How to Meet Boys (9 page)

“Who, Jackson? He’s not here today. It’s just me and my nana.”

I felt my legs go kind of wobbly. “Oh, really? He’s not there?” I asked, hoping maybe I’d heard wrong.

“Nope,” she said in a softer voice, “and I love my grandmother but she is working me to death.”

“Huh,” was about all I could say. “Okay, well, if you get a break, text me—maybe we can meet up? See you later!” I sort of slumped against the wall. What was I going to do about the fact that I’d had three major interactions with this really cute guy named Jackson . . . and Lucy’s Jackson was not at work, which meant . . . we were talking about the same Jackson. We had to be.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I turned around, and Jackson was standing behind me. “Did you find an ice pack? Maybe it’s broken. Let me see.” He put his hand on my face, his palm warm and gentle as he lightly pressed my cheeks and nose.

I’d never stood so close to a boy before. Ever. Unless I was eight and trying to tackle him in flag football. I felt shivers go down my back when he touched me. Who needed an ice pack? My body had broken out in goose bumps.

“I don’t think it is,” he said. “And actually, it doesn’t even feel that swollen. You’ll avoid the classic black-and-blue bruise on your face.”

“So . . . there’s that,” I said, trying to breathe normally. He backed up a little and I said, “Okay, so this is kind of weird, because I’ve talked to you a couple of times already. But I didn’t even know what your name was until a minute ago.”

“Jackson,” he said. “You’re Mikayla, right?”

I nodded, in a daze, and he started telling a story about how he’d broken his nose playing peewee football, but I could hardly listen as we walked back outside, thoughts swirling in my head.

So this was Lucy’s Jackson, the guy who’d been a jerk to her and convinced her she should never attempt to kiss anyone again.

He’d been acting really nice to me. He’d been flirting with me, and I’d been attempting to flirt back, and for some reason when I was around him I felt different, like we really connected, and I
could
talk to him.

But maybe he wasn’t what he seemed. If the way he’d treated Lucy was any indication, I should probably keep my distance—starting now.

On the other hand, all I’d seen of Jackson so far made me think he was a nice, considerate person. He could have changed in the past three years. And he and Lucy had been friends for years before their falling-out. Maybe he’d just had a temporary lack of good judgment.

“Anyway,” he said, wrapping up his story, “I thought for sure my nose was going to be crooked but somehow it turned out all right. I’m sure yours will too. So what were you daydreaming about?”

“Daydreaming? Me?” I joked. “I never do that.”

“That’s why you got bopped in the nose, isn’t it? Or were you calculating how to win the next game?” Jackson asked, smiling at me.

“Pretty much,” I said. There was no way I’d tell him why I really blanked out. “That and I was super hot at the same time. Probably wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Sunstroke, or what?” he asked, sounding confused.

Yeah, that’s it. The heat. Actually, more like you.
Even as I thought that, I knew I had to stay away from him. Not just because of the way he’d acted toward Lucy a while back, but because it would be too upsetting to Lucy now. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.

“So before we get back in the game and you get all distracted and break some other bone,” Jackson teased, “do you want to do something sometime? Like maybe one night this weekend?”

I nodded. “Um, maybe.” I probably should have just said no, straight off the bat, but I didn’t have a reason to give if he asked. “Why not?” Not a reason I felt comfortable telling him, anyway.

Except for this flock of nervous butterflies in my tummy, it sounded really good. But I couldn’t get together with Jackson until I talked it over with Lucy—and if I told Lucy I was interested in him, she’d tell me to stay away from him.

I didn’t even know if I
could
walk away.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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“Where’s Mikayla?” Claire asked
when we sat down at a table on the Walleye Mafia deck on Thursday night.

The deck is right beside the lake and has incredible views of the shore; on weekends it’s impossible to get a table without waiting an hour or more. But since it was a Thursday night, Claire and I had managed to score a table with no problem.

“She had to help with a cookout at work,” I said. “It’s Parents’ Night Out. I’m surprised this place isn’t packed with parents, actually.”

