My hair is completely flat. My side bangs perfectly swoop across my forehead. But I keep sliding the flat iron over the locks, as therapy. The Ian thing is bugging me, though the Jace thing is an icing on top of the problem cake. I wish I had my phone and my computer. My ears start to burn as the flat iron gets too close to them.
“There are some brownies in the kitchen for you. I made a double batch since I know you teenagers can eat a lot.”
“Grandma, there's just one of me,” I say, wondering if she's noticed the five pounds I put on last year. Regardless, I unplug my flat iron, find them on the counter and start eating one.
“Eddie and I can't eat much sugar, so you make sure to eat them all before they go bad.”
Eat them all? There's like two dozen of them and they are roughly the size of my palm. I stuff the rest of my brownie into my mouth, wrap another one in a paper towel and bring it back to the living room.
Carefully, I think of a way to word it so she doesn't realize who I am talking about. “Grandma, could I take some to my friend next door?”
She doesn't look up from her catalog. “Sure honey, that would be fine.”
I dive into the kitchen and wrap up most of the brownies. Then I take out a few, because who am I kidding, I will definitely eat them. I had spent most of the night in bed trying to think of a good excuse to go back over to Jace's, and food is the best possible excuse. Boys can't say no to food.
Back in my room, I get dressed and assess myself in the mirror. My hair and makeup are great. My outfit is iffy, but I still can't wear shorts because my legs haven't faded from the burnt orange they turned when Becca talked me into getting a spray tan with her last week. I check out the window for Jace and am delighted to see him on his back porch working on his dirt bike. It's a little past noon, the perfect time for brownies.
It takes a lot to stop myself from skipping across the yard to his house, but I manage to walk as coolly as possible. When I am only a few feet away, he still hasn't looked up yet and I feel like he should have heard me coming by now. I clear my throat. “Hey, you.”
“Morning,” he says, leaning in close to the bike's motor. His eyes squint as he tightens or loosens something with a tool. I get closer and am only a foot away now and he still doesn't look up. Holding out my arms, I say, “I brought you some brownies.”
Now he looks up. He pops off the Tupperware lid with dirty hands and stuffs a brownie in his mouth. “Mmm…” The huge brownie is gone in twenty seconds flat.
“Wow, fatass, you want another one?” I ask. Being cocky is how I first got Ian's attention. He drops his tool; it looks like a T-shaped wrench. He's smiling so I know he isn't offended.
“Watch it, girl,” he says. But he takes another brownie and I laugh. I sit beside him on the porch, grab a handful of screws and play with them.
“Don't lose those,” he warns, eyeing me like I'm a child in a museum.
“So what are your plans for the day?” I ask. I throw in a sigh so it sounds casual and not at all like I'm hinting to hang out with him. But I am totally hinting to hang out with him so I hope he offers.
“No one ever has plans in this damn town. There's nothing you could possibly do here that doesn't involve having a plane ticket to somewhere else.” He takes a screw from my hand and fastens it back onto the bike. One by one, they leave my hand and go back where they belong.
“I don't have plans either.” Standing up, I dust off my hands on my jeans. “I brought a stack of DVDs from home, so I'll probably just watch movies all afternoon.” I lace my fingers and stretch out my arms in front of me, and then I do the same behind my back. I take a step back, faking like I'm about to leave. He shoves his toolkit away and stands up beside me.
“What kind of movies?” A smile crawls onto his face. He wipes away the sweat from his forehead and my heart beats faster, knowing that I won.
“About a hundred of them actually,” I say. His smile is contagious. I tell him about the case of DVDs I've been working on for years and how I toss out the plastic cases because there wasn't enough room for so many movies on my shelves.
“I think you should go get that shit immediately,” he says. “I'll order us a pizza and we can veg all night.”
I practically skip home, full of excitement and win and awesomeness. I grab my DVD case, my favorite pillow and some lip-gloss and run downstairs. Grandma is walking through the kitchen when I get there. She hasn't asked me to keep her updated about what I do, but I feel like it's probably best if I tell her anyway.
“Grandma, I'm going to go watch movies at my friend's house next door, okay?” I'm almost out of breath from taking the stairs two at a time.
She nods. “That's fine, honey.” Behind me, Grandpa clears his throat. Turning on my heel, I see him standing in the doorway, a solemn look on his face. I probably look like a deer in the headlights when my eyes meet his. He doesn't say anything though, he just stares at me, waiting for me to turn around and disappoint him by hanging out with the enemy.
I force a smile, tell him bye and slip out the back door, doing exactly what he fears.
Jace answers the door with the phone to his ear. “Pepperoni cool with you?” he asks, letting me in. I nod and he finishes ordering the pizza. “We've got twenty-five minutes till they're here.” He pours two sodas and hands one to me. “I also ordered cheese bread but I'm in a pretty horrible mood so I might eat it all.”
We sit on opposite ends of the couch and watch a movie from my giant selection. When the pizza arrives, I'm starving but only grab one piece so as not to look like a cow. I keep waiting for him to scoot closer to me, put an arm around me, anything. This is what guys are supposed to do when alone with a girl. So far, nothing but small talk. Pointless, stupid small talk. We talk about the movie, how the lead actor just had his second illegitimate child with another mistress in real life. He tells me about California and how pretty it is. I get so sick of small talk. I can't look at his gorgeous lips while they tell me anything else tonight. I want them on mine.
“Do you have a girlfriend back at home?” I ask, freeing myself from the shackles of small talk.
“Nah.” He examines his fingernails. “Not anymore at least.”
I resist the urge to ask why. It doesn't matter why – he's single and so am I. “Girlfriends are overrated anyhow,” I say. He downs the last bit of his drink and crunches on an ice cube. “So you don't have a girlfriend either, eh?”
