How to Meet Boys (8 page)

My mom is a perfectionist. When she has a plan in mind—like coordinating an outfit, or a wedding—she obsesses over it, and everything has to be about that plan. Like now, with her wedding to Gary, who she met because they’re both real estate agents at the same office. They want to sell houses together as a team once they get married: Kerri and Gary. Spouses who sell houses. Sometimes I felt like Mom only wanted to marry Gary because it would look good on their business cards.

Even if Gary is a nice guy, there’s something about the born salesman thing that comes to my mind whenever he’s talking to me. “It’ll be great, this’ll be great. Tell you what we’re gonna do, Lucy. We’re gonna give you fifteen percent off breakfast. And we’re gonna throw in clean towels!”

I wasn’t going to say anything to Claire or anyone else about it, but I didn’t feel ready for Mom and Gary to get married. They’d only been together seven months or so. They were rushing. Part of me wondered if Mom was in such a hurry because Dad was getting remarried at the same time, and she wanted to show him up. The fact they were still so competitive about things after being apart for two years said a lot to me: one, no wonder they couldn’t stay married; two, they each cared what the other was up to—more than a little.

I think Mom wanted to have the “better” wedding, while Dad and his fiancée, Margaret, didn’t care. They wanted to be married soon, because she had a couple of younger kids, Charlie and Rosie, and her first husband had been killed in a helicopter crash while fighting in Afghanistan. Dad was ready to be an official stepdad to them, and I was happy to share him. I was really looking forward to having those cute little guys as stepsiblings—I hoped they’d eventually consider me their sister, because I’d always kind of wanted to be a big sister. It was messy, and too bad it had to happen this way, but maybe something really good would come out of having two families.

I heard the front door open and turned around to see Mikayla walk into the house. “Hey!” I greeted her. “How was the coffee shop?”

“It was . . . good.” Mikayla wandered closer, kind of staring off into the distance, a dreamy expression on her face.

“Mikayla?” I prompted. “You still with us?”

“Oh—yeah. Sorry.” She collapsed into one of our folding chairs and sighed. “I have to tell you. I met someone there. Someone, like, that I already have a serious crush on.”

“You met him?” I asked. “Like, you actually talked to him?”

She nodded. “I
did
. I mean, it started out kind of awkward—like things usually do with me. But then it turned a corner somehow and we started having a real conversation. And it was easy.”

“Wow. So what’s his name?” I asked.

“I don’t know . . ,” Mikayla said slowly, sort of in a daze.

“You didn’t get his
name
?” Claire asked.

“No,” she said, slowly shaking her head.

“Well. That sounds promising,” I teased.

Mikayla laughed. “I screwed that up, didn’t I? But there was a big group, and everyone kind of knew each other, and—gosh. How did I not get his name? You know what? I don’t think he got my name either.”

“So how are you going to find him?” Claire asked. “Wait for him to leave a shoe behind and then you can track him down and see if it fits? Although, seriously, guys’ shoes? Not something you want to carry around.”

“Just my luck, right? I meet someone and it turns into a Cinderella situation. Although I doubt he’d appreciate being compared to Cinderella,” Mikayla said. “It’s weird. I almost ran into him on my bike earlier this week. And he tried to give me his phone number then, but I didn’t want it, because he was making too big a deal about whether I was hurt or not. Now, I need it,” she said. “Of course then I’d have to get up the nerve to call him, but . . ”

“Not really,” said Claire. “Just text.”

“Same difference,” Mikayla said.

“So you’ve seen him twice, then?” I asked.

She nodded. “I totally know this might just be in my head. It probably is. But it feels like we have this connection, like . . . I don’t know. There’s something there. I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe it’s one of those pheromone deals I saw on
Dr. Oz
,” Claire said.

“You watch
Dr. Oz
?”

“Only when I’m home with the flu. You can’t believe how much this one secret mysterious substance controls your whole entire life.”

“Sorry,” Mikayla said. “I don’t listen to anyone who goes on TV in his pajamas.”

“They’re not pj’s! They’re scrubs. He’s a surgeon, you know. Half the reason I want to go to med school and help people is because of him. Well, and his TV deal,” Claire said.

