How to Hook a Bookworm (7 page)

The clicking slows down, and I think he’s getting to the end of his conversation. He’s quiet for a while, and I take a chance and poke my head into the kitchen.

His eyes catch mine, and they look a little bloodshot, but his mouth twitches into a smile and he holds out a finger to tell me he’s almost off the phone.

I nod, then walk back to the living room. Adam might be my best friend, but I sometimes forget he’s known Sierra a lot longer. So whatever was suddenly bugging him, maybe he just needed her.

I wish that didn’t feel like a sucker punch to my gut, but I can’t help it.

“Sorry about that,” he says, putting his phone down by the remote on the coffee table. “So…” He claps his hands, rubs them, then gives me a wide smile. “What are we watching?”

I point to the TV with Michelle Pfieffer and Harrison Ford. He lets out a groan.

“Okay… but if I have nightmares, I’m calling you in the middle of the night just so you can’t sleep either.”

I laugh and stick my legs back on his lap. “Fine.”

He leans back into the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. I watch him before I get so engrossed in the movie that I forget he’s here. The screen reflects off his glasses, and I can see his eyes. He’s looking at the TV, but I can tell he’s not really seeing what’s there.

I wait for him to rub my feet, or at least rest his hand on my ankle like he normally does.

But he doesn’t.

Chapter 9

Sometimes I wish the things you
should
do coincide with things you actually
want
to do.

“Is your dad working tonight?” I ask Adam as the credits roll. It’s almost nine on a Saturday night, and on Mr. Silver’s nights off, he usually wanders to wherever we’re hanging and tries to get us to play Boggle with him. Adam always wins.

“Actually…he’s on a date.”

Adam’s lips twitch, and my jaw drops.

“Wow. Is that weird for you?”

He cocks his head toward me. “That my dad has been out more in the past two months than I have in my entire lifetime? Yeah…I’d say I feel a little pathetic.”

“I didn’t say pathetic,” I say, adjusting myself on the couch so I’m sitting upright. “I asked if you felt
weird
.” Adam should never feel pathetic. He’s a genius, has lots of close friends, and even if he doesn’t go out a lot, I know there are girls who like him.

He stands, reaching over me to the lamp above my head and snaps it on. When he sits back down, he chooses the middle cushion instead of the end. “I do feel weird about it, but I don’t know how weird yet. Dad hasn’t had a date stick past the first one, and he’s come home indifferent. I don’t know if I’d be happier if he’d found someone, or if I’d be happier if he keeps coming home like he has been. Or if it will just be weird for a while.”

I scoot closer so our legs press together. The book Adam was reading during the really scary parts smooshes against my thigh. “So, it’s not just one person? He’s sort of playing the field?”

Adam groans, and I stifle a laugh. But really how else was I supposed to phrase that?

“He set up a dating profile, and he’s been out every Saturday since February.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure what to say. When he asked me if I was okay with him dating again, I just sort of sat there and nodded. Then he asked if I’d help him set up his profile and that was beyond awkward. But I did it, and he’s been ‘playing the field’ since.”

“But you weren’t sure if you were okay with it?”

He drops his head into his hands, his glasses pressing against the bridge of his nose. “I
should
be okay with it. Mom’s been gone for ten years. He should’ve been dating way before now. But I don’t know if it’s because it’s been just me and him for so long that I feel strange about it, or if it’s because I really don’t want him to find someone else.” He turns to look at me, keeping his head in his hand. “But I know how I
should
feel. So that’s how I act.”

My stomach hollows as I try to find the right words to say or if there are any right words. I link my arm through his and rest my chin on his shoulder. “It’s okay to act exactly how you feel sometimes.”

His eyes search my face for a minute, then he half smiles and pushes my braid off my shoulder. His fingers trace down my arm and squeeze my elbow. I shiver, and the room gets quiet. Or at least I think it does. The background music on the TV should be playing, but I don’t hear it. All I hear is my own heart in my ears. Suddenly the air feels thick, and I worry that maybe I shouldn’t have moved so close.

He looks intense, but happy as he studies me. Even though my heart is pounding and the air is heavy, I’m comfortable. My body starts to relax against his side.

