by Rachel Kiss
“Um, well, could you drive me to the shuttle? I’m going to be cutting it close—and finding a parking spot there is like, an hour long process”—he grins slightly at that, since he’d been there for my dad’s and Beth’s hour long conversation about it. I go on sort of desperate-ish, “If you could just drop me off at the front of the building, then there wouldn’t be a need to hunt for a parking spot.”
The shuttle terminal is only about ten minutes away, so I don’t feel too hesitant or guilty asking. I mean, he offered to take me to the airport—that’s two hours away. So …
“Sure, I’ll take you,” he says, “but you’re going to need to hurry.”
I know this. I really do. But I need him to leave so I can throw off my covers and scramble around like a mad woman—but I can’t do that with him watching. Especially because I’m just wearing a tee-shirt. No pajama bottoms. Just the shirt. So … awkward.
“K,” I tell him. “I’ll hurry.”
A grin hovers on his lips, “You want me to leave?”
Ugh! He knows I do.
I raise my eyebrows. “Yes.”
He gives me the tiniest glance, like he’s wondering what I’m wearing under the covers. He grins slightly though, like he gets I have no pants on—and he thinks it’s hilarious that I’m embarrassed about it. So embarrassed I might miss the shuttle.
But hey, he was the one acting weird about it yesterday. He seems to be over that. Like, completely.
“Okay, hurry,” he says, then shuts the door.
CHAPTER 24
We get to the shuttle building just as the shuttle is pulling away.
Noah cocks his head at me with an amused grin, “So, the airport?”
“Yes, please,” I tell him more grateful than he will ever know. I mean, it’s two hours away! And he has hockey practice. I know he’s going to miss it, yet he doesn’t even mention it.
I know I said I didn’t want a brother, but right now I love him for being one. I could actually cry.
CHAPTER 25
We’re stuck in traffic. There’s been tons of it. We’re getting scarily close to my flight time. What I mean is—I might actually miss my flight. It has me squirming in my seat.
Noah notices.
“I know a quicker way.” He suddenly juts into the lane next to the turning lane, obviously planning to turn when the lights lets that lane turn. But our lane—the one we’re in—to go straight—now has a green light. The cars behind us wait patiently—for a bit. Then they start honking. Loudly. Noah edges closer to the turning lane, giving people room to go around him—if they are brave enough drivers.
I’d be freaking out if I were him. I can’t stand people honking at me. “You’re making people mad.”
He seems unperturbed. “They can go around.” Then he grins with a shrug, “—when it’s safe for them to do so.”
Only, it’s not really safe for them to do so.
“They’re really mad, Noah.”
He grins, “What are they going to do? Beat me up? I’ll beat the crap out of them—” he grins slightly, “I’d enjoy beating the crap out of them.”
Okay, so he has a different mentality than me. He’s very much less stressed than me. But then again, I can’t beat the crap out of people. (Though sometimes I’d really like to.) (Read: Bianca.)
It’s getting harder and harder to hate him. Ugh! I don’t hate him. At all. In fact, I want to throw my arms around him and thank him—for everything. The lasagna, the fake date, the ride. Everything. But his mom ruined my mom’s life. I feel like a traitor for not hating him. I need to hate him—for mom.
I get a call. I grimace when I see it’s from my dad. He asks, “Did you make it to the airport hassle-free?”
That’s how he talked me into the shuttle, rather than him driving me to the airport—you know, like an actual dad. He said the airport shuttle is ‘hassle-free.’
“Um, I missed the shuttle,” I tell him hesitantly, knowing I’m in for a lecture.
He starts to give me one—loudly.
I interrupt him, super loud myself, and close to tears, “—well, maybe if you were ever around!”
Noah takes my phone from me. Right out of my hands while my dad is still yelling at me. Noah makes fake static noises in the mouthpiece, then hangs up.
He hands me back my phone, then says, “You and your dad should try having an actual conversation someday—but not while you’re upset. He seems to make you more upset. You don’t need the hassle right now.”
