Page 72 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
“Oh really?” I refuse to respond to the date comment, even if I do giggle as genuinely as I can manage at his “funny” face.
“I don’t want to be rude, but…” He trails off, and all I can think isyou don’t want to be rude, but what? You’re going to be anyway?“My friends are coming by soon, and uh…I’m assuming they don’t…you know…know…about us? I’m assuming we hadn’t told anyone.”
From the look on his face, I’m not holding back the boiling feeling of betrayal and astonishment as well as I think. Everything is brewing together into a heaping mess, and it’s literally all I can do to force a grin and nod.
“Maybe they do. And sorry for breaking the news to your family,” I blurt.
“No, I didn’t mean it like—”
I throw my hand up and stretch my neck.
“Don’t. I’ll be okay,” I say. It’s like we’re genuinely having a couples fight in the middle of the hospital, even though we’re not a couple. Not a real one, at least.
How do you just assume we’ve not told anyone? I mean we hadn’t. There’s nowedidanything, but that’s not the point. That was brazen.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Hayden says as I get up and start toward the door.
Weeks ago I would have melted to the floor in a heap of hot, embarrassed putty had he called me baby. I would have literally let him do or say whatever the hell he wanted. He could have gotten away with murder in front of my very eyes, and I would have said nothing. But now, with his clear distaste for me? Hearing it now, my stomach drops like a massive weight into my bowels and twists my insides in nauseating knots while I fight the reflex to gag. I’m so glad I’m facing away from him so he can’t see the disgust on my face.
“It’s okay,” I say without turning, and march into the hallway.
I don’t think my timing could have been better. The moment I pass the nurse’s station, a group of unruly, ugly, tall, acne-covered boys in letter jackets stampede past me. I know where they’re going without even looking.
Why did I think he would be different? Was it his pretty face? That disarming smile? The kindness that seemed to seep from his eyes when he entered the store? Or was it some fake idea of him I had in my mind? Or was it because I thought it could only ever be a fantasy?
I press the elevator button and fidget with my fingers while I watch the numbers tick off closer and closer to the fifth floor. I notice my foot is jumping, so I slap it to the ground and blow out a deep breath. The familiar arrival ding sounds. I just want to get home and—
The elevator doors slide open and Zach steps out. He freezes when he finally notices me, his feet like a statue on the threshold.
“Hi.” Zach grins.
“Hey,” I practically growl despite the surprise, and push past him into the confines of the little box.
“You okay?” He moves out of my way and away from the elevator, giving me some space.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I spit back as the doors slide together.
His eyes don’t leave me until the doors have closed, and that’s when I let it all sink in—the enormous mistake I made, not just in the lie that started everything, but in thinking I knew anything about Hayden. I imagined his whole personality. It was a fiction of my own making. An illusion I couldn’t unsee until now.
I swallow the lump in my throat, let a tear form in the corner of my eye, and let the tremors loose.
21
I think one of the school administrators is trying to save money. The cafeteria is so frigid, I have my hood upinsideto keep my ears warm. It’s not even forty outside today, why would you skimp on the heat?
“They’re fake.” Julieta feigns embarrassment.
“They look good,” Kaitlynn says.
If she hadn’t said it, I wouldn’t have known her nails weren’t real. They’re long and translucent with pretty blue tips. I almost did that same look this summer, but I ended up with stars on midnight blue polish instead.
“I love that,” I tell her.
“Next time I’m going to get acrylics—like, you know, from the nail salon downtown,” Julieta says. She’s always so animated, throwing her hands around, or wiggling her fingers like right now, or making grand gestures and sighing every other sentence.
“Maybe we can all go!” Kaitlynn suggests.
It’s not a bad idea. I haven’t been in a month at least, and my nails are looking ratty. All the polish is gone, and my cuticles are in dire need of some attention.
