“So.” I sat down, pulled off my cross-body bag, and said, “Do you think this can actually work?”
“Doing anything is better than doing nothing, right?” he asked, crumpling his straw wrapper into a perfect tiny ball before flicking it in my direction.
“I suppose,” I said, still unsure if that was actually true. Unsure what I was even doing here with him.
A waiter came over and took our orders, and then we got right to it. Charlie was full of ideas on how I could make our apartment an “inhospitable environment” for my mother’s boyfriend, and we wolfed down pizza while I rejected each and every ridiculous idea.
“I can’t do that,” I said, full-on cackling when he suggested I start hiding Scott’s stuff. Charlie had a way of being cynically dark and absurdly funny, all at the same time, and apparently that was my sense of humor’s sweet spot. Most of the time I wasn’t sure if he was serious or kidding, but the sarcasm in his deep voice made it funny, regardless. I shook my head and pulled a piece of pepperoni off my slice. “I just can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, picking up the red Coca-Cola cup that was half-full of Mountain Dew. “If he loses his glasses every time he comes over, he might stop coming over, right?”
“Seems oversimplified,” I said, wishing it wasn’t.
“What is happening on your plate right now?” Charlie asked, setting down his soda and gesturing with both hands. His eyes were narrowed, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but his lips were turned up just a little when he said, “That is pizza desecration. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“No, it’s not.” I looked down at the pile of toppings and said, “I eat it all. I just like to eat the cheese and toppings first, then the crust.”
“Why?” He reminded me of Airport Charlie as he gave his head a disgusted shake and added, “Seriously.”
I sighed. “Do you really want to know, or do you just want to mock me?”
He reached out a big hand and grabbed one of my black olives. “Both.”
“Okay.” I smacked his hand and said, “If you eat it all together, you don’t really taste the crust because of the topping flavors. This way, you get to enjoy the flavors of beef and pepperoni and olives and onions, and then you get to enjoy the texture and yeasty flavor of the crust.”
His mouth slid into a small grin that almost looked appreciative. His dark eyes were kind of twinkly when he said, “It looks disgusting, but what you said kind of makes sense.”
I lifted my chin, feeling somehow vindicated. “I know. Right? Try it with your pizza.”
“Try—”
“But drink water first.” I slid his water closer to him and said, “Palate cleanser.”
His eyes were a little squinty—I sensed a laugh in there—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he did exactly what I said. He took a big drink from his water, slammed down the cup, then gave me ridiculous eye contact—like we were in a staring contest—as he first took a bite of his topping, then his crust.
“I’m right, right?” I asked, setting my chin on my wrist. “It’s way better.”
He sat back in his chair and watched me, without a word, his head tilted like he was trying to figure something out. He wasn’t smiling anymore, didn’t look teasing, but he didn’t look unhappy, either.
He looked… analytical.
I cleared my throat and felt warmth on my cheeks. “Whatever. I know I’m right, even if you’re too—”
“Amazing,” he said, his face still unreadable.
“Not the word I was looking for, but—”
“No,” he said, his mouth sliding into a smile. “Your pizza methodology. Is amazing.”
I blinked. Is he mocking me? “Are you saying that you agree with me?”
“I’m saying that I feel like I’ve never tasted pizza before. Thank you, Bailey Mitchell Glasses, for showing me your ways.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and it was impossible not to give in to a huge smile of victory. I didn’t want him to know how much I enjoyed his compliment, so I said, “Now back to the devious plan.”
His eyes stayed on mine for another second before he gave a nod and grabbed his soda. “About that. Let me ask you something.”
“God.”
“Do you really think you’ll have the coconuts to do any of these things we’re planning? You’re kind of a pathetic people pleaser.”
“No, I’m not,” I shot back, sounding more defensive than I wanted to, but dammit—I felt a little attacked. Because what was it with that? Just because I was nice and preferred to avoid conflict didn’t mean I was pathetic. Nekesa called me that—pathetic people pleaser—all the time, and even Zack had eluded to it when we were together.
“Easy,” Charlie said, putting up his hands like he was being held up. “I didn’t mean it.”
I raised an eyebrow, my irritation instantly diffused by his overdramatic facial expression. “Really?”
“Okay, I probably meant it,” he said, his unapologetic smile making him look like a mischievous little boy. “But back to the question at hand. Are you brave enough to rock the boat?”
“I don’t know,” I said, giving the question honest consideration. I had a very hard time with confrontation, so he was right to question my abilities. “I mean, I want to.”
He made a noise and shook his head. “Not good enough, bruh.”
“I know,” I whined, stirring my drink with its straw and actually meaning it when I said, “I wish I was more like you.”
“I knew it.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, which was so wide, I wondered if he was a swimmer, and he said with teasing smugness, “I’m your role model.”
“Hardly.”
“If you want to call me Uncle Charlie, or Mentor Charlie,” he said, smiling in a funny way that made me want to smile back, “you totally can.”
“I’d rather eat glass,” I said, pulling off the sharp retort even as I wanted to laugh. “Can we get back to the business at hand?”
“Sure,” he said, his eyes moving all over my face before focusing on my gaze. “Well, in my opinion, the first thing you need to do is dig deep and find your inner asshole.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Strike the language,” he said quickly. “But you know what I mean. Just be a dick.”
“No one’s as good at that as you.” I looked at him, at his naturally sarcastic face, and said, “Oh my God—come with me.”
“What?” His dark eyebrows knotted together.
“Yes!” It was brilliant. “I’ll be braver with you there—”
“More brave,” he interrupted. His brow was still furrowed, but the playful glint was in his eyes.
“And you can bring your surly attitude too.” I didn’t want us to be mean to Scott, but I felt desperate to do something—anything—to slow things down. I was terrified that my life was about to change yet again, and I couldn’t let that happen when I was still adjusting to the first change. I just needed more time before my mom got serious—with anyone. “We’ll be the dynamic duo of assholery.”
“Lame superhero names,” he muttered, watching me closely like he was thinking a million things.