We had both just decided what we wanted from the menu when Jackson walked up wearing khakis, a crisp white button-down shirt, and one of those black aprons that tie around your waist so you can keep pens and order pads inside.

“Welcome. Tonight’s special is a smoked trout sandwich with marinara sauce,” he said.

I tried not to laugh, but he was doing that official waiter talk and it just didn’t suit him.

“You have two jobs?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, I just got a new car. I have to make the payments,” he said.

“Tell me about it. I’ll be paying my parents back for the next three years,” said Claire.

“Um, nice khakis. You’re sort of dressed up for this gig,” I said to Jackson.

“Hey, at least I’m not wearing a red apple shirt. Right
now
, anyway. So you guys eating here?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, we just dropped by to hang out with you and take up table space. Of course we’re eating here.”

“Okay, so the special is trout? You out of walleye or what?” asked Claire.

“Nah, trout is just the special because it was freshly caught. Can I take your order, or should I give you a few more minutes to look at the menu?” he asked.

“Seriously?” I said. “Who are you?”

“I have to say this stuff, okay?” He poked my shoulder with the pen he was carrying. “I might get rated by mystery shoppers.”

“Mystery diners?” Claire suggested.

“Whatever. Reviewers,” Jackson said. He sort of blushed.

“But wouldn’t you know that we’re not—them?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s her job, how should I know? I’ll come back in a few minutes to take your order,” he said. “But take your time, there’s no rush.” He gave a little half smile and moved on to the next table.

“That was awkward,” Claire commented.

“Really?” I took a sip of ice water. “This is a lot better than it was a couple of days ago.”

“I don’t know, Lucy. You guys act pretty weird around each other, as if you kind of like each other and kind of don’t. I’m pretty sure that’s a classic sign of sexual attraction.”

“Like you would know!” I teased her, laughing. “Yeah . . . no.” I shook my head. “That’s because we only started talking again a few days ago. So it’s still awkward but it’s improving slightly.”

“No, that’s not it. I think there’s still a spark between you guys,” Claire commented. “Isn’t there?”

I laughed. “If that’s a spark, I’d like to see the fire it would start. That would be a pretty pathetic fire.”

I held my finger to my lips as I saw Jackson approaching our table again. There was no way I wanted him to overhear this. Claire ordered a meatball sandwich, while I opted for the walleye panini.

“Here’s what happened,” I said after he left. I scooted my chair closer to the table so I could talk to her softly.

I told her how we’d been friends for a long time—she knew that part already. We had done everything together, up to a point. When middle school started, there was a big group of us that hung out, going to movies, the mall, wherever. We had pizza parties; we went to school events, dances, football games. We did field trips to language camp; we went camping as part of the seventh-grade Explorers Club; and the last month of eighth grade, we all hung out at Highland Pool.

Every once in a while, one couple or another would sort of form for a few weeks, then they’d break up or maybe they wouldn’t—but nobody was serious about “dating.”

Jackson and I were hanging out at the pool one day, a week before graduation. We’d been goofing around a lot in the water, playing chicken against other friends with me perched on his shoulders, and after some crashes and dunks and tickling, I was starting to feel like more than friends with him.

After we dried off in the sun for a while, we both went into the rec building to get something to drink from the vending machine. For some reason that was when I’d decided to make my move. I stepped toward him and kissed him.

“How did you reach?” asked Claire.

“He was shorter then. This was pre–major growth spurt.” I blushed, just thinking in detail about that day.

“Love by the vending machine,” Claire said. “How romantic.”

“Sounds tacky, I know. So, okay, he said, ‘Um, don’t.’ Totally humiliating. He took off, leaving me there with my diet Coke, feeling like a complete fool.”

Claire studied me. “Why is the diet Coke important in this story?”

I laughed, grateful that she could see the humor in this. Now I could too, in a way. The next part? Not so much. I’d gone back out to the pool and acted like everything was normal for the rest of the day, but I knew things with Jackson wouldn’t be the same for a while. We kept our distance and sort of migrated to hanging out with other people in the group.

