by Rachel Kiss
Instead of saying anything (anything!) Sabrina growled like a ferocious animal. I swear. She growled. Like an animal. Then she stomped away.
I blinked after her.
Noah laughed at my stunned expression. “Come on,” he said, “I rock at mini-golf. I’ll give you some pointers.”
“Oh—no way! I’ll give you pointers!” I told him, choosing to ignore the gooey feelings in my heart. After all, he was just being nice. But geez, he was being so nice! I mean, he turned down at least two different dates for me—and those were just the ones I knew about. (Plus, he doesn’t ‘do’ mini-golf … usually.)
I couldn’t help the mushy feelings I had zooming towards him. Especially not when his eyes lingered on me like they were doing—all shining and … happy. It made my heart beat wild in my chest and my pulse race and my breath catch.
I was not emotionally equipped for a fake-date.
Still, I tried to get my love-tortured brain to focus, enjoy Noah while I had him, whether his attention was fake or not.
I informed him, “I’ll rock your mini-golf world.”
CHAPTER 31
I was having wayyy too much fun for a fake-date. But hey, it was with Noah.
It so didn’t help me remember the ‘fake’ part, though, by Noah being so awesome and funny. And on top of that, he was being a flirt—which was YAY!!!!
Plus, I’m awesome at mini-golf. So that was a definite bonus too—impressing Noah. Well, as much as mini-golf skills can impress a cool guy. (Okay, not much.)
Towards the end, Noah told me with a challenging smile, “I’ll buy you a milkshake if you can beat me at this last shot.”
“You’re on,” I told him.
We were both quite awesome with our mini-golf skills—but I was better. He had to realize that by now. But hey, if he wanted to buy me a milkshake … well, happiness!!!
“You can even go first,” I told him.
As he lined up to take his shot—I tickled his waist. Believe me, I so hadn’t planned to do it. At all. But I just got a glimpse of his awe-inducing skin there as he was leaning over to position himself for the shot and it looked … ticklish. And beyond tempting. And I—I couldn’t resist!
As I did it, his eyes went wide with a huge smile. I wiggled and wiggled my fingers on his ticklish skin and he cracked up laughing.
He laughed and laughed, telling me to stop—but he couldn’t stop laughing. So, I kept tickling. (So fun!!)
When I finally did stop, he was all red faced. He grinned, “I never figured you for a cheater, Peyton.” He shook his head, mocking admonishment (though he kept smiling). “I mean, you make your own soap.”
He shook his head again, like he just couldn’t believe how I’d let him down with my cheater-ways.
Once again, he tried lining himself up properly for his shot. But now he kept giving me sideways glances as though making sure I was going to attack him again.
“Such a cheater,” he muttered, still grinning.
“Well, I want my milkshake,” I explained.
“Like you need to cheat to get it,” he said with a hint of admiration in his voice. It made my heart flutter—the way he said it. Like I was some sort of phenomenon that left him in awe.
So, I was sort of sweating and spazzing when it was my turn again. I didn’t want to let him down. I wanted to be spectacular.
“Just relax, Peyton,” he said—like he knew I was suddenly feeling pressure. “I’m getting you a milkshake no matter what—you know that, right?”
My heart pounded hearing him say that. But I tried to act ultra cool and unruffled.
Instead of answering him, I took my shot. My ball knocked his out of the way and went on to make a hole-in-one.
His gaze lingered on me.
The way he was staring into my eyes made my stomach flip and my heart dance around all excited. But I backed away from him, needing to breathe. Needing space. And distance. Since he seemed to be getting closer to me. Or maybe I was getting closer to him? I wasn’t sure.
What’s going on???
Something was happening.
It was making me dizzy. And confused.
He was only doing this—acting like he was into me—to stir up Fenton. That was the only reason … right?
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
I mean, it didn’t feel that way.
Or seem that way.
I backed further away from him, though his eyes clung to me.
I cleared my throat. Then attempted to sound breezy. Like I didn’t notice there was some kind of magnetic pull between us. Because, face it, there probably wasn’t … right? I was just too inexperienced at this kind of thing—game-playing, and boy-girl relationship stuff.
Also, I was a sap … apparently. Falling for the game I asked Noah to play. Sheesh! How sappy can you get?!
I cleared my throat again. “I’m going to go use that room over there,” I said, gesturing to the girls’ bathroom. “Meanwhile, you can buy me my well-deserved milkshake. Make it extra-chocolaty—please.”
Then I scrambled to the bathroom, still feeling his eyes on me.
CHAPTER 32
In the bathroom, I was going to splash cold water on my face. That was my plan. But instead, I find Bianca. And I freeze. She’s at the mirror, messing with her hair. She has this expensive hair shaper spray that she’s squirting in her long gorgeous mane; then, like an expert hair-flipper, she flips her blond tresses and I have to admit, the spray is awesome. She looks amazing.
