"Birdie, I—" He takes a breath, then looks down, rubbing his hand over his face.
"What is it? What were you going to say?"
"Fuck," he mutters.
"Cal, just say it."
"I can't." He turns and walks back to his SUV.
I go in the house. My mom's on the couch, watching TV.
"Why are you home so early?" she asks.
"The party was boring. I'm going to bed."
"What happened to your dress?"
Shit. I forgot about that. I turn around. "It got caught on something and ripped."
"You want me to try and sew it?"
"You can't. Some of the fabric ripped off."
"That's too bad. It's a beautiful dress."
"Yeah." I look down at it. "It was."
"Honey, are you okay?" she asks in her worried mom voice.
"I'm fine." I force out a smile.
"Okay. Well, goodnight."
"Goodnight." I go in my room, rip off the dress, and toss it in the trash. I collapse on my bed and finally let myself cry.
How could they do that to me? And why did they do it? Why me?
Cal knows why, but he won't tell me. Why won't he tell me? What is he hiding?
I've had it with Cal. I thought we could be friends but we can't. I'm sick of him acting like he knows what's best for me. I'm tired of him finding fault with every guy I date. I do the same thing with the girls he dates, but it's wrong.
We shouldn't be this way. We should support each other when we find someone we like. We should want each other to be happy. I think we do, but watching each other be happy with someone else seems to make us miserable. That's how I feel but maybe he doesn't. I don't know because he won't tell me.
On Sunday I text Cal that I'm done with the swimming lessons. I also tell him I can't tutor him anymore. He doesn't need my help. He got B's on the last two quizzes.
He calls me all day Sunday but I don't pick up. We need some distance from each other. Things between us just aren't working.
At class on Tuesday he switches seats with a girl up front to avoid having to sit by Stone. I remain in my seat, directly behind Stone, and kick his chair all through class. It pisses him off, which makes me laugh.
After class, I race out of the room to avoid Cal.
"Birdie!" he yells when I'm outside.
I try to run but can't in these sandals. I love how they look so I had to buy them, but they're impossible to walk in.
"Damn sandals! Why do you have to be so cute?"
Cal stops right in front of me. He looks down at my feet. "Were you just talking to your shoes?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"No. You talk to your clothes too?"
"Sometimes." I go around him.
"Birdie, wait!"
"I have to get to work."
"Why aren't you talking to me?"
I stop. "I need a break from you, Cal."
"Why?"
"Because something doesn't feel right. I don't know what it is, but I know I don't like it."
"I know," he says quietly. "I feel it too."
"We need to figure it out. And if we can't, then we need to stop being friends."
"Then we'll figure it out, but that doesn't mean we can't still do stuff together."
"I can't. I'm sorry, Cal, but being around you just ... I don't know how to describe it."
"You don't even want to talk anymore?"
"No."
It's not what I want, but talking to him hurts. Being with him hurts even more, and until I know why, I can't keep doing it.
"I'll let you get to work," he says, sounding sad. He turns and walks away.
The week continues and Cal does as I asked. He doesn't call me. Doesn't text. Doesn't talk to me at class.
I miss him. And not talking to him isn't making me hurt less like I thought it would. I hurt even more now.
On Saturday I wake up thinking I have to get up for Cal's tutoring but then remember we're not doing that anymore. I won't see him today. Or tonight. Or tomorrow.
"Morning, sunshine," my dad says as I drag myself to the kitchen.
"Morning," I mumble.
"Want a grilled ham and cheese? I'm making one for your brother."
"For breakfast?"
"Lunch. It's one in the afternoon."
"It is?" I check the clock on the microwave. "How did I sleep that long?"
"Guess you were tired."
The doorbell rings. I look at the door, thinking maybe it's Cal. Maybe he was bored and decided to stop by.
My mom looks out the window. "It's the mailman. I'll get it."
"Expecting someone else?" my dad asks.
"No." I open the fridge.
"Still not talking to him?"
I look at my dad. "Who?"
"Ignoring someone doesn't make the feelings go away."
"What feelings?" I close the fridge. "I'm going back to bed."
"Birdie, you got a package," my mom says.
"A package? For me?"
She brings me a box. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know." I check the label. "It's from the store where I bought the dress I wore to the party last week." I open the box and pull out a dress. The same dress as the one that got ruined.
"You ordered a new dress?" my mom asks.
"No. Someone sent me one."
"Who?"
"I don't know." I check the box for a card but there isn't one. There's just a receipt with no name on it.
I take the dress to my room.
Who would've sent this to me? That idiot, Jared? Did he feel remorse for what he did? There's no way Stone would've sent it to me, unless it was some kind of joke.
After I hang up the dress I watch TV in bed. The old black and white movie I watched with Cal is on. Seeing it makes me sad. I miss him. I wish I didn't, but I do.
At four I get out of bed and shower. I don't have plans for tonight so I put on comfy shorts and a t-shirt, deciding to stay in bed and have a movie marathon.