Right. I guess he could tell I was tense—what with my shouting. And being close to tears. My dad is very loud and hurtful with his lectures. Maybe Noah is aware of that. Or maybe he could just read my reaction.
In any case, I’m once again grateful to him.
Maybe having a ‘brother’ is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Only, well … I have an enormous crush on my brother. Sigh.
CHAPTER 26
At the airport, Noah teased me—as usual. His lips quirked, “Try not to miss me too much.”
I sighed. Yeah, good luck with that, Peyton.
CHAPTER 27
Mom is late picking me up at the airport. I mean, obscenely late.
“Sorry honey,” she gushes all rushed and hassled-like when she finally shows up. She grabs my suitcase. “I was working on a new inspiration and the time just flew.” She sighs, “I’m sorry. I just … got lost in my work.”
She’s always getting ‘lost in her work.’ And she never wants to leave it. She may be mad that dad left us, but she’s not really sorry. She’s not. She’s doing what she loves. And she loves it more than being a mom. I’m not being bitter. Well, maybe I am. A little. But mostly, I’m just opening my eyes and facing facts. Really—(though she’d never admit it)—she’s glad that I’m gone. That she got rid of the “distraction.”
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom. I do. But, though she may win awards for her art, she’s not going to win any for being a mom. Well anyway, not “Mother of The Year.” Not by a long shot.
When we get home, Mom says, “I went grocery shopping yesterday. I bought all kinds of food. I was going to make you a huge, glorious welcome home meal. I still can. What do you feel like having?”
I can tell she’s itching to get back to her latest ‘masterpiece.’ I can see it in her studio from here. She had to drop everything and run. Get me from the airport right in the middle of her ‘inspiration.’
“I’ll order a pizza,” I tell her. “I’ll unpack and you can finish your work while we’re waiting for it.”
“Perfect!” She hugs me happily. “I just really need to get it to a better spot while the inspiration is still flowing through me.”
She hugs me even tighter as I start to head upstairs. “I’m so glad you’re here”—the hug goes even tighter—“I’ve missed you so much.”
Up in my room, I unpack—slightly—then log-on to my blog. This is where I started it. Here, in this room. It was mostly just for myself. I mean, I would get random comments on my posts sometimes. But there was only one person whose comments weren’t random. The comments made me smile….
Just thinking back to how I used to feel getting those comments actually makes me smile now. Dear, sweet IDespiseSonny123, my one and only follower. Suddenly, his posts are dear to my heart. Maybe because I’m back here—where my blog had first started. It makes the memories run through me.
Logging on to my blog now, I see that he posted a comment right after I had logged-out at my dad’s house. The day he had cutely accused me of singing Sonny songs in the shower. The day I didn’t wait for his reply because I’d been strangely (stupidly) creeped out—by him. My one and only follower. And—at one time—my one and only friend. Or anyway, that’s the way it had felt.
That day—the day I went cuckoo and quickly logged-out—he had sent me a question when I didn’t reply. It says: ‘Did I say something wrong?—make you mad?’
That was right after I logged off that night.
/> Later, he sent one other message: ‘Hello?’
I feel bad now that I didn’t reply. Or even check to see if he had.
My life has changed so much since when he first started following me. But maybe his life hasn’t changed at all. I mean, for years now he has followed a person who hardly ever blogs. A person he doesn’t even know. He must be lonely. And probably fat and pimply and greasy … but his posts had always cheered me up and made me smile. He had been my friend when I had no friends. When I was lonely—just like he must still be, even now. My situation changed. His apparently didn’t.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘No. I’m not mad at you, of course. You’re a friend. Really. I’m sorry I didn’t write back sooner. How are you?’
I wait for a reply. But I don’t get one, of course. We never correspond in real time. Well, not except that one time—and that had freaked me out. So, it’s obviously better this way—not so … ??? I don’t know. Intimate?
