Part 8 (1/2)
”So, you're admitting it?”
He smirks, angling his body toward me more. He smells like maple sugar mixed with motorcycle fumes. ”I admit to nothing.”
”So, what did did happen the other day . . . in chemistry cla.s.s?” happen the other day . . . in chemistry cla.s.s?”
”I accidentally dropped the test tube.”
”No, I mean just after that . . . when you touched me-when you grabbed my wrist.”
”It was just an accident.”
”That was no accident.”
”It was.” He looks away again.
”Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?”
Ben shakes his head and I purse my lips, wondering why he insists on keeping all these secrets, when he's obviously trying to clear things up.
”So, shall we start over?” he asks.
”I guess,” I say, still utterly confused.
”Hi, my name's Ben Carter.” He smiles, fully aware of how cheesy this is.
”Camelia Hammond.” I grin. ”And before you ask, yes, it's true, my parents are hippies and thought it'd be fun to name me after a lizard. I changed the spelling, against their wishes.”
”Well, I guess that means you have good survival instincts,” he says, edging in a little closer. ”You must adapt well to your surroundings.”
”Oh my G.o.d, you sound exactly exactly like my mother.” like my mother.”
”I'll try and forget you said that.” He smiles wider. ”So, do you get out much, Camelia Hammond?”
”Like, for good behavior?”
”Like, on dates. What do you say? Are you free Sat.u.r.day?”
I take a deep breath and mutter the word no no. Only it comes out as yes yes.
”Great,” he says. ”How about around two? We can meet for a late lunch.”
I nod, and he gets up, b.u.mping his knee against mine in the process.
”Are you okay?” I ask, noticing how upset he suddenly looks. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step back.
”I gotta go,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.
”What is it?” I ask, standing up, too.
But instead of answering, he heads back to his motorcycle and speeds away-just as fast as he did on the day that he saved my life.
19.
She was out in front of school this morning, looking for attention. Like a total s.l.u.t.
The front of school is her new place to be noticed. n.o.body else ever just hangs out there, but she wants to be on display, so people look at her as soon as they pull up.
I said the alphabet forwards and backwards and counted up building bricks to keep myself calm. It was either that or haul off and smack her stupid little face.
She just makes me so mad sometimes, so mad that I can't quite think straight. She wants to see me lose control.
20.
Ben and I have arranged to meet at Seaview Park for our date. He'd wanted to pick me up, but Kimmie insisted on tagging along.
”I know the rumors aren't true,” she says, ”but if anything weird ever happened and I didn't do anything to try and stop it, I'd never be able to forgive myself.”
”Anything weird?”
She shrugs. ”Like if you wound up tied up, dead, and buried in a shallow grave somewhere.”
”Seriously?”
”Kidding.” She rolls her eyes. ”But that still doesn't change the fact that Mr. Touchy-Feely completely creeps me out.”
I watch as she sifts through my bedroom closet for something for me to wear, wondering if I'm doing the right thing. I mean, yes, I want to find out the truth about him, but I honestly can't remember a time when I've been more unnerved.
”How about this one?” she asks, holding up a lavender tunic.
I take it and slip it on, too rattled even to pay much attention.
”The winner,” she announces, tossing me a pair of leggings and my strappy sandals.
Originally the plan was that she and Wes would come and we'd make it a foursome, but unfortunately, that plan got snagged when Kimmie was grounded for making her eight-year-old brother, Nate, do all her household ch.o.r.es for a week. As punishment, Kimmie's parents have declared her Nate's own personal slave for a period of seventy-two hours. Kimmie has spent the last twenty-four of those hours dodging water balloons, making grilled-cheese-and-gummy-worm sandwiches, playing hide-and-seek, and organizing her brother's Matchbox car collection according to type, color, size, and year.
You'd think all that torture would suffice. But not quite. Nate refuses to let Kimmie have the afternoon off.
”He says either he comes along, or I can't go.”
”Are you kidding?” I ask, pulling the leggings on.
”Not kidding. I tried to talk him out of it, but that just made him want to come more. I'm lucky he even gave me this hour off for good behavior. You look hot, by the way.”
”Thanks,” I say, running my fingers through my kinky hair, and seriously wondering if I'm going to be sick.