Part 4 (1/2)
Why was I so bad at this?
I glanced at Archer to see if he could tell how socially inept I was.
He had his hands in his pockets.
I let it go. I wasn't going to get weirded out about hand-holding that maybe should or maybe shouldn't be happening. I might get weirded out about the fact that we'd now been walking through the mall for several minutes and we hadn't said anything to each other. Conversation wasn't usually an issue for us.
Of course, I was basing ”usually” on just over twenty-four hours of knowing him.
I really needed to get over myself.
”Is this the food court?” I asked, though it was plainly obvious to anyone with a brain stem that we had indeed arrived at the food court. ”I mean, where do we get the fries?”
Archer led me to his stall of choice and bought fries and drinks for both of us. His treat: real date behavior. Ten minutes later we had all our stuff spread out over a four-top table and munched as we bent over our homework.
At least, I was bent over my homework. Archer didn't seem to be. I lifted my head and saw him staring at me, slack-jawed.
”What?”
”What are you doing?” he asked.
”My homework. Precalc.”
”No, with your food.”
”What do you mean?” I asked. I picked up a fry and swished it through my chocolate milk shake, then took a bite. ”I'm eating it. You're right, the fries are really good.”
”But you're dunking them in your shake.”
”Mm-hm.” I held out a newly coated fry. ”Want a bite?”
”You're committing a crime against food. You're lucky I don't report you to the Hague.”
”Haven't you ever heard of chocolate-covered pretzels? It's the same thing: salty and sweet.”
”A hot fudge pickle is salty and sweet, too. Would you eat that?”
”That's salty, sour, and sweet. There's a difference. I've eaten chocolate-covered bacon, though.”
”That's disgusting.”
”And this isn't salty and sweet, but sometimes I'll take raw oatmeal-rolled oats; it doesn't work with steel-cut-and mix it up with strawberry jelly.”
”Then you cook it?”
”No,” I said, pausing for another bite of milk-shake fry, ”you just stir it really, really well until every piece of oatmeal is coated with the jelly, then you spoon it up and eat it. It also works with brown rice. You can mix in a little cottage cheese, too, if you want it more pudding-y. But not too much-you want it to stay pretty dense.”
Archer looked like I'd poisoned his dog.
”I'm serious! It's good!”
”It's a biohazard! How can you possibly like that?”
I shrugged. ”It's a textural thing. I like the feel of interesting things in my mouth.”
”Really?”
”Yeah. Like Cool Whip with raisins and Grape-Nuts mixed in with a little chocolate syr-”
Archer was staring at me with one eyebrow raised. Only then did I realize what I'd just said. I felt the blush heat my face.
I wasnt saying ... I just mean...
Archer's grin spread wider. He knew what I'd meant. He was just having fUn watching me squirm.
It happened a lot with Archer. We went back to the mall every afternoon that week, and it never failed. My mouth always moved faster than my brain when I was around him, so at some point I'd end up saying something ridiculous or something I'd meant to keep to myself. Like the time he did a goofy voice that was almost exactly like one he'd used in my dream the night before. I was halfway through a long, twisted story about the two of us on this weirdo globetrotting spy mission before I realized I'd admitted I was dreaming about him. Once I got it, I was so embarra.s.sed and fl.u.s.tered and worried about how he'd react that I couldn't even finish. The whole story devolved into incoherent stammers until I just gave up and changed the subject.
It drove me crazy, but Claudia didn't think it was strange at all.
”You like him,” she said. ”You're not thinking clearly. You're too distracted because you're secretly dying to jump his bones.”
”I'm not!”
And I wasn't. I'd only known him five days; bone jumping seemed a little extreme. I just loved being around him. I looked forward to seeing him every morning. My heart gave a little leap when I saw him sitting in the hall across from my locker, waiting for me. Or when I found him at the lunch table, the seat next to him always reserved until I got there. He didn't even ask me after that first time-it was already a given we'd sit together, just like in Mr. Woodward's English cla.s.s.
But it wasn't as if we were a couple. We hadn't even touched. At least, not intentionally.
Except once. Just yesterday. Archer was making fun of my chocolate-shake fries again, so I gave one an extra-thick dip and ran over to his side of the table.
”That's it! You're trying one! You'll love it!”
”No!” he'd screamed, and grabbed my wrists before I could get the fry anywhere near his mouth. We'd wrestled like that, Archer pus.h.i.+ng me back while I'd strained to feed him the french fry. At first it was purely a battle, but as it went on, I became acutely aware of his hands touching my skin and how close our faces were as we struggled.
Archer won the fight. All the shake dripped off the fry until it was just soggy and gross and I agreed to throw it away.
I could still remember the exact feel of his hands, though.
”I'm not saying you want to actually jump his bones,” Claudia clarified, ”only that you want him. Probably as more than just a Ladder rung.”
I winced. Was she upset?
”Maybe,” I admitted. ”Would you hate me for that?”
”Are you insane? If you really like him and he likes you, that's huge! It's bigger than the Ladder-it's epic! I love it!”
I felt so relieved. Even though I'd been telling her things, I'd been holding back, too, so I wouldn't hurt her feelings. Now I had a million things I wanted to ask her.