Whatever.
I log-off.
CHAPTER 28
My short stay with my mom? What can I say? We had a nice visit, but I could tell she was eager to get fully back to her work. She’d been able to see I was fine—that was all she really needed.
Truthfully, I’d spent a lot of my time there thinking about Noah. About his kiss. And our upcoming fake date. And about how sweet he is. And how he makes me laugh.
Yeah, I missed Noah.
But I also stressed about him. Agonized about him. After all, he only saw me as a sister, and although I was so totally looking forward to our fake date (to an embarrassing degree) it was still, alas, a fake date.
Not only that—my kiss had been ‘uneventful’ to him. And seeing me in my underwear had made him shudder. Or anyway, totally uncomfortable.
So, yeah … obviously he sees me only as a sister.
Absolutely nothing more.
Sigh.
CHAPTER 29
When I get home from the airport, Beth and my dad try talking me into going to a restaurant. For a ‘family dinner.’ These ‘dinners’ are charades. They only happen when my dad and Beth feel I might be dwelling fondly on my mom—or dwelling on the reason I’m here—their mean weapon against her. The dinners are fake.
I don’t do fake.
“I’m not hungry. I’m tired,” I tell them. “I’m going to my room.”
Beth kind of growls, “No, you’re not. It’s a ‘family’ dinner.”
I freeze. “Beth—you ripped apart my family.”
Then I go upstairs.
In the hallway, Noah is leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for me. He says, “Look, I don’t want to talk bad about your dad—”
“No, you totally can.”
He grins, “Well, I’m not going to. But just know this is not all my mom’s fault—them getting together, I mean.”
I can’t really hold it against Noah that his mom broke up my parent’s marriage. I mean, I tried to hold it against him … but that was dumb. And I pretty much stopped doing it the moment I moved into the house with him and saw him as an actual person, not ‘part of the enemy,’ like I’d been clutching to all the years I refused to meet him and Beth.
I still don’t forgive Beth, by the way. Or my dad. But Noah—Noah was an innocent bystander—too good looking to be comfortable around, and not really ‘innocent’ in any other way, whatsoever—but he was totally innocent in the breakup of my family.
And, well, I love him.
Seeing him, my heart gets all mushy.
He grins slightly, seeming to know that. “You missed me, huh?”
Before I can say anything, a girl comes out of his room. Of course.
I grumble bitterly as I stomp to my room, “I missed you about the same as you missed me.”
“Then that’s a lot,” Noah says as I slam my bedroom door.
CHAPTER 30
The night of our ‘date,’ I’m nervous. I mean, yeah, okay, the date is fake, and Noah had obviously had a real one just last night—though he had texted me to tell me the girl in the hallway was only there to help him ‘study’ … but I was pretty sure ‘study’ was code for something else. I mean, come on, this was Noah.
Anyway, whatever. I’m nervous about our date—fake or not. I’ve been fantasizing it all week. And missing Noah all week. So, I’m all weak in the knees and even weak in the heart. I mean, it’s been pounding like it’s going to explode ever since Noah and I met up at the mini-golf place.
I actually have butterflies in my stomach.
Noah grins, like he knows what’s going on with me. Like he knows I’m about to burst into confetti because he’s being all attentive and date-like.
“I missed you while you were gone,” he says. “The bathroom doesn’t smell nearly as nice without you around.” He raises his eyebrows. “Actually, it doesn’t smell nice at all.”
Well, okay, that’s not the most romantic line in the world. But still, he says it all sweet and it gets my insides all gushy. I’m glad to hear he missed something about me—since I missed everything about him.
He pulls me a little closer, since Fenton is nearby. “You smell nice right now,” he whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending tingles skittering through my body.
Man, I could kiss Fenton!! (Thank you, thank you Fenton for coming to miniature golf!!)
