And I’d never tell Amelia this, but here’s my secret and way-too-embarrassing-to-share hope: one day, he’ll realize it was me all along.
Chapter Two
“Psst.”
The psst is not exactly soft. In fact, it’s kind of loud. It’s not at all an appropriate volume for the library, but whatever, I guess. It’s Cal.
He smiles when I look over at him, revealing his dimples, and my heart catches in my throat. (It sometimes hurts my eyes how pretty he is.) For a minute, I think he’s calling for Amelia. But then I remember Amelia’s not here yet, which means that psst was for me.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back, unable to wipe what is definitely a goofy grin off my face.
“Whatcha up to?” He’s sitting a table away.
I definitely didn’t carefully choose my seat so I could steal glances at him. Nope.
“Nothing. Reading.” I hold up my book. In class, we’re reading The Catcher in the Rye. I hate it. Holden Caulfield is not a sympathetic character to me, and I’m over the way he calls everyone a phony. “What about you?”
“Trying to convince you to let me borrow your history notes.”
For some reason, I giggle at that.
“So?” he pushes. “Can I?”
“Oh! Yeah, of course,” I say, letting go of my book (and not bookmarking my page), digging through my bag (and dropping some pens on the floor in the process), and pulling out my notebook.
Cal, Amelia, and I are in the same history class, even though Cal is a year ahead of us. He almost never shows up to class…which is probably why he’s repeating junior history. He always asks to borrow my notes, and I always say yes.
I turn to the correct page and hold the notebook out to him. He gets up from where he’s sitting so smoothly it’s like he’s practiced it. Confidence just comes naturally to him. What’s that like?
When he reaches me, he leans down and scoops up my pens and holds them out to me.
“You dropped these,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say softly, trying to hide how badly my hands are shaking when I take them from him. In exchange, he swipes my notebook and his eyes scan the page.
“So, all this, huh?” he asks.
I glance at the meticulously highlighted notes. “Oh. Yeah, I sometimes go a little overboard.” I’m kind of embarrassed he noticed. “You don’t have to copy all of that. The highlighted stuff is what’s really important.”
“It’s all highlighted.…” He chuckles and rubs his hand on the back of his neck, and I find myself wishing I were his hand. “So, like…let’s just say you were only going to focus on the really, really super-important parts. You know, the stuff Mrs. Patel would probably put on a test. What might those be?” He leans over me, holding my notebook, glancing at the paper and then at me. “Think you could help me figure that out?”
And then he adds, “You’re just really good at this, Charlie.”
“Oh, um, s-sure,” I stammer, feeling heat creep up my neck. He’s so close to me now. “She spent most of class time talking about the Boston Tea Party. Here.” I point to that section in the notes. “‘No taxation without representation.’ That was really what she lectured on, so…probably that.”
“So focus on this,” he says, pointing his finger where I’m pointing so that our hands are touching. “And I can ignore all this other stuff?”
That’s absolutely not what I’m saying, but his hand by my hand has me nearly breaking out in a full-on sweat. “Yes.” I look at him. “More or less.”
His gaze meets mine and he smiles at me, dimples and all, letting the look linger a beat longer than it needs to. “Great. Really great. You’re the best, Charlie.”
My neck and face get even hotter. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I manage to say.
He rises to his feet, motioning toward the notebook. “I’ll give these back to you in class, okay?”
“Okay. No problem,” I say, and he takes the notebook and goes to sit back down at his table.
Did we just…have a moment?
Kind of felt like a moment.
See? This is why my insides get all jumbled like a bunch of weird emojis strung together whenever he’s around. Screaming face, lady in the tub, hospital, screaming face, heart.
I keep finding myself glancing over at him and smiling as he copies down the notes. I need to do something to stop looking so goofy, and I decide I’ll double-check my math homework—until I realize that my math homework, due next period, is in that notebook. Which Cal isn’t going to give back to me until after lunch.
Well, shit.
Amelia interrupts my panic by plopping in the seat next to me.
“Mr. O’Donnell is an ass!” she says, not bothering to speak quietly. The librarian looks over and shushes us, but Amelia ignores her and shoves her biology test in my face. There’s a 68 at the top of it.
“Oh, no,” I say, frowning. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. What happened?”
“He’s a terrible teacher, that’s what happened. It’s all memorization, and I hate it!” She sighs, then shoves the test in her bag. “Whatever. I’ll do some stupid extra credit and be fine. Anyway. Hi. How are you?”
“I’m great. Cal and I just kind of had a moment,” I whisper. I try to be nonchalant, but I’m sure I sound super excited. True, I don’t typically like for us to dwell on how pathetic my love life is, but could I really not share this with my best friend?!
“Oh, yeah?” Amelia is humoring me. “What’d he want?”
“To talk,” I say casually. Well. Kinda casually.
“To talk, huh?” Amelia asks, and it bothers me a little that there’s a hint of skepticism in her voice—likely directed at Cal’s intentions, but still.
“Yeah, to talk,” I repeat. Then I pause. “And to borrow my history notes.”
She gives me a look. “Of course.” And that stings a bit. As if Cal couldn’t ever possibly talk to me unless he wants something. “Why do you even let him see your notes?”
“I let you see my notes all the time.”
“I’m your best friend! Cal is just a slacker. He doesn’t deserve your kindness.”
I decide not to tell her about how our hands touched.
“Yeah, well. He’s cute. And he seemed really appreciative this time.” I shrug. “But I just realized my math homework is in that notebook. And he’s not going to give it back to me until history class, so…”
“So? Go over there and get it back!”
I just blink at her. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“I’m not good with confrontation.”
“Not sure this counts as that, but fine. I’ll do it.” Without a second thought, Amelia waltzes right over to Cal, who looks up and shoots her that dazzling smile of his.
“What can I do for you, boo?” Cal asks, eliciting an eye roll from Amelia.
Did he really just call her boo? My stomach drops.
“Not your boo. And I need Charlie’s notebook back. Her homework is in there.” She reaches for it. Cal uses the opportunity to slip his hand into hers.