Page 50 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
He frowns for a fraction of a second, and I wonder what word upset him. “Bad”? “Fake”? But then he grins, his eyes going from my purple high-tops to my black nose ring. “You look fantastic too. Love that nose ring on you. Do you think your stepfather will like my shirt?”
I shake my head, grinning. “No. He’s going tohateit.”
“All right, pseudo-lovebirds,” Liv says, clapping her hands. “We need to get to the party before they run out of veggie burgers. They never order enough. Let’s go!”
The picnic is at the back of the plant, in that large perfectly manicured green space that is separated from Gordon Park by nothing but a chain-link fence. It’s weird being on this side of the fence after spending pretty much every day on the other side.
There has to be at least a thousand people here. I don’t think I fully grasped how many people work at LeClair Industries. I kind of understand Mom’s worries. At least at the club party, the guests were Jason’s biggest supporters. But these are LeClairemployees, people even less likely to accept Mom, or me.
As we walk toward the front of the crowd to where Sadie says the executive team’s tables are, it feels like every eye is on us. I did want this attention. I brought Noah and dressed like this because I want people to look at us and think we don’t belong here. But my heart is beating heavily in my chest. After beinggoodfor so long, looking like a bad kid feels weird. My hand fists.
Suddenly there are fingers on my wrist, and they gently slide to my hand, coaxing my fingers apart. Noah. I look up at him. “We should be holding hands, right?” He smiles. It’s hisI got yousmile.
I smile back, squeezing his hand. It’s warm and strong in mine, and I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve had skin-to-skin contact, without thick gardening gloves between us. I try my hardest not to notice his guitar-playing calluses or pay attention to the fact that, despite his long slender fingers, his palm is wider than mine. I don’t look down at our connected hands even though I want to see if they look like they belong together as much as they feel like they do.
I glance at Sadie, who’s holding Liv’s hand. She gives me a questioning expression, as if asking how fake this hand-holding is.
I smile, wordlessly telling her that I’ve got this under control. Even though I very much don’t have this under control.
We continue to walk through the crowd, which is surprisingly diverse. Liv and I are not the only ones with brown skin here, and Noah isn’t the only guy with tattoos and piercings.
But when we get to the front of the crowd, where longrectangular tables have been set up for the executives and their families, we stand out more. Noah is the only one in a band shirt. I think I have the shortest skirt on.
My mother comes toward us. She’s wearing a blue-and-red floral off-the-shoulder dress with a thin blue belt and a floppy hat. She looks beautiful but also ridiculous. This is a company barbecue, not horse races or something. But I suppose she matches Jason, who’s wearing white pants, a red-and-white striped shirt, and a navy blazer. Who wears a blazer to a picnic? No wonder people think he’s out of touch with the everyday man.
“Meera, you’re here!” Mom says without even an eyebrow twitch about my outfit. “And, Noah, how wonderful to see you again.”
I glance at Jason’s face to see if his politician smile finally cracks when he notices Noah’s shirt.
It doesn’t. He shakes Noah’s hand, saying it’s nice to see him again, and tells us to help ourselves to the food in the caterer’s tent. They turn away to shake hands with someone else.
“That went well,” I say,sarcastically, because it did not go well. I didn’t expect surprise because they knew Noah was coming this time, but Mom barely reacted to me being dressed more like Noah than her today. And Jason didn’t seem to care that Noah was wearing a shirt with the logo of his former band on it. “He didn’t even flinch when he saw your shirt.”
“I’m sure he was flinching on the inside,” Noah says. He glances around. There are some kids’ games set up at the far end of the grounds, and big white tents for the caterers on the other side.
I still wish we saw that flinch. Maybe we’ll get another chance to scandalize them later. “We might as well eat,” I say.
Noah takes my hand again as we walk to the food tent. Mom and Jason are probably not watching us, so I have no idea why we’re still holding hands, but there’s no way I’m going to stop it. I wish I could know if this isreal, if he’s holding my hand because he wants to, not because he wants everyone to see us.
The more I think about it, the more I’msurethat my feelings for Noah aren’t because of the curse. There are no warning signs with Noah. This isn’t boy craziness nor am I being swept away or rebellious. I’ve been very levelheaded about my feelings for him, and I tried my best to keep fighting them, but what I feel is realer than anything I’ve felt for any boy. I have to trust myself. Theonlywarning sign I see that could spell trouble for us is that he wants revenge on the LeClair family, but does that even count? I mean, my stepfather’s familywrongedhis family in so many ways. Noah has every right to want to get back at them. As we get to the food tent, someone stops us.
“Noah Jacobs, is that you?”
It’s a woman, maybe Jason’s age. She has blond hair and is wearing jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. “Oh, hey, Ashley,” Noah says.
The woman eyes Noah’s shirt with a raised brow, then frowns when she notices that he’s holding my hand. He lets go of me quickly and rubs his palm on his jeans.
Who is this woman, and why does she seem to have a problem with Noah holding my hand?
“Who’s your…friend?” she asks, looking at me like my existence threatens her in some way. Now my palms are sweating. Does she know I’m Jason LeClair’s stepdaughter cosplaying as a bad girl?
“Oh, this is Meera,” Noah says. “Meera, this is Ashley. She’s on my dad’s team at the plant.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m also an old family friend. Mike and I go back to high school.” She turns back to Noah. “How did you meet her? Not through that Chinese lady you’re always with?”
Noah rolls his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice has a hard edge to it. “Clara isn’t Chinese. She’s Filipina, like my mother.”
Ashley waves her hand like what Noah said doesn’t matter. “Careful, kid. You don’t want to make the same mistakes your father made. You’re better off hanging out with someonefromhere. Someonelikeus.”
