Page 23 of Miss Behaved
“Thanks.” There’s a higher octave in his voice. “You were at the game?”
“Yes.”
I’m always there, and not because I like football. I couldn’t care less. But, like every other girl in school, I’m drawn to Carson in his element. Whether he’s taking charge on the field or magnetizing their minds with his stories in the school papers, the world revolves around him.
“Cody played great,” Carson says, and I think I sense a little irritation.
“I guess.” I’m not sure why Carson always brings up Cody when I mention football, but he did have a few good passes. “So did you.”
Carson grunts. In agreement or disinterest, I’m not sure.
“You joining the paper this year?” he asks me.
“Probably, if I have time.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
I roll onto my side and tuck my arm under my head, looking down at him. “I got into that creative writing course I told you about.”
“You did? That’s amazing.” He mirrors me and props his head up. “College bound at sixteen, watch out world.”
“It’s just one class.” I roll my eyes. “And it’s for high schoolers. Not really that impressive. But it’ll look good on college applications.”
“Don’t do that, Mon,” Carson says with a serious expression on his face.
“What?”
“Downplay your awesomeness.”
I almost roll my eyes again, but the intensity of his stare stops me. “Fine, but then you can’t either.”
He shrugs a shoulder but doesn’t necessarily agree. I’m not sure how someone who is the center of our school can be so oblivious to how incredible he is. It takes everything in me to not jump to the ground and shake some sense into him.
“You’ll do great,” he says. “And you better let me read whatever you’re working on.”
“I will.” He might roll his eyes and laugh through my happily ever afters, but he’s still the first set of eyes I want on every word I put to paper.
“Good,” Carson says with a smile. “Oh and, Mon?”
He sits up and leans in, bringing his face really close to mine. His mouth is parted inches away, and I wish I could finally find out what he tastes like.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Thanks for always being there.” He smiles, and my tummy swirls. His hand reaches up and he squeezes my arm. “You’re a good friend.”
Carson lies back down and rolls onto his side. His back is to me, and I know he’s ending the conversation. I lie back myself, staring once more at the ceiling. Letting out the breath I’ve been holding since his feet landed in my room, but it doesn’t take the weight in my chest with it.
A good friend.
That’s me.
10
Monica
CarsonCallowayeatsbrokenhearts for breakfast.
It plays on a loop in my head through dinner as I watch Carson charm Agnes and Nadine—along with everyone else who sits at his table. It rings clear as I watch him work the room from the corner of my eye, that hundred-watt smile leaving a trail of liquid lust in his path as he moves from one group to the next.
