Page 55 of It’s All in How You Fall
“Are you sure you don’t have the slightest, tiniest, maybe-so-deep-you-don’t-recognize-it crush on Alex?”
Maybe she has a tiny one too. She was quick to second his greatness.
Once he’s with Sunny I’ll stop feeling like a melted M&M, all gooey on the inside, polished outer shell failing.
Melt in your mouth not in your hand, my butt. I’ve eaten enough chocolate in the past month not to fall for that fallacy.
I swallow.
If all is right with the world, very soon Alex will be taken. Scooped off the market and into Sunny’s capable, nicely manicured hands.
And then my heart will behave itself. Chemical reaction kaput. Dormant. Primed and ready to find someone else more appropriate to crush on.
Someone who is not my big brother’s best friend.
Someone who does not have the hots for one of my best friends.
Someone who has not offered to coach me for hours a day in a purely platonic bid to see me succeed.
It wasn’t a date.
It wasn’t. And tomorrow’s not one at all.
He’s just using that as a phrase.
“Caroline?” Olga’s coming down the front steps to the driveway, her nicest purse slung over her shoulder, a wrap dress with enough sequins to double as reflective gear twinkling in the porch light. On cue, the garage door sputters to life, revealing Dad’s Prius.
Date night.
Which apparently was at home. Not dinner and the movies as planned.
Um.
“Oh, hey.” I go in for a hug as a greeting, remembering the racket too late. I end up holding it out to the side, hugging Olga with one arm as she pulls me in with a full, unflinching embrace. “I was just at Peregrine’s.”
“That’s what your dad said—”
“I said what?” Dad appears, stepping out of the garage, keys in hand. He always backs out for her so she doesn’t have to squeeze past the teetering squat rack/home gym Nat set up in the second stall for reasons of both vanity and bum knee maintenance. “Is that a tennis racket?”
“Yeah, Artemis lent it to me. When she drove me home.” The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it. A continuation of my lying text, but in real time—I was with Peregrine, and driven home by her sister. For no reason other than if I say Alex’s name right now I will burst. And blood splatter would go terribly with the number of sequins on Olga’s date-night dress. About as poorly, actually, as Dad’s requisite Dockers and boat shoes already do, but I digress.
“Hey, that’s nice,” Dad says, totally buying the whole thing hook, line, and sinker. “Maybe you can start playing?”
My guilt rises as he meets us on the driveway. Both of them are smiling at me, expectant. And maybe relieved? Actually, definitely relieved. “That’s the plan.”
“Edgar has been trying to get me into lessons at Northfield forever, but I’ve always put him off. He’s trying to meet the ladies, you know.” Of course Edgar the thrice-divorced Corn Nut–loving doctor suits up to meet ladies at the country club. I bet he joined after taking a trip with Alex’s dad, Oscar, who’s also a poker night regular. “But I’m not, obviously,” Dad adds quickly, before an Olga elbow to his spleen. “Maybe we can do it together?”
“Sure thing, Dad.” Eager to change the subject, I gesture with my non-racket hand. “Date night at home?”
“Dinner out, movie in,” Dad answers, arm draped around Olga’s shoulders.
She arches a steep eyebrow at me. It’s buried in her bangs, but the intent is clear enough that I fork over a guess. “Dad forgot to reserve tickets?”
“Dad was too busysaving livesat work to reserve tickets,” he answers before Olga does. “So sue me.”
Olga could go in on Dad, but she doesn’t. Instead, she dismisses him with a laugh. “The only thing I would’ve done differently is the dress. Very showy for the couch.”
“I like that dress.” Dad’s response is almost defensive. Like how dare she reconsider it. Ugh, cute.