When she finally notices me, she gives me this look, like she’s embarrassed that I caught her making herself up—you know, since she’s probably doing it to get the guy I’m with stirred up … or maybe even jealous.
She moves more to the middle of the mirror, like to hog it. But she sees me eyeing her precious bottle of spray that she left on the sink beside me. Suddenly, she lunges for the bottle, snatching it up like she’s afraid I’m going to use it. Like she’s afraid I’ll grab it and spray it in her face like mace. (I’m actually fantasizing about this—so maybe she’s able to read my dreamy expression or something.)
She squirts some more of the spray in her hair and gives me a mean, defiant look as she does it, like to say, ‘Yeah, that’s right—I’m going after your guy.’
Then, without saying a word to me, she turns on her heels and goes into the nearest stall and locks the door.
My insides boil with anger. I stare at the closed stall door, my heart wanting to shout mean, nasty things to the mean, nasty girl that tried to keep me off the cheerleading squad, and who announced to a whole party of people from my brand new school that I had never kissed a boy. And kind of forced me to kiss the guy that I had been trying my hardest not to like—but that kiss made me adore him.
Oh, how I hate Bianca!!!
But before I can utter a single mean word to her, I hear her peeing. So, ugh! What’s the point? She probably wouldn’t be able to hear me over her loud, obnoxious peeing. Besides, I’m not really a shouter. I’m more of a … nice person.
Usually.
But I sure don’t feel like being nice right now.
Still, instead of yelling at her, I suddenly grab her precious bottle of shaper spray that she left on the sink—unattended. I use a little in my hair, thinking: Ha! Take that Bianca! I’m using your shaper spray without asking!
I figure I’m having my own kind of revenge for her being evil to me since birth. I squirt and squirt more spray into my hair, thinking: Take that! And that!
But THEN—I go kind of crazy. After I’m done making my hair beautiful (on Bianca’s dime), I find myself unscrewing the lid to the shaper spray. (Gasp!) … AND I dump the whole contents down the sink!!
My heart pounding wild, I fill up the empty pump bottle with water.
It LOOKS just the same as the spray did (but won’t WORK the same).
Ha!
I’m just putting the bottle back on the sink when Bianca comes out of the bathroom stall. She grabs the bottle and
starts spraying her hair again.
Seeing that, I almost crack up laughing and have to run out of the bathroom, but her angry words stop me cold.
“It’s not like Noah even cares if you’re good at miniature golf,” she growls, kind of making it sound like she thinks he does care. And she’s extremely mad about it. Still, she snarls on, “—it’s not like he’s into miniature golf.”
The weird thing is though, he sort of did seem into it. But I kind of get the feeling she knows that. Like, she was spying on us. And gritting her teeth.
Seeming ready to explode with rage, she sprays and sprays her hair and I can’t say anything. At all. All I can do is cover my mouth and bolt out of the bathroom before I pee my pants from laughing so hard. She’s totally ruining her fancy ’do, dousing it with water like that.
But before I can leave the bathroom, she announces all snarly and snide, “I’m not even interested in Noah,” she lies through teeth. “I have my own hot boyfriend—”
She reddens slightly, “Well, he’ll be mine soon.”
I can’t help calling her out. “Who?—your football date? The clueless guy you were just totally attacking to get Noah jealous?”
She scoffs. “No.”
She says it like the thought of her with that guy is annoying. (Yet she’d totally been mackin’ on him only an hour ago.)
With a smirk she says, “I’m talking about the hottest guy in the whole school.”
I narrow my eyes at her. That can only mean Sawyer—to Bianca. She’s been crazy obsessed with Sawyer forever. But Sawyer is very, very much already taken—by Anna. They’ve been a couple since middle school. And Sawyer would never, ever cheat on Anna. Never!!! They are the perfect couple. So, her words are totally wishful thinking. And insane.
But hey, that’s Bianca—insane.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bianca,” I tell her, then I leave the bathroom. Let her get back to spraying her hair. (Ha!)
While I’m at the water fountain, I see Bianca come out of the bathroom—finally. Her hair is all matted and icky, and her face is all bewildered, like What HAPPENED to my hair???
I can’t help it, I crack up laughing again.
Noah comes up to me while I’m still laughing like a maniac. He gives me a puzzled smile, but his eyes are twinkling like he thinks I’m a little nuts … but incredibly adorable. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I’m just having fun.”
He smiles, melting my heart. His voice goes husky, “Me too.”
‘It’s just a game to him, Peyton,’ I remind myself over and over. ‘Just a GAME!!’
But his warm smile sure doesn’t look like a game. It looks real. And makes me all toasty and happy inside.
Ugh! I’m such a sap!
