So Over My Head (34 page)
“You stopped the wedding?”
“Yeah, you should’ve been there. It was a masterpiece of epically horrible proportions.” I spend the next fifteen minutes filling him in on my day, not sparing any wacko detail.
“I can’t believe it.”
I grin into the phone. “Maybe you should put a little more trust in me.”
“I don’t think my trust in you has ever really been our problem.”
I flush at his serious tone. “You have to admit I have good instincts.”
“Except at relationships,” he says. “And then . . . they suck.”
The air hangs suspended in my chest. “I . . . I—”
“I’m through waiting, Bella. When you get back Sunday, I’m coming to your house. And you and I are going to have a big long talk. And I’m not leaving until you tell me exactly what you want.”
“Okay.” Sure. Yeah, I can do that. The thought of it gives me a strange barfy feeling, but surely that will pass. With ice cream.
“I didn’t kiss Ashley Timmons. And you know that.”
I let this go.
“Bella?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad I’m the one you called.”
My heavy eyelids begin to flutter to my cheeks. “Actually, I went through the whole list of boys from the junior class. You were just the first one to pick up.”
He laughs, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Go to sleep. You’re beat.”
I yawn. “Luke?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks. I can always count on you.”
“Never forget it.”
W
hat happened to coming home early Sunday?” Luke slides into the vacant seat beside mine in journalism on Monday. “Remember the talk we were going to have?”
I save my document and give him my attention. “The conversation you demanded?”
He doesn’t budge. “That would be the one.”
“Want to talk about it now?”
“Of course not. This is hardly the time or place.”
But I saw that hesitation.
I let my brow rise just to the point of being flirty. “Afraid Ashley Timmons will get mad?”
Luke opens his mouth to speak, glances across the room at his star reporter and occasional friendly companion who’s not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s eavesdropping. “I’ll call you after the carnival performance tonight.”
“Oh, I’ll be there.”
He slants his arrogant head. “Your mother forbade you to be there, Bella.”
I hold up a newly manicured finger. “She barred me from
working
at the circus.”
“And then she grounded you. You can’t just slip out.”
“It’s a special night for Cherry. I’ll talk Mom into it. The whole family’s going.” Well, minus Jake. He’s taping a performance for World Wrestling Television in Oklahoma City. He’s apparently going head-to-head with some guy called Chainsaw. My stepdad said it’s a promotion, so I guess the scarier the names, the higher up you are. When he’s in a match with someone named Throat Slasher, I’ll know he’s really arrived.
“I don’t think you should be at the carnival,” Luke says. “It’s not safe. Alfredo is still out there somewhere, and who knows what Red and Stewart have in mind for you.”
“And it’s safe for you?”
“Don’t start that sexist routine with me.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure
you
start it. You don’t think you’re not in danger? They know we’re friends and probably conspirators.”
Attitude flashes in his eyes. “Nobody’s flung stage lights on me yet.”
I lean forward and drop my voice. “That could’ve been just for Cherry—if it was even intentional.”
“We both know it was intentional. And I’m asking you not to go tonight.”
“And I’m telling you no.”
We stare each other down until my eyes burn from lack of blinking.
“Fine,” he says finally. “Do what you want. I know you’re going to anyway.” He tosses a piece of paper on my desk. “Have a new article ready for your column next week.”
“I’m back on?”
“Yes.”
I stand up and clap my hands together. “Thank you, Luke. You won’t regret this!”
“Don’t even think of hugging me right now.”
I step back. “Wouldn’t dream of being so unprofessional, Chief.” I wink and lean toward his ear “I’ll save that for later.”
Plopping back down at my work station, I begin brainstorming ideas for my next column. Maybe I’ll focus on seniors and the different graduation festivities. Or maybe I’ll write about summer vacation plans.
I stop my mental list as a shadow looms over me. I see her reflection in my monitor and don’t bother looking up. “Did you need something, Ashley?”
“Yeah, I, uh, just wanted to say Luke made me read some of the archived papers. And . . . you’re a good writer.”
Now this jerks my head upright. Ashley studies a spot on her shoe, and I notice her cheeks are tinged a nice, telling pink.
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” She flips her long, blonde hair.
“No.” I give her the closest thing to a real smile I can muster. “But thank you.”
“I read all those articles on mysteries you’ve solved—the football boys’ fraternity and the prom fiasco.” Ashley pulls her eyes from the ground and stares me in the face. “It was solid writing, Bella. And it was also good teamwork between you and Luke.”
This thought beings a genuine grin to my face. “Yes, it was. We work well together.” When we’re not fighting.
“I picked up some writing pointers from your work.” Her mouth hardens. “So now that I’ve got that nicety out of the way, I want to tell you that I’m going to give one hundred percent to pursuing your front page space
and
your ex-boyfriend.”
I bring myself to my full height on my Stuart Weitzman heels. “Maybe you should go back and reread those pieces of mine. Because while you may have taken some notes on the mechanics, you obviously missed some common themes.” I tick them off on my fingers. “One, I don’t ever give up. So I may have been off my game for a few weeks, but I’m back now with all sorts of ideas—ideas that don’t include you keeping my space as a regular feature columnist. And two, I don’t believe in letting opportunities get away. So I’ll be the one getting back with my ex. Not you. I’ll be taking care of the final details this evening.” I give her a condescending pout. “But I don’t mind the competition really. Keeps me on my toes. And reminds Luke that everything he wants is right here.”