"Birdie?" My mom knocks on the door. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
She opens the door. "You should come out and eat something. There's leftover pizza in the fridge."
"Okay." I get out of bed.
"Another package arrived for you," she says, smiling. "It came a few minutes ago."
"Seriously? Where is it?"
"Out here on the table. Come see what it is."
I follow her to the dining room. There's a small box on the table. The return address is a post office box without a name.
"Open it up," my mom says.
"Without knowing who it's from? It could be a bomb."
She laughs. "Don't be silly. Just open it."
I rip off the tape and open the box. Inside is an envelope on top of a t-shirt.
"This is creepy," I say, picking up the envelope. "It says it's from my secret admirer."
"That's not creepy. That's romantic!" my mom says, getting excited. "Who do you think it's from?"
"Someone playing some sick practical joke."
"Birdie, when did you become so cynical?"
I don't answer. I didn't tell her what happened at the frat house and don't plan to. For all I know this is another prank from the fraternity guys.
"Check the envelope," my mom says.
I open it up and pull out a ticket. "Oh my God."
"What? What is it?"
"A ticket to tonight's monster truck show!" I scream, jumping up and down.
"Are there two tickets?"
I shake out the envelope. "Just one. But I don't care. I'll go alone. I can't believe I'm going! I have to go get ready. It starts at seven but seating opens at six and I'll need time to get through traffic and find a place to park."
"What else is in the box?" my mom asks.
"A t-shirt." I pull it out and hold it up. "Guess I know what I'm wearing. I'm going to go put it on."
"Birdie, what's this?" My mom hands me
a business card. "It fell out of the envelope."
The business card is for a car service. On the back of the card someone wrote, The car service will take you to the event. Call the number and tell them what time you'd like to be picked up. All costs have been paid for. Have a good time!
"What's it say?" my mom asks.
I hand it to her. "You think it's legit?"
"I've used this company for client visits. It's an upscale car service. Not the type you'd typically take to a monster truck show." She laughs and gives me a hug. "Have a good time, honey."
"You're not worried? What if this secret admirer is a serial killer?"
She smiles. "You'll be fine. Have fun!"
I race to my room and put on my t-shirt.
"This is so awesome," I say, admiring the shirt. I do a little dance. I'm so happy right now. I've wanted to go to this monster truck show since last year when they announced the date, but I knew I wouldn't have the money or anyone to go with me. It's more fun to go with someone but I'm okay going alone. I just want to see the trucks.
Who would send me this and why? I'm still worried this is some kind of prank set up by one of the frat guys. Can I really trust this car service? And what about the ticket? What if I get there and find out it's not real? But how would anyone at the frat house know to get me the ticket? I never told anyone there I liked monster trucks, although I might've mentioned it to Jared. Could he be the one behind this? Is this his revenge to get back at me for punching him? Get me all excited about the event only to find out the ticket is fake? If he did that I might have to kill him, or at least punch him again.
Taylor calls.
I pick up on the first ring. "I'm going to the monster truck show!"
She laughs. "And you're excited about it?"
"How could you tell?" I joke.
"So what happened? I thought you couldn't afford the tickets."
"Okay, this is really strange so tell me if you think it's fake."
"What are you talking about?"
"A ticket for tonight's monster truck show arrived at my door, along with a t-shirt and a note saying a car service would take me there. It's all been paid for. You think it's a joke?"
"Do you know who sent it?"
"It said it's from my secret admirer. That's creepy, isn't it?"
"It's not creepy. It's romantic."
"It's romantic in the movies. In real life, secret admirer is code for stalker or serial killer."
"I think you're being paranoid. It's probably some guy from class, or maybe the coffee shop."
"Or Cal's fraternity," I mutter.
"You think it's that guy you went out with?"
Taylor's the only person I told about Jared. I didn't tell Isla or anyone else. Talking about it just pisses me off.
"Why would he do this after what happened?" Taylor asks.
"As a joke. Or to get back at me for punching him. He sent me a text last week saying he'll sue me if I ruined his career."
"How could you ruin his career?"
"He thinks his nose is misshapen because I punched it. I'm sure it's just swollen. Anyway, it wouldn't surprise me if he did all this to get back at me."
"I don't think it's him. I think it's someone who actually likes you."
"But who would it be? I can't think of anyone from class who might've done it."
"What about work? Maybe a customer?"
"Maybe. Professor Sanders always flirts with me."
"A professor? Really?"
I laugh. "I'm joking. Professor Sanders is retired. He's 85 and senile. He flirts with everyone." I check the time. "Shit, I need to get ready. And I need to call that car service. You really think I should do this? Even if there's a chance it's some practical joke?"
"You've been wanting to go to this for months, so yes, you should go. I don't think it's a joke. But just in case, text me when you get there so I know you made it."
"So you DO think it could be a serial killer!"
She laughs. "Go get ready. You're going to have a great time tonight. Call me and tell me all about it tomorrow."
"Okay. Bye!"
I call up the car service and tell them to pick me up just after five. It probably won't take an hour to get there but I want to be one of the first in line when they open the doors.