Adam inches forward, and I’m thinking he’ll flick my nose or pinch my hip…something friendly and playful like always, but his gaze is still intensely focused. I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, I don’t stop it.

Without thinking, my eyes drop to his lips, and in that small second, he stops inching. He pulls back, eyebrows bunched together, and he squeezes his eyes closed. I lift my chin from his shoulder, and we both shake our heads at the same time.

He lets out a hollow laugh. “I think we’ve had a long enough break.”

“Huh?” Wow, I sound extremely breathless.

He pats my knee, then jerks back as if he’s not used to doing that all the time…even though he is. “Uh, one more quick study session. Then I’ll take you home.”

I whine, and Adam taps my foot with his before he leads me to his kitchen table. Plopping my butt in the wood chair I say, “Do we have to? It’s late.”

“Yes.” His reddish hair falls in front of his forehead as he searches in the junk drawer. He pulls out a green Sharpie and a notepad. They flop on the table in front of me, and I wrinkle my nose at them.

Adam sits kitty corner to me, tapping the Sharpie on the notepad.

“Do I get to sketch you?” I ask, snatching the marker. “Because I can pass Art with flying colors.”

“I’ve seen your sketches of me, and they’re too damn accurate.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“I just mean that I’m not exactly the best choice for a model.”

Oh, what a load of crock. I reach over and smack him upside the head. Hopefully it jolts sense into him.

“Hey, stop beating me up!”

I sock his shoulder then whack his head again. He grabs my wrist and goes straight for my overly ticklish knee, but stops in midair. Slowly his fingers uncurl, letting me loose and he slides back, teasing smile gone.

“Uh…” He taps the pad again. “Let’s get to this.”

Okay… “You all right?”

“Yep.” A totally forced smile appears on his face, but I won’t push it. He nudges the notepad toward me so much it almost falls off the table. “Okay, I’m going to ask you a question, and you write down whatever you think the answer is.”

“No multiple choice or fill-in bubbles?” I tease, trying to get him out of whatever funk he keeps falling in.

He smiles—a real one. “Nope. Just write it down wherever on the paper.”

“Should I put my name on the top?” I bat innocent eyes, purposely being a pain in the ass.

Adam’s smile widens. “Brea…”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” I uncap the green marker. “I’m ready.”

He waits for me to put my feet up on the chair and settle my notepad on my thighs. “Question one.” He slouches in his own seat. “What’s my full name?”

My brows meet in the middle of my forehead. “What?”

“What’s my full name?”

“I don’t think that’ll be on the test next week, Adam.”

“Who said anything about a test? This isn’t a test. It’s for fun.”

His brown eyes widen under his glasses, and he smirks. I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at him, but I bite it back and write down the answer.

Adam Samuel Silver… or for short: ASS

I chuckle as I move my gaze from the paper to him, and by the way he laughs with me, I know he knows exactly what I put down.

“Question two. How long have we known each other?”

“Do you want, like, an exact date?”

“Just put whatever comes to your head.”

I drag the green cap across my bottom lip before bringing the Sharpie down to the notepad.

2 years, 3 months

“Without looking at me,” he says before I have a chance to glance up, “what color is my shirt?”

I force my eyes to stay on the page, and I scribble with a smile.

Blue. It’s your pocket tee with the red ink stain on the bottom hem. I told you to wash it right away, but you didn’t listen.

Then I draw a replica of the T-shirt, stain and all. I lift my eyes when I’m done and with a big smile I pull on his sleeve with the back of the marker.

“I got it right.”

“That was a lot of writing for the word ‘blue.’”

“I put in extra credit.”

He leans forward resting his head on his forefinger and thumb. “Who was the character who got sucked into the bed on that freaky movie you made me watch?”

My eyebrows shoot up, but I bring the Sharpie to the notepad and write the first name that pops in my head.

Glen

Adam waits until my marker stops moving then gives me another question.

“What country sponsored Christopher Columbus’ voyage to the Americas?”

Spain

The word is on the page without me even thinking about it. But there it is, in my handwriting, and I
know
it’s right. How did that happen?