“Since when are you going pre-med?” I asked. “Last I knew you wanted to major in French.”

“Last year, yeah. Before I knew better,” said Claire.

Mikayla sighed. “I wonder where he’s staying this summer.”

“He who? Dr. Oz? I think he’s a bit old for you—”

“No! The guy I met tonight,” Mikayla said, laughing at Claire.

“Well, when you don’t know someone’s name, it’s hard to actually talk to them about anything like where they live, isn’t it?” Claire teased her.

“I talked to him a lot,” Mikayla said.

“You?” I said.

“Well, yeah. He was even flirting with me. At least, I think so.” Mikayla’s eyes were shining with excitement. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. “I’ve got to text Ava right now. Oh, and by the way, Sarah picked me up, she came in for a tour, and she wants to use our house as, like, Party Warehouse.”

I didn’t get it. “Party Warehouse? Like, we have to sell balloons and plastic forks and graduation tablecloths and Halloween costumes?”

We all started laughing. “No! I meant . . . I meant . . ” Mikayla was laughing so hard she couldn’t spit it out. Finally she said, “Party
Central
. Since we have the place to ourselves. I don’t know where the warehouse part came from.”

“You have boy brain,” Claire said. “It’s okay. And I guess we know what this means.”

“What? Dr. Oz was right?”

“No. We should have gone to Earl Grey’s instead of the tennis courts!”

“I missed tennis?” Mikayla asked, looking up.

“No, not really,” I said, laughing, thinking that you couldn’t really call our game
tennis
. More like five-is.

Maybe my summer hadn’t gotten off to the start I wanted it to, but I was definitely excited for Mikayla. And maybe the guy she’d met had a friend.

Hey, it could happen. It happened to other girls all the time. Maybe it was our turn.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Wednesday at noon, I rode my bike
out to the Club beach. It was my first day off since Sunday, but I was headed there because a bunch of people had talked about playing volleyball. It was probably a ridiculous idea, but if there was any chance the mystery guy might be there . . . I hadn’t managed to run across him, despite the fact I’d ridden my bike all over town—multiple times—in the past three days.

When you wanted to be hit by a car driven by a cute guy, it would never happen. I’d learned that. Maybe that was a good thing, but I was starting to feel pretty hopeless. I’d even pathetically gone to Earl Grey’s with Lucy the night before, hoping I’d run into him. It was like he’d vanished into thin air. I hadn’t seen him anywhere.

I’d been about to lose hope. I figured he’d bailed and gone back home, due to the fact I’d semi-stolen his job.

I knew I could just ask Henry and Sarah who he was and where he worked, but I didn’t want to mess things up. I’d only been in town a week and a half—and at the Club for a week. I didn’t want to be
that
girl. The one who showed up and assumed everything that existed was there for her to take.

I’d spent the morning talking to my family, who I was missing more than I thought I would. “Be careful,” my mom said at the end of the call. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

I don’t know what she thought was going on up here. “I can assure you, Mom,” I said. “It’s really no different from home.”

I waved at Liam as I rode past him at the gate and on through the parking lot, to the end of the beach with volleyball net. I leaned my bike against a tree and took off my helmet, shaking out my hair.

When I looked up, I realized it wasn’t
just
club people playing. He was at the net. Whoever he was. Cute Near–Car Crash Coffee-Shop Guy.

That was a really long nickname. I definitely needed to learn his real one.

He was looking at me. Kind of staring, actually. I wasn’t sure whether to wave or say hi. Both seemed awkward, so I didn’t do either, which was probably just as weird. Instead I immediately looked down and walked over to stand by the net and observe.

We didn’t say anything initially. But when Sarah had to go back inside to work, I took her spot—which was right beside him, in front at the net.

“Hey. Where’ve you been hiding?”

“Hiding? Me? I’m here every day,” I said, feeling nervous just to be around him again.

“I haven’t seen you around town,” he said.

I smiled. If he only knew how around town I’d been, looking for
him
.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, coming closer to give me a little hip check.

“Nothing. Just—what are you doing here?” I asked as we started to play. “Did you come to get your old job back?”

“Ha. No such luck. It’s just my day off,” he said.