Then I got to school the next Monday. Before I knew it, I started hearing rumors—about myself. About how I made a pass at him, and how I was desperately in love with him and wouldn’t stop following him around. None of it was true, especially the part about me sobbing. I was so mad that I decided never to talk to him again.

Then we graduated from middle school, and I switched schools, and he switched schools, but it didn’t even matter. Some people followed me to my new school, so even though Jackson wasn’t there, the rumor persisted.

About ten minutes later, after I’d finished telling Claire about it, Jackson delivered our food, setting the plates carefully in front of us. “Is there anything else I can bring you right now?”

“No,” Claire said firmly.

“I’ll make sure you get some fresh water, and then I’ll check with you in a few minutes to see how you’re doing,” he said.

“We’ll be fine,” Claire said. “Don’t bother.”

Jackson stepped back a little, looking surprised by her tone. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

“Claire!” I said after he left. “Did you have to be so rude?”

“After what you just told me? Yeah. It makes me not want to give him a tip. It makes me want to write a really bad review of the service here,” she said. “How can you work with him?”

“It was a while ago, and I guess I’m starting to forgive him,” I said, “as weird as that sounds.”

“Good for you, because I don’t know if I would,” she replied.

“I don’t have much choice. My nana hired him, and if I want a job this summer . . . she’s not going to let him go just because it’s awkward for me. I already asked.”

We both started laughing. “You didn’t,” Claire said.

I nodded. “I did. Hey, it was worth a shot. So in answer to your question, no. There’s no spark.” Jackson was good-looking. He was probably still smart, unless he had changed a lot. Then again, he couldn’t figure out how to ring up candles that were three for five dollars when someone only wanted two of them. He was kind to my grandparents. But did I like him? No.

“So how about Mikayla? Did she find out who that mystery guy was yet?” Claire asked.

“No, she hasn’t mentioned him again, so I guess not. Just her luck. I mean, sometimes I think I’m shy and I have a hard time meeting boys? And then I see her and it’s, like, physically painful for her.”

“Well, it’s still early in the summer. She’ll probably see him again. This town isn’t that big. Take it from someone who lives here year-round.”

My phone buzzed with a text and I glanced down at it, hoping it was Ava. Every time I’d tried to contact her lately, I’d failed; either I caught her at a really busy time and she had to call back, or she responded with a short message that didn’t tell me anything about how she was. I was starting to worry about her.

Thinking about a trip to visit you
, my mom had written.

Mom, I’ve only been gone for 10 days
, I wrote back.

10 long days! Plus, need your opinion. Centerpieces. Orchids or roses?

Roses
, I texted. Then I turned off my alerts and put my phone facedown on the table. It was time to sit back, visit with Claire, and enjoy the famous deck view. Somehow it felt better to tell Claire the story from beginning to end. No matter what my grandmother might think, it really
was
a long time ago. Time to put it behind me for good, and move on. “So. What are we doing this weekend?” I asked.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

“What is the par for this course?”
I asked.

“Three. And this is your eighth shot.” Lucy laughed. “What is the deal? You’ve never been this bad at mini golf before. Or, actually, anything.”

“It’s because my arms are so tired. I had to help carry in all the sailing stuff today,” I said.

“Then you should be good at this hole,” Lucy said.

I glared at her as my golf ball bounced off a wooden toy sailboat that kept circling a fake, blue-painted lake. You had to sneak your shot past while three boats were rotating and get it through the lighthouse in order to get to the putting green. I was stuck. “How about you get me through this one?” I asked Lucy, who’d already finished the hole. “Then can we
please
stop playing and get something to eat?”

“Love to,” she said. She lined up the shot, tapped the ball, and sent it caroming off the side, past the boat and through the lighthouse.

“Sometimes I really hate you,” I said.

“Right. But you need me,” Lucy said, laughing.