He turns around when he realizes I’m not walking with him. “Are you okay?” He moves toward me with his eyebrows knit together. “You’re shaking! Are you cold?” He puts his hands on my arms and rubs them, despite the warm weather. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head. This is so not the place to talk about it. “Let’s go.”
When we’re sitting in his car with the air conditioning blasting, Rafael turns to me. “What happened back there? You looked more scared than you did in the haunted house.”
I hesitate, but only for a moment. My mom isn’t here to hijack my story and make it about her. Poppy’s not here to guilt me into silence. It’s just me and Rafael in this car, and the story comes out with surprising ease. I’ve never talked about this with anyone before, but the longer I talk, the more I have to say.
One of my favorite things about Rafael is how well he listens. He doesn’t make a single joke the entire time, and he ignores every alert from his phone. I tell him every detail; the woman calling Poppy’s name, me pulling Poppy out of the van, and bony but strong fingers latching around my wrists.
Rafael’s hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach out to me. Instead he runs them over his face. “I get it now.”
“Get what?” I wipe my tears and come away with mascara-streaked fingers.
“You. Your animosity toward the internet. The way you get uncomfortable when strangers talk to you. The way you seem lighter, more relaxed, when no one is around.” He shakes his head and then he looks at me. “I wish I could say something more helpful, but man . . .” he rakes a hand through his hair. “People suck. Including your mom, no offense, for keeping you on the internet. I’m so sorry.” His eyes lock on mine.
The sincerity of his words settles on me like a blanket. No one has ever said that before. If my mom said it in the days and weeks following the incident, I don’t remember. With the exception of the interview with Lena, we haven’t talked about it in years.
“It helps more than you realize.”
I no longer feel like crying, not when I’m in a dark car with Rafael. It’d be easy lose myself in his ready smile and devastating hair, if I wanted to. And I want to.
My past is a lie. Things at home are a mess. The future I planned for myself is slipping away. But right now, all I want is to be closer to the boy who makes me feel light, even with all of the darkness.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest, louder than the bass from a nearby pickup. I shift my body toward him. Inch by inch, he mirrors my movements, until we’re both leaning over the center consol.
Rafael touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. Our noses touch, both of them cold from the air conditioning. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and I can’t wait another second. I lean into him and close the gap between us.
In the second before my lips meet his, he jerks back.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” My face heats beneath the icy cold blast of air coming from the dashboard. Forget the too-small dress at Fashion week. Forget the viral video. This is the most humiliating moment of my life.
I open my purse and dig around frantically for tissues to dry my face. While I awkwardly fumble around in the passenger seat, Rafael doesn’t say a word. When the mascara situation is under control, I look at him again. He leans against the headrest with his eyes closed. There’s a look of pain on his face.
“Um, Rafael?” My voice is almost a whisper. He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and turns to me. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have . . . I shouldn’t have gotten so close. I’m sorry. I just don’t want either of us to do something we’ll regret.”
Oh.
I have no idea what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. If there’s one thing about Rafael I can count on, it’s his ability to surprise me every time.
Comments on Our Top Five Trends For Fall VLOG
Madi 3 days ago
Ok but you guys are literal sister goals I’m obsessed
Lisa 3 days ago
omg I have that sweater I’m famous
Kiera 3 days ago
you both are sooooo beautiful I want your life
Charli 3 days ago
what’s your intro song?
Natalie 3 days ago
Hi Claire and Poppy I just found your channel last week and I have to say that you two are so pretty and inspiring and I want to be just like you!
Lindsay 3 days ago
What size are those jeans? And how tall are you and how much do you weigh thanks so much
Krystal 3 days ago
When are you going to do another fan meet up in AZ?!?!
Bianca 3 days ago
Damn you two SLAY. GOALS.
Nadia 3 days ago
Your life is literally perfect.
As it turns out, being good with web design and coding isn’t much help when it comes to finding my birth mom. My internet searches don’t turn up anything helpful, because it seems like approximately half the girls who went to school with my mom were named Brittany. I don’t go to school with any girls named Brittany, but there’s a Bryttannie. I don’t know which is worse. I spend the rest of the week scanning social media sites and profiles for anything relevant but it’s no use. Without a last name, I have no idea what or who I’m looking for.
Mom would know. But even if I asked, she wouldn’t help me. If she wanted me to have a relationship with my birth mother, she wouldn’t have smothered the truth under thousands upon thousands of disingenuous words about our perfect life. No, this is something I have to do on my own.
What I really need is proof that I’m adopted. Once I get my hands on my birth certificate or adoption papers, I should be able to find my mom’s full name. If this were a Lifetime movie, I’d probably go to the hospital where I was born and find the nurse who was in the room when I was delivered. She’d be old and wise and she would cry with me while she told me the story of my birth and how much I look like my real mother. And, okay, my life may be as staged and fake as they come, but in a boring way, not in a Lifetime movie way.
