Page 46 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
Quinn doesn’t seem to notice my annoyance, and motions for the bill from the waitress. After he pays, he drives me home, and we talk about Jason’s neighborhood on the way.I’m not saying much because I’m in a terrible mood. When he pulls into Jason’s driveway, he turns off the car and smiles at me. “That was fun,” he says.
I sigh inwardly. I hope he’s not thinking of kissing me. “Yeah, it was. Thanks for dinner. It was a great burger.”
He looks like he wants to say something more. He finally speaks. “So do you want to do that again sometime?”
“Oh, um. You know. You’re a great guy, but I’m so busy with my stepfather’s campaign and my community service.”
He nods. “No worries. We’ll still see each other when we hang out with Sadie and Liv. And maybe at the club, too.” He smiles, and even though he’s just as handsome as he always was, I don’t really feel that pull of physical attraction I did when we first met.
“And when you’re in Toronto next year,” I say, “we should totally take that trip to the Art Gallery of Ontario together. The architecture on the inside is cool.”
“That would be great.”
“And thanks again for understanding. And for dinner.”
He smiles and nods, and I get out of the car.
Saturday morning I wake up early. Well, early for me at least. I put on my new black cargos with a T-shirt, and scarf down some toast and a yogurt cup. After packing my camera and some other stuff into my backpack, I start walking to Noah’s house. Mom and Jason have a doubles tennis game at the club, and I don’t want to call Liv for a ride because I really don’t want anyone to know where I’m going. That’s also why I don’t use the Uber account Mom set up.
It’s a seventy-minute walk to Noah’s, and pretty much the whole time, I’m cursing the lack of public transportation here. I have no idea how anyone without a car is supposed to go anywhere.
It feels like a bit of déjà vu when Noah opens the door barefoot again. But this time he seems much less happy to see me than he was when I was here a few days ago. I can hear male voices from inside. Mike and Noah’s brother, I assume. Instead of inviting me in this time, Noah comes straight out and stands on the porch. He crosses his arms. “Why are you here, Noorani?”
I pull my old cell phone out of my pocket and hand it to him. “I’m here to give you this. I have a new phone, so I don’t need it anymore. There’s nothing wrong with it. The battery doesn’t really last a whole day, but I have a portable battery I can give you too. All you’ll need is a new SIM card.”
Noah does not take the phone. He has an unreadable expression on his face.
“You don’t have to give me a phone, Noorani. I don’t need yourcharity. Sell it or something.” The word “charity” rings between us. The same word Quinn used when he tried to donate that sweatshirt. And I get it. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of pity charity either.
I sigh. “I’m sorry about what happened at the thrift store. Quinn was—isjust a friend. And this isn’t charity. I don’t need the phone. It’s been sitting in a drawer for the last two weeks. And I would really like the ability to call or text the best friend I have in this town.” His cold expression falters when I say that. “I’m giving it to you for entirelyselfish, not selfless, reasons.”
Noah’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times. But he doesn’t say anything.
“So will you take it?” I ask.
“Maybe. First, how was your second-ever date, Meera?”
Noah’s warm brown eyes are watching me intensely. It’s not the first time he’s used my given name, but the first time in a while. It means nothing. Probably.
“It wasn’t a date. We went to dinner as friends, but I didn’t really enjoy it—we see things too differently. I’m not going out with him again. And I care more about our friendship than my friendship with him.”
He keeps looking at me as a slow smile spreads across his face.
I smile back and hold out the phone again. This time he takes it.
“Thanks, Noorani,” he says. “I was about to head out anyway. Wanna walk with me to get a new SIM card?”
I smile, nodding. Honestly, there’s nothing I want more.
Noah goes into his house and comes back a few minutes later wearing black-and-white Converse sneakers, and with a guitar case strapped to his back. I ask him why he’s bringing his guitar.
“Been working on a song for weeks, and I finally think I have it. But Aaron says he can’t handle noise in the house. I was planning to play in the park.”
“Oh. Cool.” I want to ask if I can come with him to the park because I really want to hear him play again. But things are fragile between us.
We walk silently toward the bridge before Noah finally speaks. “So, dinner was really that bad? I’ve seen that guy around… He’s always seemed like a tool.”
I shrug. “Quinn’s not a bad guy. I mean, he’s one of the nicest of my cousin Sadie’s friends. But not really my type.” Quinn used to beexactlymy type, but things have changed since I’ve been in Cherrybridge.