Adam quizzes me on nine more history questions, filtering in pointless trivia in between, but every answer flies out on the notepad, along with stupid factoids and things he didn’t ask. I’ve got pictures of Native Americans coughing and shaking their fists at the English people who brought them diseases. I’ve got Harrison Ford drowning in a lake. I drew Adam’s glasses and brown eyes next to the question
“What’s my most prominent feature?”
I stare at the paper, willing my heart to stop thumping so hard. But it’s not panic this time. It’s pure excitement.

“Want me to check your work?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.

Not able to hold back my wide grin, I push the notebook his way. He laughs at my doodles and nods at my answers. When he’s done, he lets the pad drop to the table with a
flump
.

“Does it help when there’s no multiple choice?”

I shrug. “Maybe.” I don’t want to tell him that it’s not just that, but the atmosphere itself. I’m not in class eyeing the clock. I’m sitting at his kitchen table and writing with a Sharpie. It didn’t feel like a test at all, even though he asked all the questions on my practice quiz. I gotta give it to him for memory, because I looked at those questions all day, and I still can’t remember them.

He slides out of his chair, bringing the notepad with him and sits in the seat right next to mine. The warmth from his arm hits my side when he rips the paper out and hands it to me.

“You know the answers. They are all up here.” He taps his forefinger to my temple, and my stomach seems to slip on a cube of ice. “You just gotta trust yourself to move them here.” He pulls his finger from my skin and presses it against the paper.

My mouth pops open slightly, but only because I need to get air all of a sudden. My chest rises and falls as I watch his warm brown eyes skate over mine.

“Can we do this again?”

He blinks, and it zaps me out of my trance. “Study?”

I nod. “Before my test.”

“I have Tuesday off.”

“Perfect.”

The smile he gives me almost pulls me into that weird trance again, but he stands and takes the notebook and Sharpie back to the junk drawer.

“You ready to get going?” he asks, looking at the clock on the microwave.

“Yeah, I better.”

He grabs his keys off the hook on the fridge and shrugs on his pullover. I wonder if Ms. Weber will let me stuff him in my backpack, and I can use him as my cheat sheet next week.

***

My trailer looks like it’s deserted. There are no lights on, the gate is hanging off a hinge, and there’s a litter of phone books piled on the porch. We’re trying to save money on power, I get that, but still, it’s a good thing scary movies don’t freak me out because I’d beg Adam to walk me inside, even though he’d be the one scared out of his wits.

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing my backpack and squeezing the door handle.

“Wait, Brea?” Adam looks like he wants to reach over me and lock me in again, but he doesn’t. “Um, does Jay know about this?”

“Know about what?”

He pinches his eyes shut and rubs the top of his steering wheel. “About me helping you.”

“Um…no.” I turn in my seat. “Why?”

His eyes slowly open, and he pulls them to me. I can usually read Adam, but he’s got me stumped at the moment. “Should he?”

I’m still lost. “What do you mean?”

“Should he know about us spending time together? Because if I was up-in-the-air with someone, I think I’d want to know if they were hanging out with another guy.”

He waits for me to answer, but I’m not sure how. I don’t know what I am with Jay, but Adam’s my best friend. I’m going to be hanging out with him and damn it, I shouldn’t need permission to do that. Then again, Jay doesn’t know Adam is my best friend. He doesn’t know Adam’s the one who I spend most of my time with outside of school. Hell, he doesn’t know Adam, period. He doesn’t know because…well, we don’t really know each other.

As always, genius Adam has a point.

I give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell him.”

I thought he’d smile back, but he doesn’t. It’s still that pinched, unreadable expression I’ve never seen before now, and it worries me. But Adam wipes it off and takes the key out of the ignition.

“You don’t have to walk me up,” I say as he opens his door. “I know your fear of the dark.”

“Yes.” He pauses, then grabs the backpack from my hand and pulls it on his shoulder. “But you also know I won’t let you walk alone.”

I know he means right now. But when he opens my door and follows me to my porch, I think he means it indefinitely. And that’s a comfort I haven’t felt in a while.