If my life were a Disney movie, I’d be Claire, Regular Girl by day and Claire, Computer Hacker by night. I’d hack into the hospital database and find all the information I need while wearing a hoodie and black fingernail polish. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I totally watched twenty minutes of an hour-long video called “Introduction to Hacking” before I realized that I don’t have the necessary skills to pull that off.
Nor do I have the skills required to be a normal human being around Rafael. We have an unspoken agreement to pretend the almost-kiss this weekend never happened, but we both try so hard to make things friendly and normal that the results are almost painful. He forces himself to joke around with me at lunch, and I force myself to laugh. Poppy and Olivia exchange glances. Under normal circumstances, Poppy would corner me and demand to know what is going on. Because she’s still mad at me, she rolls her eyes and talks to Olivia instead.
Contrary to prevailing opinion, my life is not super fun and perfect all the time.
Just when I think things can’t get worse, Olivia invites Rafael to a Halloween party. Poppy has been talking about her sexy strawberry costume for weeks. When I pointed out that strawberries aren’t a particularly attractive fruit, she told me I don’t “understand Halloween” and huffed away, red platform boots in hand.
Rafael hesitates when Olivia invites him and looks at me. “Are you going?”
“I don’t know.” I wasn’t actually invited to the party this year, and I raise my eyebrows at Poppy to see if she plans to confirm this fact.
“Claire has a thing against teenage Halloween. Sexy fruit offends her,” she says.
Rafael looks amused. “Me too. Last night, my dad served bananas with dinner . . . totally inappropriate.” He shakes his head.
I burst out laughing. Poppy glares at m
e and flips her hair over her shoulder. The gesture is so over-the-top “mean girl” that I start laughing again.
“I think I’ll skip the party this year,” I tell Rafael. The truth is, I don’t want to go. Last year’s party was just an endless stream of look-how-cute-my-costume-is selfies.
Yawn.
I’d rather have actual fun than spend hours posing for pictures that only make it look like I’m having fun. But it still hurts that Poppy is so obviously excluding me, because we’ve always been together on Halloween.
“Yeah, I’m not sure ‘High School Party’ is really my scene,” Rafael says.
“Oh, come on. You don’t want to just sit at home alone all night, do you?” Olivia puts her hand on his arm and bats her eyelashes. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Apparently, Poppy is not the only one taking notes from high school movies.
Rafael moves his arm away. “I’ll hang with Claire. I hear she’s the real Halloween aficionado.” He flashes me a genuine smile for the first time since Saturday and my heart races. He’s giving me another chance to be his friend, and I’m determined not to screw it up this time.
“Well, if that gets boring,” Olivia shoots me a look, “you can always change your mind.”
“Wait up!” Olivia runs up the stairs to catch up with me that afternoon. After her stunning display of friendship at lunch, I decided to skip our usual meeting at the drinking fountain and go straight to class. Clearly, she’s not going to let me off that easily. Both her blonde pigtails and her sundress swing side to side as she hurries up the steps.
She falls into step next to me when we reach the top of the stairs. I resist the temptation to blow her off. This is just the way it is in high school. We’re still supposed to be friendly to each other even though she was completely rude to me at lunch.
“You weren’t at the drinking fountains today.” It sounds like an accusation. So maybe we’re not acting like friends anymore.
“Nope.”
“What’s the deal with you and Rafael?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you like him? Or are you with Jackson?” She speaks slowly, like she’s talking to a child. Poppy must have told her that Jackson and I are together, and I’ll look like an idiot if I admit I was lying.
“Oh. Um, yeah.”
“Yeah what?”
“What was the question again?” I check my phone for the time, hoping for the warning bell.
“Are. You. With. Jackson?”
“Yes.” When I say this, her grimace turns into a sweet smile.
“Well then, you won’t mind if I invite Rafael to the party again.” Olivia pulls her phone out of her bag and walks away without another word.
“Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a bitch?” I call after her.
She whips around and surveys me with a frown. “At least I’m the same bitch online as I am in real life,” she accuses.
“I’m always the same person.”
“If that were true, would we be having this conversation?” She gives me a pointed look before leaving again. This time, I let her go.
“You wore a costume!”
Rafael is standing on my doorstep in blue scrubs and a surgical cap. I’m fairly certain entire television franchises have been built around the idea that men look irresistible in scrubs. Rafael is no exception. I don’t know what Olivia said to him, but I’m thrilled it wasn’t enough to change his mind about the party.
“It’s Halloween! I had to.” He steps inside and I realize with a jolt that we’re alone. After taking pictures of us in our costumes, Mom left for Cami’s house and Poppy left for Olivia’s. I grab the door handle just for something to do with my hands.
“I still can’t believe you wore a costume!” I say, hoping my makeup will cover my flushed cheeks. Experience has taught me that Poppy, Olivia, and all the other girls at tonight’s party will be costumed head to toe, with fully coordinated makeup and accessories, while the boys will point to their ball caps and claim to be dressed as baseball players.
