The Opposite of Ordinary

by Jessica Sorensen

  Hesitating, he nods. “My mom’s told me a little bit.”

  What in the …?

  “How does your mom know?”

  He shrugs. “She talks to your mom.”

  “Really?” This is news to me. “Since when?”

  “Since you guys moved in here. Sometimes she comes over on Friday nights after my mom gets off work, and they drink wine and talk. I think it’s her way of taking a few hours off from the stress. That’s what I’ve heard her tell my mom, anyway.”

  How did I not know about this? Probably because I’ve been so self-involved.

  God, I suck.

  “I like that she does,” he continues. “My mom’s been lonely since my dad took off, and she usually makes me stay home and watch soap operas and talk show reruns she DVR’d. But since your mom started coming over, I haven’t had to do that so much.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard at his pained expression. “I didn’t know your dad took off. When did that happen?”

  He frees an unsteady breath while flexing his hand.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly, feeling like a jerk for asking. “That’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s okay. It was a long time ago, back when I was in fifth grade. He just up and left one day while I was at school. My mom said it was because he had issues he needed to deal with, but I heard him arguing all the time about how he hated his life and being a dad and a husband.” A loud breath puffs from his lips as he looks up at me. “Your question just threw me off. It’s been a long time since someone asked me about him, or since I thought about him.”

  “I’m sorry for making you think about him. I shouldn’t be so nosey. And I’m sorry your dad sucks. You deserve so much better than that.” And it makes me really appreciate my own dad, who’s done nothing but take care of Lucky and me, and how he shows us how much he loves us.

  “It’s fine. It was a long time ago, and I’ve kind of moved past it at this point,” he says with a shrug. “And you weren’t being nosey. Friends ask friends questions about their life, right?”

  “I guess so.” Queeny never did, though. Well, not out of concern.

  No, I’m pretty sure the only time she poked her nose in my business was to get dirt on me. Dirt she collected, jarred up, and waited for the right moment to dump out, and I need to stop her before she does. This isn’t just about stopping her anymore, though. It’s about clearing up my name and getting the viper to stop trying to bite my family.

  And I might have an idea how to do that.

  I rest back on my hands and stretch out my legs. “So, totally off the subject, but how smart are you?”

  “I don’t know … Why? Are you looking for someone to do your homework? Because, as your friend, I can only offer to tutor you.”

  “Actually, I’m acing all of my classes.” I grin at him sweetly. “Don’t let this pretty face fool you.” I tap the side of my head with my fingertips. “There isn’t just air inside here.”

  His smile is so genuine my heart skips a beat. “I know that, Ash. I was just teasing you.”

  “See? Super smart.” I gently bump his knee with mine. “But I really need to know just how smart you are.”

  “That all depends on why you’re asking. I’m good with numbers and formulas and putting stuff together, but if you’re asking me to write you a story or a poem, I’m not your guy.”

  “What about computers? How good are you with those?”

  “I’m okay, but Clove’s the computer genius of our group.”

  “Really?” I muse. “Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed that about him. Honestly, he seems like … I don’t know, a video game, music, movie junkie kind of guy.”

  “Well, he’s that, too.” He brushes strands of hair out of his eyes. “But he is smart, no matter how stupid he comes off when he’s stoned.”

  I drum my finger against my lips. “So, what do you think my odds are of convincing him to do me a favor?”

  “Honestly, I’m sure all you’d have to do is bat your eyelashes at him, and he’d do you whatever you asked.”

  “Really? After only talking to me for a few days?”

  “I don’t know why you sound so surprised. You’re Ashlynn Wynterland.” A flush creeps up across his face. “You could probably get any guy to do anything for you if you really wanted.”

  “That’s not true,” I tell him, feeling self-conscious. “Even three days ago, when I was … Well, when I was still friends with Queeny, not every guy fell at my feet.”

  He appears unconvinced. “Still, you were pretty good at getting your way.”

  “Yeah, I was.” I’m not sure if his words were meant as a compliment or not, but I feel very ashamed of every time I manipulated someone into doing something for me.

  I wasn’t always that way, not until Queeny and I became friends and she spent an entire day giving me a lesson on how to convince people that my way was the only way.

  “All you have to do is bat your eyelashes and flirt a little bit, and guys will do whatever you want,” she told me as we sat at the edge of the football field, watching the game.

  “That sounds manipulative,” I said. “And I doubt all guys will fall for that.”

  “You don’t think so?” A challenge gleamed in her eyes as she rose to her feet. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you.”

  I opened my mouth to retract my statement, hating when she proved things because usually someone got emotionally hurt. But she walked away before I could say anything, her gaze zeroed in on the water boy standing on the sidelines.

  Fifteen minutes later, she had convinced him to ditch the game and let her drive his new BMW, even though she didn’t even have her learner’s permit. And ten minutes into the drive, she crashed the car into a stop sign.

  The guy took the fall completely, too.

  Regardless of what Queeny says, some guys have wanted nothing to do with her. Maxon and Clove being two of them, which is why Queeny has gone out of her way to try to make their lives miserable, tormenting them with nicknames, spreading rumors, and sabotaging their projects. All because they wouldn’t do what she wanted.