I hit the ball out of bounds. We lost the point and he turned to me. “Didn’t you say something once about playing a lot of sports?” he teased me.

“Hey, I just got here!” I said, laughing. “I’m warming up.” A minute later, I jumped up and nailed a spike at the net, making Henry lunge for it and fall into the sand. “That better?” I asked.

“Not cool, Mikayla!” Henry yelled to me. “Not cool!”

“Wow. You have a serious spike,” Near-Car-Crash Guy commented as we started the next point. “I’ll set you up next time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

“You play on a team?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’m kind of the team captain.”

“Stand back, people!” he told everyone, holding up his hands. “We have a ringer here, we have a ringer. I’m so glad you’re on my team.”

“Same here,” I said. “I mean, that you’re . . . on mine.” Fortunately it was my time to serve, so I got to do something besides say embarrassing things. We really got into the game after that, playing for a good half hour before stopping for a break after winning the first match 15 to 9.

I snagged my water bottle from my bike and walked back toward the group, taking a few swigs. “I can’t believe how hot it got,” I said.

“You’re good. Really good,” said Henry. “You weren’t making that up!”

“Why would I make something up?” I asked.

“Jackson, you totally lucked out,” Henry said. “Having her on your team.”

“No doubt,” the guy who I’d only known as Near-Car-Crash Guy until now said, reaching over to tug the end of my ponytail. His name is Jackson? It was like my ears suddenly went on full alert. Did Henry really just say
Jackson
?

I gulped, choking on the water I was about to swallow. “You okay?” he asked, patting me on the back and startling me.

Jackson was a common name. Besides, he’d be at work right now with Lucy, wouldn’t he? This couldn’t be
her
Jackson.

I tried to put the pieces together in my mind. What did her Jackson look like, anyway? Did I even know? She’d never showed me a picture and I hadn’t—

A volleyball from the next court over sailed out of bounds. “Heads up, Mik—”

The ball hit me smack in the face. On the nose, to be more precise. “Ow!” I cried.

“Yikes. You okay?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, I’m fine!” I said, gently pressing my nose. When my hand came away there wasn’t any blood, but it did feel like it was beginning to swell a little. Plus, I needed time to recover from learning Jackson’s name. “I’m going to go get some ice—be right back!” I called, rushing toward the Club’s kitchen building. But as much as my nose stung, I was more worried about whether the guy I’d been falling for was the same one Lucy worked with—the one she’d been cursing ever since eighth grade.

While I was inside, I was going to make an important call.

I didn’t want to know, but I had to find out if this Jackson was the same as Lucy’s Jackson. The odds were against it. Sure, he was going to be a senior in high school, like us. But so were half the people I’d met so far. Anyway, there were at least three guys I knew back home named Jackson. I’d just call Lucy and put my mind at ease.

I found a quiet nook in the hallway outside the restroom and dialed Lucy’s cell number. She didn’t answer, so I looked up the Apple Store and called that number. It was obnoxious, but I had to do it, even if she was really busy.

Please let a guy answer
, I thought.
Please.
A guy with a nice, deep voice, a guy with a high, awkward voice—just
not
an old voice belonging to her grandfather, because that wouldn’t solve anything.

“The Apple Store, this is Lucy, how may I help you?”

“Hey,” I said nervously, wishing Jackson had picked up instead. “How’s it going?”

“You won’t believe this, but an entire family reunion from Montana was just here.”

“Why would I not believe that?” I asked.

“It was like thirty or forty people!” she laughed. “And who has a family reunion in Bridgeport? Especially when they don’t live anywhere near here?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a wedding?” I asked.

“Unless the bride and groom were sixty-five? Then no.”

“Could be,” I said. “I mean, it could take
me
that long,” I joked.

“Your voice sounds funny,” Lucy commented. “Are you coming down with a cold or something?”

“No, I got hit by a volleyball. In the nose,” I admitted.

“You? Prep star of the week?” Lucy asked.

“Totally embarrassing, I know.”

“But wait, aren’t you off work today?”

“Yeah, but I came down here to the beach and ran into some friends,” I said. “So how are things with . . . you know. Mr. Awkward?” I asked.