Knowing there could be some hot single guys there tonight, I wear my tightest jeans and short black boots. The boots match the t-shirt, which is black and has a picture of a neon green monster truck with white tires. The shirt is fitted and a little tight in the chest but looks great on me. It might be my new favorite shirt.
A little after five the car arrives. But it's not a car. It's a shiny black Cadillac Escalade.
"Cool!" Max yells when he sees it. "I wanna go!"
"Have fun, honey!" my mom says as I race to the door.
"I will! Bye!" I go outside and am greeted by the driver, a handsome older man in a dark suit.
"Good evening," he says with a smile.
I stop in front of him. "So where are you taking me?"
It's a quiz to see if I'm really going where I think I'm going. I'm still not convinced this isn't a prank.
He gives me a confused look. "To the stadium?"
"For what?"
"The monster truck show?"
"Right answer." I walk around him. "Let's go!"
He races to open my door, still seeming confused.
As predicted, traffic is bad and it takes almost an hour to get there. The driver stops at the VIP entrance.
"You have to go around to the other side," I tell him. "To the main entrance."
"I was given instructions to go here."
"By who?"
He doesn't answer. He gets out and opens my door.
"This isn't the right entrance," I tell him. "You need to drive around to the main entrance."
"Miss, I assure you this is the correct entrance. Do you need help getting out?" He holds out his hand.
"I don't need help." I jump out and look around. There's no line. No people. Just a door with the VIP sign above it.
"This can't be right," I tell him. "I have a regular ticket. I can't get in here."
He takes something out of his suit pocket. It's a lanyard that holds a badge with the truck show logo and VIP stamped on it.
"This will get you in," he says, handing me the lanyard. "Enjoy your evening."
He gets in the SUV and drives off.
I turn around and walk over to the door. Just as I'm about to open it, someone opens it for me. It's a guy who looks like the human version of a monster truck. Huge muscles. A neck the size of a tree trunk. Massive bald head.
"Ready for the show?" he says with a smile.
"Um, yeah, but I'm not sure where to go. I think I might be at the wrong entrance."
He points to the lanyard. "Looks like you're at the right one. Follow me."
He takes me down a hallway, then into the stadium. My concern this was a joke had dampened my excitement but it's back the moment I see the dirt track and the ramps set up for the jumps.
"Pretty cool, huh?" the guy says, noticing I've stopped to stare at the track. "You ever been to one of these?"
"More than one. I've been going since I was a kid. I try to go every time it's in town. I'm a huge fan."
"You ever been in the front row?"
"No. Why? Are you saying—"
He smiles, then continues walking, stopping at the front row.
"Holy shit." I look at my ticket. "Are you sure this is right?"
"This is it. This is your seat."
"But how?"
"Enjoy the show."
He takes off.
There's no way this is the right seat. How could I have a ticket in the front row? These had to have sold out months ago.
I sit down, thinking this must be a dream. This can't possibly be real.
"So what do you think?" someone says from behind me.
I turn to see who said it.
It's Cal
.
What the hell is HE doing here?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Birdie
"Cal, what are you doing here?"
He sits beside me. "I'm here to see the show. What do you think of the seats?"
"Cal, I'm serious. What's going on here?"
"I told you. I came to see the show."
"You don't like monster truck shows."
"But you do. And I really can't say I don't like them because I've never been to one," he says, staring out at the dirt track. "That's a lot of dirt. Wonder how they get rid of it when it's over."
"Wait, so you're the one who got me the ticket?"
"You said you wanted to go."
"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to get me a ticket. How did you even get these? Front row would've sold out months ago."
"I have connections. But I wasn't able to get you into the VIP pre-party. I tried to get tickets but they're really strict about how many people they let in." He smiles. "I got you something else instead. I think you'll like it."
I stare at him, completely confused. "I don't get it."
"What?"
"You sent me the package? With the t-shirt and ticket? And paid for the car?"
"Yeah. Why?" His eyes lower to my chest. "The shirt looks great on you. You like it?"
"I love it! I'm going to wear it all the time."
"I got you two other ones because I couldn't decide when I was placing the order. Then when they came in the mail I decided I liked this one best."
"I don't understand what's going on here."
"What's there to understand?" He turns and faces the track.
"That package said it's from my secret admirer."
I wait for him to answer. He doesn't.
"Cal, what does that mean? Was that supposed to be a joke? Because after what happened with Jared, it's not funny. Making me think I have a secret admirer when I really don't? That's not funny. It's mean."
"You do."
"Do what?"
"Have a secret admirer."
"Who?"
"Seriously, Birdie?" He chuckles. "Think about it."
"What? What are you—" I stop as my brain figures it out.
Cal. He sent me the package. He's the secret admirer? No way.
"It's a joke, right?" I say.
"Wasn't meant to be," he says, still staring at the track.
"But that would mean..." I watch as he turns to face me.
Kinda Hate You: An Enemies to Lovers College Romance Page 25