  I don’t want to be like her anymore. I wish I never wanted to be like her at all.

  “You know what,” I announce, squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to ask Clove nicely for a favor without batting my eyelashes or using any other tricks Queeny taught me. And if he says no, I’ll accept his answer without pressuring him.”

  Maxon lifts his brows. “Good luck with that.”

  I lightly bump my shoulder into his. “What? You don’t think I can do it?”

  He gives me a look like I’m being silly and naive. “I think you’ll try to do it, and you’ll think you succeeded, but you’ll end up doing it, anyway.”

  I pout. “Am I really that awful?”

  He hastily shakes his head. “I don’t think you get what I’m saying … Or maybe I’m not explaining it right.” He yanks his fingers through his hair, letting out a nervous exhale. “Okay, so here’s the thing … You have this sort of way about you, like this buzzing, bright energy that I don’t think you mean to give off, but you do, and it’s really hard not to want to be a part of. Or say no to.”

  I have no idea how to react to what he said, if I should be happy or depressed.

  “You’re making me sound like one of those bug zappers that lure moths in, and then zaps them dead.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He straightens his shoulders, turning toward me, his knee pressing into the side of my leg. “Okay, so you’re like a butterfly … Like a blue morpho, which is like this really rare butterfly that attracts collectors and artists because they’re really beautiful … and rare and draw in people with their beauty and rarity …” He looks away, rolling his eyes at himself. “Okay, now I’m just rambling.”

  I give him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I like your ramblings.”

  “You might think so,” he grumbles, “but I know a lot of people who disagree with
you.”

  “Well, screw those people. They’re obviously not cool.” I reach for my phone to type in the name of the butterfly he mentioned. When photos pop up, I can’t help grinning like a dork. “It’s really pretty.” I peer up and find him watching me intensely. “The butterfly you mentioned”—I show him the screen—“it’s pretty. Have you ever seen one in real life?”

  He shakes his head. “They mostly live in the rainforest.”

  “That’s such a bummer.” I stare at the photo on my screen. “I can see why artists would want to paint them.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingers on me for a beat or two longer. He seems peculiarly perplexed about something. Then he rubs his lips together with confliction in his eyes. “Ash, do you ever think—”

  My bedroom door swings open, and my mom sticks her head inside.

  “Ash, I thought you were going to help me with my inventory …” Her eyes enlarge at the mess on the floor. “What in the hell …?” Surprise flickers across her expression but dims when her gaze finds Maxon. “Maxon? Well, this is a nice surprise.” A huge smile takes over her face. “A really, really nice surprise.”

  I have no clue what she’s thinking, but I’m guessing she’s assuming he’s my boyfriend. What’s surprising is how positively thrilled she seems about it, even after she caught me in my room with him and with the door shut. Whenever that happened with Knox, she got mad and told him to go home.

  “Good. That’s what I was aiming for,” I joke, gesturing exaggeratedly at Maxon. “Surprise, Mom. Happy birthday, seven months early.”

  “Oh, honey, you have no idea.” She backs out of the room with a goofy smile on her face. “I’ll get started on the inventory. You two kids have fun.” Then she leaves, closing the door behind her.

  I gape at Maxon. “Wow, she closed the door. She must really like you.”

  He shrugs with a sheepish smile. “What can I say? I know how to win over middle-aged women.”

  I eye him over suspiciously. “And how exactly do you do that?”

  “By opening their wine bottles.” He rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. “You’d be surprised how much the two of them struggle with the corkscrew by the time they get to the second bottle.”

  I try not to stare as his shirt rides up. It should be easy since I’ve seen his abs before, many, many times, but I do sneak a peek or two, or four, or seven. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. At least, I hope he doesn’t.

  “I should get going,” he says, lowering his arms to his sides. “My mom will be home soon, and I need to get dinner started.”

  My lips part in shock as I push to my feet. “You cook?”

  He nods. “Sometimes.”

  “Me, too,” I say, opening my bedroom door for him. “But I can’t do anything fancy. Frozen pizzas, macaroni—anything that comes in a box, really.”

  “You should come over and eat at my house sometime,” he tells me, stepping out into the hallway.

  “Why?” I start to get excited. “Can you fancy cook?”

  He nods, backing down the hallway. “But that’s not even the best part.”

  I follow him into the kitchen. “What’s the best part, then?”

  He crosses the kitchen and opens the front door. “I guess you’ll just have to come over and find out.”

  I point a finger at him, ignoring the creepy weirdo smiling at us from near the stove—aka my mom. “I’m intrigued, Maxon, and I’ll for sure be coming over. It’s your fault if you can’t get me to leave. I’m like a dog when it comes to good food, and once you feed me, you can never get rid of me.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He steps outside onto the porch. “See you tomorrow, Ash.” He leans back in and smiles at my mom. “And see you on Friday, Mrs. Wynterland.”

  She waves giddily at him, totally smitten. “Absolutely.”

  When he closes the door, I spin toward her with my arms crossed. “If you want, I can give you his number.” Then I realize I don’t even have his number, and I never asked him why he wasn’t at school today!

