Claire nodded and bit into her hamburger, smiling as she chewed. In a few hours, she’d be with Matthew, and right then that was all she really cared about.
Emily sat on Claire’s bed, pawing through the shopping bags that Claire had tossed on top of the covers. Claire had called her the minute she’d walked in the door, and as soon as Emily heard the words “Matthew Engle” and “date” in the same sentence, she’d hurried over. Claire had heard Emily’s car start before they even hung up.
“So, um—I’m sorry your party ended the way it did. That was pretty awful. Are you doing okay?”
“Are you kidding? I’m doing great.”
“I figured that Matthew asking you out would make up for everything else. How did it all happen, anyway?”
“Matthew sort of caught me while everyone else was making a run for it. And then he called this morning and asked me to come over and hang out.”
Emily grinned at her. “See, I told you things would work out. I knew he liked you—I knew it! Oh, I’m so excited for you.” She pulled a bottle of pink nail polish off the bedside table and held it up to her toes experimentally. “So, what are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know.” Claire leaned against her closet door and kicked at a pile of shoes. “It’s gotta be something with long sleeves, since I’ve got this stupid rash on my hands that I do not want him to see. What do you think?”
“It needs to be something sexy but not obvious. I mean, it should make him want you without being sure that he can have you, right? What about … hmm …”
Emily hauled herself off the bed and walked into Claire’s closet, flicking through the tops that hung near the back.
“What about this?” She held out a red scoop-necked shirt. “You could wear it with that pair of jeans with the rip in the knee? That would be perfect, as long as you won’t die of heatstroke.”
“You’re a genius. I totally forgot I even had that top. And I don’t think heatstroke’s much of an issue in the Engles’ basement.” Claire rummaged around in her closet, digging out the right jeans from a pile on the shelf. “Any other advice, oh-dating-guru-who-is-also-my-best-friend?”
“Don’t chew gum. If he tries to kiss you, then you’ll just have to swallow it, and that can get really awkward. Put some mints in your pocket instead and you can pop them if you need to.”
“Mints. Got it.”
“Oh, and one other thing …”
“Yeah?”
“He’s not actually a god, Claire. He’s a cute guy. And he’s lucky that you’re coming over. Just relax and have a good time, okay?”
Claire groaned. “I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. Listen, I’m actually leaving in about an hour, so—”
“Then why am I still here?” Emily interrupted. “Go finish getting ready—I’m already gone. God. Matthew Engle. Do you swear to call me tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Claire grinned. “I’ll give you the complete rundown.”
Emily gave her a hug and headed downstairs. Claire went into her bathroom, hoping a shower would calm her down. Emily mentioning the possibility of Matthew kissing her had made her all jittery.
“Ow! Crap!” Claire jumped as the searing-hot plate of the flat iron grazed her neck. She pulled back the silky-smooth section of hair and inspected the damage. A tiny pink mark rose on her neck—not too bad. Not nearly as bad as the forest of red pinpricks that dotted her ears. At least her hair would hide them. Her hands were a whole other problem. Claire pulled on the Emily-endorsed red shirt. The ends of the sleeves came nearly to her knuckles, and she’d coated her skin with concealer and powder, which made the itching worse, but they looked a lot better. If Matthew notices this stupid rash, I’ll die.
“Claire?” Lisbeth’s voice echoed down the hall. “We’re going to be late!”
“I’m coming!” Claire grabbed her cell phone, shook her hair back over her ears, and licked her lips. She hurried into the car. Lisbeth was already there, dressed in a sparkly purple tunic. Silver bangles chimed against one another on her wrists, and her lips shone with gloss.
Claire looked her over. “You’re dressed up.”
Lisbeth shrugged. “I have some plans.”
Claire climbed into the car. “Fine then, be all mysterious.”
A peony-pink flush spread across Lisbeth’s cheeks. “I am allowed to have a private life, you know.”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh. Don’t smear your lip gloss.”
When Lisbeth pulled up in front of the Engles’ house, Claire tried not to notice that it was smaller than hers. Then again, most houses were smaller than the Benoits’. Claire’s mother liked privacy as much as she liked nice things, and their huge house perched on several acres of land.
Matthew’s house was the picture of normal—cutesy garden in the front, shutters painted, and a stained glass oval with a cross hanging in the front window. Claire leapt out of the car.
“I’ll pick you up at nine,” Lisbeth said. “And I mean on the dot—I don’t want to be out after dark!”