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“First of all, I know you more than you think, but if I don’t, it’s not because I don’t want to. Maybe I want to know you better. Have you ever thought of that?”
I opened my mouth to interject because what he was saying was crazy, but he surprised me by placing his finger over my lips, silencing me before he continued, “Second, you will get in. Don’t say you won’t, or you don’t know. Duke would be insane not to accept you. You’re Mia-freaking-Randalls. Third, why o
n earth would your parents fight over whether you get into college or not?”
I groaned inwardly. This was not something I wanted to get into, especially with him of all people. I hardly even talked about it with Ethan, which was saying something.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Forget I said anything. It’s chilly out, can we just. . .”
I started to turn away and head for my car, but Carson wrapped a hand around my arm and stopped me. “It’s not nothing. I can see it in your eyes. This is what you were upset about the other day, wasn’t it? College, your parents. . .what’s going on, Mia?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, more out of comfort than to ward off the chill. “Like I would tell you.”
Carson shoved his hands in his thick, dark hair, mussing it, as he paced in front of me. “Right. I forgot. I’m the jerk.” He paused, staring at me with his aqua eyes. “You know, Ethan isn’t the only one you can talk to. You can tell me things. I’d listen. I’d—”
I scoffed. “Did I miss something? Since when are we friends?”
Carson flinched, looking hurt, and part of me wanted to ask him where he’d been the last nine years. Since when did he and I get along? Just three weeks ago, Harper told me she overheard him telling Greg Thane I still sleep in Strawberry Shortcake PJ’s, which was totally not true.
“I’ve always wanted to be your friend, Mia. It was never me turning you away.”
I blinked up at him, my brow scrunched in confusion as I thought back to all our silly fights, his teasing, the antagonizing, and goading. Yes, Carson was every bit as much an equal player in our enemy-status. If anything, he was the instigator. So why was he trying to play it off now?
My confusion turned to a frown as I tried to wrap my head around the notion that he was insinuating he didn’t hate me like I thought he did.
If I had learned one thing over the years, it was how lightly Carson took everything. While he was busy laughing at himself and the world around him, I was beating myself up, taking everything to heart. Maybe this whole time, I needed to take Carson at face value. He viewed life through rose-colored glasses, while I saw everything a little too clearly. And sometimes, when you got too close to things, magnified them too much, it distorted your view.
The trajectory of my thoughts was giving me a headache. I couldn’t think about this now, so I cleared my throat and asked, “What other donors should we talk to today?”
I tried not to notice the disappointment in his eyes as he answered. “I figured we could go to the Sweet Water Market and see if they’d donate sandwich trays and ham. Those are expensive, so having them donated would allow us to spend the money elsewhere. The less we spend on food, the more toys and presents the kids can have under the tree.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Everyone deserves a good Christmas.”
“Yeah, they do.” Then I thought of my depressing house with the fall décor still on display and the tension you could cut with a knife.
I shuddered out a long breath, then glanced up at him. The Carson standing in front of me, the one from chem lab and The Bean was different, not the boy I knew. “You surprise me,” I said.
Carson laughed, and I warmed at the sound. “Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
???
Ever since The Bread Basket on Thursday, Carson and I had been friendly. Weird, I know.
He no longer plowed into me in the halls. I didn’t find his stinky gym shoes in my locker or worry about flying objects in the cafeteria or at gym class. Yesterday after leaving calculus, he offered me a high five in the hall, as he proudly informed me he secured a donation from the Carmichaels. He was killing the donation-game for the Angel Program, which actually kind of made me get more into the fundraiser, as well. I even went to The Bean last night to check on the Angel Tree and pawned off some snowflakes on unsuspecting customers. It seemed we had formed some sort of truce, and it wasn’t lost on me that it only took us nine years to do so. But whatever. Progress is progress, right?
I crammed my books into my locker and grabbed my book bag. Friday night signified Netflix and pizza with Ethan. It also meant a solid evening away from home, which would be short-lived excitement because this particular Friday also happened to be the start of winter break. Two whole weeks off before we returned to school, two whole weeks at home.
I took my time gathering my things since I was waiting for Ethan anyway, when two long arms pinned me to my locker, resting on either side of me. Arms too muscled to be Ethan’s.
My heart leapt in my throat as I caught the scent of his cologne. It smelled of cedarwood and spice. And I knew from my recent time spent with him, it was Carson.
The thought of his warm body pressing into mine sent my pulse into fits. Swallowing, I turned around, pushing myself as far into my locker as possible because he was mind-numbingly close in proximity.
“Hey, Shorty.” Though he dropped his arms, he stayed right where he was, invading my personal space.
I narrowed my eyes at the nickname, but the glare didn’t hold. “Did you want to talk about the Angel Tree? I think we’ll be set to collect the presents and remaining tags then go shopping soon since there’s only a week left.”