Instead of letting me go, Noah holds me even closer. Feeling his heartbeat, he brings my palm up to his warm cheek and brushes it gently, gently soft against his hot Noah-skin. The unexpected gesture sends a million-trillion butterflies exploding through my insides because well—whoa! I’m getting to touch Noah’s face. He’s having me touch it.
My breath catches and electrical sparks flicker through my whole, entire body. I have to grab on to the rail behind me to keep from doing a face-plant. This is too much! Too thrilling for my inexperienced heart. I can’t breathe. I swear, I’m going to pass out.
“Your hands are soft,” he murmurs, still holding my palm to his cheek.
His words and touch make me suck in my breath, pretty sure I’m going to burst into a million pieces any second.
A small smile creeps on Noah’s lips. He gives a soft laugh, “Don’t freak out, Peyton. I’m only playing your game.”
My cheeks burn with so much heat, I swear they’re on fire. He’s WAY too good at this stuff. I know it’s all only a game to him—yet it’s giving me a heart attack.
I protest to save face—or well, at least not look so immature and … dazzled. “I wasn’t freaking out.”
“You were.” His lips quirk with amusement. “Your eyes were screaming, ‘Ack!’”
“No they weren’t.”
They really weren’t. They had been screaming ‘awwwww’ and ‘kiss me’ at the top of their lungs. But not ‘ack.’ Not even close.
A teasing spark flickers in Noah’s eyes. He drawls seductively in my ear, “Your pretty blue eyes were full of panic.”
(He called me pretty!!) Despite the mush and dizziness in my dazzled brain—I go along with his teasing, since it’s way easier than admitting my totally non-stepsister type feelings towards him.
“Maybe,” I tease about the panic-thing. “You are pretty scary.”
He gives a soft laugh. “And yet you asked me for a fake date.”
I clamp my lips together. He has me there. What can I say?
When I just go up in flames, not able to say a word, he playfully goes on with a lopsided grin, “—practically begged me.”
“You offered,” I remind him.
His voice comes out husky and low, “I was glad for the excuse.”
When I peek up at him, a smile flashes across his lips. He leans in closer. “I’m liking it.”
Oh! That’s wayyy too much for my mushy, inexperienced heart to take. Way, way too much. As I try to snatch my hand free of his, so I can back away a bit (and not melt into a puddle at his feet), he doesn’t let me do it. Instead, he gently holds my hand even tighter.
An impish grin
spreads across his made-for-fantasies, red-red lips. “It’s been fun, Peyton.” He edges even closer to me, a small smile playing at the corners of his gorgeous mouth. “Especially seeing Bianca get all upset.”
I breathe out a small laugh. Yeah, that had been fun. When Bianca saw us together her jaw dropped. And her golf club went soaring across the park. Towards Noah.
She yelled to him all bitter (though she was on a date with a football player), “I thought you don’t do mini-golf!!!”
Noah had answered, “I meant not with you.”
But he said it under his breath—not for her to hear. What he replied to her was, “I changed my mind.”
Bianca glared at him, then started kissing her football player date like she was trying to get a starring role in porn—and show Noah what he was missing.
Noah didn’t seem too impressed.
He grimaced and took my hand, “This way out of Crazy-Town—I hope.”
He lead me to the other side of the park.
But then this other cheerleader, Sabrina, had glared at mine and Noah’s hands linked together. She glared at them like she had laser vision and was preparing to strike us dead. Or at least make our entwined fingers burst into flames.
Yikes! I’d heard rumors that Sabrina was gaga for Noah. But until this second, I’d forgotten about the rumors. But scorned cheerleaders are scary. Majorly scary. So, seeing her glare at our entwined fingers sent a shudder through my body and made me take a step back.
Angry cheerleaders—don’t mess with them.
Sabrina put her hands on her hips and snarled at Noah, “This is what you were ‘too busy’ to come here with me tonight for? To be with her—Miss Never Been Kissed? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Noah said good-naturedly, like they were having a totally normal conversation. Then he grinned, “And I happen to know she’s been kissed—multiple times, actually.”
