Reasons I Fell for the Funny Fat Friend (2 page)

Another puff hits my face. “Fine.” She slides off my desk and drops the jewelry into her pocket. Without another word, she’s out the door.

Damn brother ruins everythin’.

Reason 2:
You walk with a book on your head

“Hey hun,” Mom says as I walk through the door. “How was your day?”

S
tandard Mom question.

“Fine.”

Standard kid answer.

She waves me into the kitchen with a knife in her hand. Then she g
oes back to chopping tomatoes.
I wrinkle my nose
.

“Y
ou’re going to eat these and be happy about it,” she threatens as I sit on the bar stool across from her, letting my backpack drop to the floor by my feet.

“Yes, Mother.”

She makes a face. “I hate it when you say that.”

I laugh. “I know.”

She picks up a tomato slice and shoves it under my nose. “Now you have to eat it.  That’s yo
ur punishment for being a smart
ass.”

“Uugh.” My gag reflex pumps in my
throat as I push her hand back.
“How about I just say I’m sorry?”

“And…?” She waves the slice in my face with a huge grin.

“I love you?”

“Say it like you mean it.”

Mom
s suck. “I love you, Mom. Now get that out of my face before I blow chunks.”

“Ew! Brody!” She laughs and sets the tomato back on the cutting board. “Don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Okay. No more barf talk.” I smile. “As long as you don’t make me eat any of that.”

Picking up my bag, I sling it over my shoulder before
I head to the fridge to grab something that doesn’t taste like a squishy foot.

“Oh, before I forget,” Mom says, reaching into her pocket. “You left your phone on the charger again this morning.” She slaps it into my open hand whil
e I stuff my face with leftover cake
.

“Sorry,” I s
ay through the mouthful
.

She ignores my lack of healthy taste in food. “I don’t know why you even have it if you never use it.”

She’s right.
I use my phone maybe twice a day. Once to turn it to silent, and then ag
ain to turn the volume back on.
Yeah, I’m that popular.

“Thanks.” Kicking the fridge door shut, I give her a fist-bump—‘cause Mom’s that cool—and slip downstairs to my room.

Oh dude, it stinks.
I should’ve
opened my window or something.
It smells like morning.
You know that smell… B.O., ass, and corn chips. Opening window now.

I plug in my iPod and strip.
That ASL room really is too hot. Or maybe it’s just me sweating a rainstorm whenever I’m around Quynn. Stupid puberty and
shit
. Girls don’t sweat like this.
And if they did, they sure know how to hide it.

In the time it takes to shower and get dressed, morning stank has officially left my room, replaced with cologne and aftershave.

I yank out my homework and slam it on top of my cluttered desk. Homework blows. I asked Quynn once what the point of it all was. She just rolled her eyes and told me to shut up. Then I think I blacked out watching her bend over to pick up all the papers I’d tos
sed to the floor. Man, that ass
.

Whoa! Brody, focus! She’s not even here and you’re mentally stripping her.

First, Calculus. Better get the tough stuff over with.

Two hours later, Calculus book has a drool stain on it
,
and Mom’s yelling down the stairs.

“Brody! Answer your phone!”

Huh?

The standard ringtone gets cut off as soon as my fumblin’ fingers hit the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hey, you got a bunch o’
crap
at my house. Come get it before Nicole gets here.
She needs the room.
”

Ah, douche
bag brother.

“Nicole’s moving in?”

“Yeah. So come get your
stuff
.”

“Fine.”

Click
.

Yeah, I really don’t know why I own a phone.

“Yo, Mom!” I call into the kitchen as I tug my shoes on by the door. “Mind if I take the car to Gabe’s? I got stuff there he wants me to grab.”

“Sure, but
please
don’t stay long.” T
he edge to her voice says everything she thinks about my brother right now. “And take your phone!”

“I got it.” Door opens. “Be back in a bit.” Door closes.

One of these days I’ll get my own car, but for right now I have to
make a Chevy Corsica look cool.
I got my work cut out for me.

Douche
bag brother lives about twenty minutes away, but with the way I floor it, I’m there in ten.

My ‘
crap
’ is on the porch.
At least I don’t have to talk to him.

I chuck the box in the trunk and crank up the radio. He makes e
verything tu
rn to junk
.

It starts to rain, and the windshield wipers need to be replaced. I put it on my mental checklist of stuff I gotta tell Mom. Right next to ‘no more tomatoes’ and ‘disowning Gabe’.

Clunk
.

Did I hit something? What the hell was that noise?

Thump
.

Uh, yeah.
Can’t be good.

The car slows.

What now?

The car stops.

Dammit. No gas. Wish Mom would’ve told me it was running on fumes. But at least I didn’t just kill a little girl’s cat.

The rain picks up—of course—and I hurry and push the car to the side of the road. Please let me have a gas can.

“Brody?”

I whip around. “Hayley?”

Her curvy figure com
es into focus as she jogs over.
She’s carrying an umbrella and balancing a book on her head
, her high ponytail holding it in place
. I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

“D
o you need help?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, do you seriously think I’m goin’ to ignore the book on your head?”

