Thayer reaches up and sweeps my hair back off of my shoulders. “Um,” he teases, angling my face toward his.
So it is going to happen. I lower my eyes and inch toward him. Thayer’s rough hand grazes my forehead lightly. I hold my breath, excited and expectant, as our faces move closer, and …
“Thayer?”
For the second time since waking up, I jump. Thayer shoots away from me and stands up. Laurel looms in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. There’s an inscrutable expression on her face, and I wonder how long she’s been standing there.
“I was wondering what was taking so long,” Laurel says after a moment.
Thayer’s cheeks redden. He hitches up his jeans and points to the first-aid kit on the table. “Sutton broke a glass. I was helping her clean up.”
His gaze is only on Laurel, not me. I shift away, staring at my bandaged hand. All of a sudden, the prospect of kissing Thayer seems unthinkable, impossible. Maybe he’d never intended to do it at all—maybe he was just screwing with me. And he moved away from me like a slingshot, as though he was horrified at the idea that Laurel would catch us together. Does he find me that unkissable? Whatever, I think. I rise from my chair and snatch the first-aid kit from the table. “Thanks for your help, Thayer,” I say coolly. Then I turn to Laurel. “Have fun in your little clubhouse,” I snap.
I flounce past them and down the hall, shoulders thrown back. I want to turn around and see if Thayer is staring, but I don’t dare. On my way up the stairs, I tell myself sternly: It was nothing.
You don’t have feelings for Thayer. You don’t have feelings for Thayer.
But no matter how many times I repeat it, it feels like, for the very first time, I’m lying to myself.
9
A TOTAL WASTE OF A PEDICURE
On Thursday evening, as the settling dusk paints the sky a brilliant, streaky watercolor of pink, orange, and yellow, Charlotte, Madeline, and I jam into my vintage Volvo, Floyd, and head to Nisha’s party. I grip the steering wheel tightly and accelerate through the turns. The air smells of cut grass and charcoal grills, and Sabino Canyon and the Catalina Mountains rise large and beautiful in front of me. Finally, I turn onto Nisha’s street, the wind tickling my cheek almost playfully. I grin and crank up the volume on the radio as a Jay-Z remix comes on. Madeline lets out a whoop. Charlotte sticks her head out the window like a dog, then pulls it back in when she realizes it’s messing up her hair.
“Tonight’s going to be key for Operation Loverboy—I can just feel it!” Charlotte squeals next to me, breaking into a little impromptu shimmy in her seat. Her turquoise dangle earrings sway back and forth, and the heady, cloying scent of Prada Candy that she’s doused herself in wafts my way.
“Operation what?” I ask, shooting her a stern look.
“Operation Loverboy,” Charlotte repeats. “You know. You and Thayer, sitting in a tree?”
We pull along the curb a few houses down from Nisha’s low, Spanish-style ranch—being fashionably late means losing out on the best parking spots, unfortunately. As I kill the ignition, I shoot Char daggers. “I thought I told you not to call it that.”
“Whatever.” Charlotte waves a hand at me dismissively. “I don’t care what we call it. I just want to do it. Tonight’s the night, Sutton. You look super-hot.”
I swallow hard. My stomach is jumping, but maybe it’s because I’ve hardly eaten all day. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, and I have to say, Char is right. My hair cascades down my shoulders in soft waves. The red-and-white printed silk halter top brings out the rosiness in my skin and the green flecks in my eyes. And my smile is bigger and wobblier than usual because, well, I’m excited. Ready for the possibility of … possibility. I can’t remember the last time I went to this much trouble for a guy, cared so much, fussed so badly over every single Diorshow-coated eyelash and every last strand of hair. But after last night I just can’t ignore these feelings. They’re front and center. Huge letters on a marquee. The first thought I have when I go to sleep and wake up.
I can’t believe it myself, but, yeah: I’m into him. For real. And now I need to know, once and for all, if he’s into me.
What that means for my friends, the other kids at school … Laurel, I have no idea. But I can’t worry about that just yet—I have to figure it out with Thayer first.