow at the thought of kissing Benjamin where anyone could see us, his eyes boring into mine as his head tilted and his mouth grew closer, closer . . .