She giggles.
“The sa
fest place for it is up there.
It’s a library book
,
and I don’t want it to get wet.”

Bizarre girl. Why am I laughing with her?

“Well, I’d offer you a lift, but I’m kind of stranded.”

I pop the trunk. Oh good, a gas can.

“How about this…?” She puts the umbrella over my head and takes a step closer. “You let me put my book in your car to stay dry, and I’ll walk to a gas station with you so you don’t have to look like you’ve just gone diving in the South Pacific.”

I chuckle… again. Dude, what is that?

“Deal.” I don’t mind getting a little wet, but I don’t mind company either.

“Awesomesauce.”

Do people actually say that? 
She grabs the book
and chucks it in my trunk before I shut it.

“Okay, you have to
hold this ‘cause you’re taller.
I’m not tiring my arm out for you.”

Why do I keep laughing at her? It’s not like she’s being funny. And I’m n
ot normally a nervous laugher.
Huh…

“Hello?” She waves the umbrella and the rain splashes down my back.

“Sorry
,” I say grabbing it from her.
“I got this, so you have to hold this.” I
stick the gas can in her hand.
She jerks back when I touch her.

Maybe she’s a germ-a-phobe.

“How gentlemanly of you,” she jokes. Crap, should I have carried both?

She starts gigglin
g and swinging the gas can
as we walk
,
so I don’t feel as bad about it.

“You don’t live around here, do you?” I’m horrible at small talk.

“Nah. I was at the library and missed the bus, so
I
decided to walk to the next stop.  I hate waiting.”

Duh, Brody. “Guess I should’ve figured that out on my own, since you were carrying a library book.”

She giggles. “I was going to say
that
, but thought since I don’t really know you that well, it would come out all rude and stuff.”

S
he shivers
, and I adjust the umbrella,
trying to move closer without touching her. “I got a thick skin. You could say anything
,
and it wouldn’t offend me.”

“Hmm…” Her eyebrows waggle up and down. “I think I’m going to accept that challenge.”

A
stupid grin forms on my face.
“Go right ahead.”

Another laugh. This girl laughs a lot. And makes me laugh too,
even though nothing is funny.
At least it’s not uncomfortable.

“I’ve never been encouraged to be rude or nosy before,” she says.

“Nosy?”

“Well, since I don’t really know you, what I’m about to say will not only offend you, but sound like I’m shoving my big face where it doesn’t belong.”

Whoa
, she already has something on her mind? That was quick thinking. “What is it?”

“Nah,
I’m not really a rude person.
Better keep this comment to myself.”

I shrug, trying to make it seem like I don’t care, though it’s kind of driving me crazy. “Guess you weren’t up for the challenge.” I grin.

“Guess not.” Her face turns toward mine, her mouth in one of those evil smiles that girls do. “And reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.”

Man, this girl is frustrating. Now I’m uncomfortable and dyin’ to know what kind of
stuff
she thinks about me.

“Come on, just say it.”

“I think I’d feel better if I told you something personal about me before I make a personal assumption about you.”

Huh? “Is that an invitation for me to ask you something I don’t know about you?”

She nods. “But don’t make it something stupid, like what my favorite color is.”

“It’s yellow.”
Whoa. That just popped right out.

Her eyes bulge. “How’d you know that?”

I rub my buzzed head
with my free hand. “You said it once in class. Well, signed it.”

“I did?”

I nod. Why is a discussion over the color yellow such a big deal?

“Huh.” She cocks her head to the side as her cheeks flush. “So… pick something you don’t know then.”

Way to put me on the spot. I’m stil
l trying to figure out what
is on her mind. I do pay attention to her in class, and I guess the conversation today is the only one that pops in my head
,
and I blurt it out before I can think about it.

“You said you don’t get asked out a lot.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, have you ever been on a date?”

“Nope.”

Wow, not even a pause. She doesn’t even sound disappointed about it. I repeat: bizarre girl.

“Okay, that was pretty personal. Your turn.” I nudge her, forgetting her normal reaction to touch until she pulls back, soaking the arm on her jacket. She swipes off the rain drops and tucks back un
der the umbrella.
I really gotta try not to touch her.

Why
am
I touching her?

I clear my throat instead of nudging her to continue.

“Okay, but just warning you,” she says
,
rubbing her fingers across her cheek, “you did ask for it.”

“Dude, it must be bad if it comes with a disclaimer.” Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than havin’ the hots for Quynn…

“I think liking your brother’s ex is pretty bad.” She says it before I can stop her. “Unless I’m reading things wrong, but I’m an unusually perceptive person.”

She’s not lookin’ at me, but I can feel the heat coming off her face. Yeah, she’s perceptive all right. Or I’m just completely transparent.

“We’re here,”
she says, jerking her head forward
.

It’s amazing how your feet can lead to you to the right place without
a conscious thought.
I hand her the umbrella a
nd take
the gas can
to the attendant, who fill
s
it up in silence.