Page 9 of Miss Behaved
I’ve seen him kicking balls around on the playground plenty of times, but sitting with a pencil in his hand? No. Come to think of it, I’ve never even seen him reading a book.
“I didn’t know,” I say, surprised. Not that I would, we aren’t friends. But he toldme. Of all people.
Carson shrugs. “Most people don’t.”
His smile brightens and it feels a little like we’re sharing a secret.
“What do—”
“Get your ass over here boy.”
I’m cut off by a man across the yard, standing at the edge of the fence with red cheeks and daggers in his eyes. His fingers are gripping the wood so hard, his knuckles are white.
“Sorry, Dad,” Carson yells.
Dad?
Why would his dad be this upset? We’re just kids, and kids get distracted. Not saying that I’m enough of anything to distract someone as cool as Carson Calloway, but still.
“Worthless son of a—” His dad stops himself when my eyes catch his and he realizes Carson isn’t alone on the porch. He runs his fingers through his scraggly beard and takes a step back. “Get yer ass over here and help your mother.”
He starts mumbling something, but he turns back toward the house before I catch it.
“I should go,” Carson says, hopping off the porch swing and once again sending me into motion. His tone is light, but he avoids my eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because he’s embarrassed.
He shouldn’t be. It’s not his fault his dad acted like that.
“All right,” I say, trying to force a smile to ease the tension. “See you around.”
Carson jogs down my front steps, but before his feet hit the grass he turns to face me, staring for a second before plastering that big boyish grin on his face that makes all the girls’ hearts melt.
Including mine.
Cut my heart from my chest and take it already.
“See you around, Monica.” He waves, dipping his chin and crossing the yard between our houses. I watch him go, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. His blonde hair catches the bit of sunshine on an overcast day. He disappears into his house, that screen door slapping behind him, and for the first time in ten minutes I feel like I can breathe.
Holy smokes.
Carson Calloway knows my name.
5
Carson
Itakeitback.
Everything I thought about this lame fucking conference, I take it back the moment I see Monica standing in the lobby, twirling one of her tight curls around her finger.
Her hair, a wild halo around her delicate face. The tips brushing against the tops of her exposed shoulders every time she laughs. Somehow, she looks exactly the same as I remember while also having grown into a gorgeous woman.
Monica Lopez.
Here.
There are thirty feet between us, and we somehow feel farther apart than when it was miles.
I’d checked the list for her name, thinking she might be the one bright spot of this week, only to find her listed as unable to attend. Clearly, something changed. Because I’d know that face anywhere.