Rafael shrugs. “I thought you would ostracize me if I didn’t.” He smiles with half of his mouth and shrugs his shoulder again, as if he doesn’t know what else to say.
“Do you get it?” I gesture to my costume. I’m wearing a black dress with a large white spider sewed to the front and black fishnet stockings. Fake spiderwebs are strung through my hair, and when I raise my arms, webs fan out like wings. I’ve had it planned for weeks, and I hope he understands the reference. There’s nothing worse than spending Halloween fielding endless questions about what you are. “It’s a pun,” I add, suddenly self-conscious.
“Don’t tell me,” he says. “Okay, spider, obviously.” I raise my eyebrows as he continues. “But no! Okay, um . . . spiderweb . . . black widow . . . cobweb, something . . .” He trails off and looks at me sheepishly. “I’m useless.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, and it’s so cute, I’m almost grateful he didn’t get it.
“Web designer.”
What he lacks in ability to guess my costume, he more than makes up for with his enthusiastic grin. “You look great! Really.” Our eyes meet and monstrous butterflies come to nest in my stomach.
Rafael clears his throat. “What’s the plan for tonight? I’m expecting big things from Miss Halloween herself.”
“Well, I don’t want to overwhelm you with my genius . . . but I thought we’d pass out candy.”
“Sounds wild.” His voice is low and teasing and completely devastating.
“I’m just getting started. We can even bring the fire pit out to the driveway, and then, if we’re feeling adventurous, we can walk around the neighborhood.”
“Whoa. Mind blown.”
He helps me drag the fire pit to the driveway and light a fire. It’s warm enough outside that we don’t need it, but my parents used to sit around the fire every Halloween when I was little. We wave to my neighbors, many of whom have gathered together on camping chairs around their own fires. With a stroke of brilliance, Rafael starts melting mini candy bars, and I run inside for graham crackers and marshmallows. We take turns inventing new s’mores combinations. As I take a bite of a peanut butter cup s’more with a deliciously roasted and gooey marshmallow, I think about Poppy and Olivia at a party surrounded by loud music and beer pong.
“Sorry if this is lame in comparison to a big party.” I unwrap another graham cracker and pass half to him.
His fingers brush against mine as he grabs the cracker. A flame surges through my body.
“It’s not lame. I kind of love how much you love this holiday.”
Love. My head spins as my cheeks redden underneath the eyeliner web spanning my cheek.
The dark and the stars and the heat from the fire break down my inhibitions enough to try to get some answers. “Olivia will be disappointed.” I watch him over the flickering embers, trying to gauge his reaction.
He shakes his head. “I have a feeling she’ll recover. Besides, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” His smoky eyes rival the fire.
My fingers fumble with a marshmallow as I thread it on a roasting stick. I thrust it directly into the flames and set it ablaze. I have no patience for a slow burn.
If Rafael doesn’t want to kiss me, why does he say things like that? And why is he here with me instead hanging out with any of the other amazing girls at school?
“Tell me about the other girls.”
“What do you mean?” He frowns.
“Did you have a girlfriend in India? Or Mexico? Or Turkey?”
“Not officially. But yeah, there were a few girls I hung out with.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Not at the same time! Why are you asking about this?”
I pull the marshmallow out, and blow out the flames before grabbing the charred mess with my fingers.
“Ow!” The sticky goo burns my skin.
Rafael grimaces. “Did you
get burned?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure yet.”
The Five Kinds of Halloween Pictures You See on Social Media
The “I Spent Two Hours on This Makeup, Please Appreciate” selfie
The “Take This Blatantly Unsexy Object and Make It a Sexy Costume” selfie
The “Girl Group Costume” picture
The “I’m Too Cool for This, but I’m Here Anyway” selfie
The “Couples Costume” picture—the Holy Grail of social media
The morning after Halloween, I run out of toothpaste, which is how I find myself in Poppy’s room for the first time in weeks. To be perfectly honest, I consider not brushing my teeth, but there are some lines I won’t cross. Oral hygiene is one of those lines.
“You could knock next time,” Poppy says from her position sitting cross-legged on the bathroom counter, where she’s applying mascara with her mouth open. The same way I do it. The same way our mom does it. I push the thought from my mind.
The same way her mom does it.
She doesn’t look at me. The last few weeks have been tense. She won’t come right out and say she’s mad, but it’s obvious.
“We should talk.” I didn’t plan on saying that, but now that I have, I decide to go with it. I’m sick of fighting with her.
“About what?” She switches the mascara wand to the other hand.
“About what I read in Mom’s journal.” This is the first time I’ve broached the subject since our first and last conversation about it.
Poppy freezes for a second. She quickly starts back up with the mascara again, but I can see a shake in her usually steady hand. “Crap.” She picks up a Q-tip, runs it under the tap, and wipes off a black smudge underneath her eye. “Whatever. I told you I don’t care,” she says to the mirror.
“Honestly? That’s all you have to say to me right now?”
Just for Clicks Page 17