  God! Am I that self-absorbed?

  My mom gives me an unamused look. “That’s not funny, Ashlynn.”

  I cross the kitchen and pick up a box from off the counter. “No, what’s funny is how excited you got when you saw him in my bedroom.” I set the box down on the floor and sit down beside her. “Whenever Knox and I were in my room with the door shut, you freaked out.”

  She skims over the list in her hand. “That’s because I had to worry about you and Knox being in a bedroom alone.”

  I tear a strip of tape off the top of the box. “And you don’t worry about Maxon and me being in a bedroom alone?”

  She shakes her head. “Maxon’s a good guy.”

  “So, you’re saying Knox isn’t a good guy?” Why am I asking her this? He isn’t. I know this.

  She chews on the end of a pen. “I’m not saying he’s a terrible guy. He just … I don’t know. Some of the stuff he said never sat well with me.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Not wanting to talk about Knox anymore, I change the subject. “You should know, though, that Maxon and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends.”

  “Okay.” She sounds too doubtful.

  “I’m being serious.” I remove a couple of bags of herbs from the box, the smell making me gag. “We’ve been friends for, like, a day. And he doesn’t see me that way.”

  “Okay.” Again, she seems disbelieving.

  “If you knew our history, you’d believe me,” I try to convince her again.

  “Okay.” She jots something down on the list.

  I grow frustrated. “Stop doing that.”

  She peers up at me. “Stop doing what?”

  I set the bags of herbs down on the floor. “Saying okay.”

  “Fine.” She directs her attention back to the list, leaving me to stew in the maddening silence.

  “Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?” Why can’t I just let this go? “And why would you think that when you think I’m dating Knox? You think I’d have two boyfriends?”

  “No.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “I do believe you, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t hope.”

  “Hope for what?”

  “That maybe this Maxon friendship thing will work out and become more.”

  “You mean, I’ll get new friends and a new boyfriend?”

  She nods, tucking the pen behind her ear. “I’m sorry if that makes you mad, but I’ve never liked your friends very much. Or Knox. I’ve always kind of wished that maybe you’d find some new friends, and maybe a good boyfriend who treated you better and who didn’t make you act so different from the girl who spends time in her room, reading and listening to her oldies music.”

  “They never made me act differently—I chose to.” I reach into the box, avoiding eye contact with her. “And they don’t treat me that badly.” What a lie. I can’t tell her the truth, though.

  “Then why did you look so upset this morning?” Her tone is accusing. When I don’t answer, she sighs. “Even though you refuse to tell me what’s wrong, I know something’s going on with you. And I’m guessing it has to do with Queeny since all of the photos of you and her and all of her clothes are hacked up to pieces in your bedroom.” She puts the list down on top of the box and grabs the pen to jot a note down. “Don’t worry; I won’t ask you about it. Or ask why you’re hanging out with Maxon and not your boyfriend. Or why you’re dressing differently. I won’t ask you those things, but just know that when you’re ready to talk about whatever you’re going through, I’m here to listen.”

  Damn my mom and her reverse psychology crap. Now I want to confess everything to her. I can’t worry her like that, though. No, I need to take care of my problems on my own. That doesn’t mean I can’t tell her something. Perhaps something that will alleviate some of her stress.

  “Knox and I broke up,” I divulge as I pile more bags of herbs onto the floor.

/>   She looks up from her list with only a hint of surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “A couple of days ago.” I search her eyes and frown. “You don’t seem that shocked.”

  “That’s because I’m not.” She places the list and pen aside then stands up to get a large box off the countertop. “If you were dating Knox, I doubt you’d be sitting in your room with Maxon and with the door shut.”

  “We were just talking.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then why would it matter if I was still dating Knox?”

  She grunts as she picks up the box. “It wouldn’t matter to me, but Knox seems like he’d get upset.” She crouches down and drops the box onto the floor. “Also—and please don’t take this the wrong way—but if you were dating Knox, you wouldn’t have been in your room with Maxon.”

  I force down the lump wedged in my throat as I reach for the list she put on the floor. “Because I’m a snob?”

  She shakes her head. “You’re not a snob, sweetie. Not at heart, anyway.”

  She’s attempting to make me feel better without having to lie.

  I feel like shit.

  Even my mom thinks I’m terrible.

  “Well, I’m working on fixing that.” I push to my feet. “I need to go talk to Lucky. I’ll be right back.”

  I quickly leave the kitchen and rush down the hallway before she tries to play a game of twenty questions with me. When I reach my brother’s door, I summon a deep breath and knock. After half a second goes by and he doesn’t answer, I rap my knuckles on the door again, a little harder. I hear a bang from the other side, and then some cursing, followed by a giggle. Realizing he isn’t in there alone, I start to back away, but the door opens before I get very far.

  “What’s up?” he asks, sounding breathless. His hair is also ruffled, and his shirt is on inside out.

  I slant to the side and peer into his room. Gabby is sitting on his bed, wearing the shirt she told me she was wearing when my brother first kissed her, and the textbook she’s holding is upside down. She waves at me and offers a tentative smile, her cheeks flushing.