Ashley shakes her head slowly. “That’s not what he said last night on the phone.”
I narrow my eyes, and she catches my flicker of doubt.
“He said he’s tired of your little games, Bella. So just prepare yourself. Your boyfriend’s moved on. I wouldn’t even waste your time talking to him tonight.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’d hate to see a strong girl like you embarrass herself and beg.” She pats me on the shoulder and walks on. “Just looking out for a fellow reporter.”
Ruthie slides her cafeteria tray beside mine. “I feel so wrung out today.”
Lindy bites down on a fry and sighs. “Me too.”
And me three. Life is stressful. Solving this mystery would make me feel much better. And some new shoes.
“It’s like I pour everything I am, my heart and my soul, into my unicycle ballet. And then there’s not much left of me. The carnival is a soul sucker.” She shoves her food away. “You know something is wrong when you can’t even enjoy some high-quality meatloaf.”
Matt lifts his head from his AP History homework. “You got Female Athlete of the Year at last week’s athletic banquet, Lindy. I thought you’d be on top of the world.”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I am.” She says this with as much conviction as one would say
I love being grounded
.
“We haven’t gotten pizza and gone to the park in a while. How about hanging out after school?” Matt asks. “You know, like the old days.”
“That would be fun. I . . . um, just have to check my plans.”
“With Bo.” Matt rolls his eyes. “Didn’t know he was in charge of your life and had to approve your schedule.”
“I have a boyfriend now and things have changed.”
Matt blinks away hurt, letting anger take over. “Fine. Whatever.”
Speaking of the Track Star Romeo, Bo Blades walks to our table, his new Nike Airs a perfect match to his running pants. “Hey, Lindy.” He squeezes her shoulder and sits down. “The Tulsa Oilers are doing a special benefit game this Friday.” Bo holds up two tickets. “I thought you might want to go.”
Lindy’s smile wobbles. “I do love hockey.”
“I know. I remembered you said that once. So when I heard it announced on the radio, I thought of you.”
“You’re always thinking of me. It’s the perfect date.”
“So I’ll pick you up at five?” Bo laughs. “Well, maybe I better come by earlier. Last weekend your Dad and I talked so long, we almost missed our movie. Dude, your dad is so awesome.”
“Yeah.” Lindy stares at her lap. “He thinks you’re the best.”
Bo squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll see you later. I promised a friend I’d pray with him before his sixth-hour test. I’ll call you tonight. But not until after your
SportsCenter
, right?” He winks as he leaves.
“Bo, I can’t!” Lindy jumps to her feet.
We all drop our plastic utensils.
He turns back to our table, still smiling. “What’s wrong? You can’t go to the hockey game? That’s okay, Lindy. Maybe your dad and a friend can take our tickets. We can do whatever you want Friday night.”
“I know.” She bites her lip and steps forward.
Matt, Ruthie, and I lean closer.
“I . . . er . . .” Lindy wrings her hands then lets the words just spew. “Bo, you’re too perfect!”
He blinks twice. “Excuse me?”
Yeah,
huh
?
“You know all my favorite songs, my father adores you, you’re the best Christian guy ever, you hold my doors open, and you know my every interest and dislike—sometimes even before I do.”
“And that’s a problem? Tell me what to do, and I’ll fix it.”
“That’s just it. I know you would.” Lindy folds and unfolds the hem of her T-shirt. “You’re so perfect, that I feel like
I
have to be perfect. And I’m not. I can’t be myself around you.”
Bo frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did you know I always spill food on my shirts? Always. But when I’m with you, I feel like I have to watch my every bite. And I usually just stop eating after a few minutes because I’m so nervous.”
“I didn’t—”
“And you’re so good to everyone, it makes me feel like I have to be on my best behavior all the time. But you know what? I get in bad moods sometimes.”
“I’m sure everyone does.”
“Not you, Bo. You’re always happy. And it makes me uncomfortable. And you know what else? You’re clothes are never wrinkled. Do you iron everything you wear? Even your T-shirts?”
“I guess I think it’s important to look nice at all times.”
“And you’ve never made me watch a stupid shoot-’em-up movie.”
“I don’t understand. I know you don’t like that kind of stuff, so of course I would never do that.”
Lindy’s smile grows. “You’re an amazing guy, Bo. But you’re not
my
amazing guy. I can’t be myself around you. I need someone as flawed as I am. Someone who also gets pizza on his shirts and occasionally makes me watch a stupid action flick because that’s what
he
likes.”
Bo rests his hand on Lindy’s shoulder. “What are you saying here?”
“That you’re pretty close to perfect. But that makes you perfectly wrong for me. I think you’re an awesome guy. I do. But I’ve kind of lost myself in all of this. And it’s time to get back to being me.”
He casts a self-conscious glance at our table. We don’t even pretend to look elsewhere. “Are you sure about this?” he whispers.
Lindy nods and pats his hand. “Go find your dream girl, Bo.”
“Still friends?”
She laughs. “I knew you’d say that.”
He drops his grip. “Let me guess, because I always say the right thing?”
“Because you’re you.”
“Um . . . do you think your dad would want to go with me to the game?”
“Definitely. I may have broken up with you—but he hasn’t.”
Bo gives Lindy his best reassuring grin then walks away. Out of her life.
Lindy sits back down, and her sigh of relief could blow the ketchup off Ruthie’s meatloaf.