CHAPTER 33
Noah and I sit together inside the miniature golf’s restaurant, drinking our milkshakes and talking.
Though I’m getting a dorky thrill from his attention, I know it’s stupid. I mean, the guy found my kiss ‘uneventful’ and to him this is just a favor—all to help his dorky little ‘sister’ get a guy.
He’s just using his player skills. Playing the game. Being a good brother.
(Sadness!!)
‘Chill, Peyton,’ I tell myself. ‘Just go with it. Enjoy the game.’ But really I know it’s too much for my mushy, fan-girl heart. It just is. My heart is an extremely fragile, vulnerable thing. It can’t handle this game.
It just can’t.
So, suddenly, I hop up from my seat—just spring up in the middle of Noah’s adorable story that was making my heart melt—him at the sweet age of ten wanting a puppy so, so, bad.
Noah’s eyes grow wide from my sudden bounce. He lifts an eyebrow. “Is everything, okay?”
‘No,’ I wanted to tell him. ‘I need to leave before I accidently fall more in love with you than I already am.’
But that’s not what I say out loud. Of course. I just try to smile. “Yeah, everything’s great. I had fun. But now—now I need to go.”
“No, don’t go,” he says softly. “Stay Peyton.”
Reluctantly I point out, “Fenton’s not even around.”
Noah grins, “Yeah. I noticed that. I think he went home like an hour ago.”
My mouth parts slightly.
“Then why did you stay??” I finally stammer out. “I mean, you hate miniature golf.”
He shrugs. “But I like you.”
He smiles with amusement at my confused expression. “Look, I don’t hate miniature golf. I just … forgot I enjoy it. And, admittedly, it’s probably only you that could make it actually fun for me—but you did.”
“I made it fun for you?”
He breathes out a laugh at my shocked expression. “You make everything fun for me Peyton.”
I scoff, though my heart is exploding, “You are the world’s biggest flirt.”
He grins. “Maybe.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “But sit back down.”
I shake my head, taking a step away. “No. I—I can’t handle a flirt.”
I suck in my breath, but decide to just be honest. For once. “I can’t handle this game.”
He grins. “Peyton, I know.”
“Okay,” I choke out, figuring there isn’t really anything left to talk about then. I take another step back, “So, I’m going to go.”
I start to rush away, but his words stop me cold.
He says softly, “Peyton, it’s not a game.”
I turn back to him and tilt my head. “W—what do you mean?”
“I mean, what you’re feeling—I feel it too.”
I plop into the nearest chair. In a husky whisper I ask, “And what am I feeling?”
He shrugs, then says matter-of-factly, “You feel like you like me.”
A surge of warm tingles rush through my body at his words. But I try to fight the euphoria. I mean, this is teasing Noah. Player Noah.
“Noah,” I sigh, trying to keep my wits. And deny. I breathe out a lie, “I don’t even know you.”
He grins weakly. “Yeah, you do. You know me, Peyton. I’m IDespiseSonny123.”
CHAPTER 34
NOAH
NOAH
When me and my mom first moved in with Peyton’s dad, I knew Peyton was bitter. I mean, she refused to come to the wedding or even meet us.
But Peyton was my stepsister. So, it was … interesting to me. I mean, I never had one—a sister. In fact, I never had any family but my mom.
I used to go into Peyton’s abandoned room sometimes when we first moved there. Just to see what she was like. There were lots of pictures all over her room—mostly her with that cheerleader chick, Mason Archer’s ex-stepsister (and, as an interesting side-note, his secret crush)—Summer Baker.
Besides the many, many pictures, there were also posters. Tons of them. And quotes from this incredibly lame boy-band, Sonny and the Locks.
Seeing her room, and snooping through her abandoned stuff, I just started feeling like I kind of knew her—and liked her. And I wanted to get to know more about her. She was my stepsister after all. Never had one of those—like I said. I was curious. So I started looking on the Internet for her—on social media sites and stuff.
Then I found her—well, I was pretty sure. It was this chick-blog. Her name wasn’t on it, of course. But it was called ‘Is anyone out there?’ (It’s lyrics from the boy-band) and it totally fit the girl. This girl that lost her dad, and her whole life to go live on a mountain. I mean she moved away from all her friends, her whole life, to live in isolation—all to support her crazy psycho artist mom.
Okay, to be fair, I’d only heard my mom’s side of the story. And I’m sure it was twisted and skewed by Peyton’s dad, otherwise my mom wouldn’t have been willing to breakup a marriage. All I really knew for sure was, Peyton’s mom was an amazing artist. Well, that—and Peyton was lonely.
Her blog kind of proved that. It had no followers, and it was obvious that she didn’t expect anyone
to actually read her posts. She would get random comments—sometimes. Usually when she would post something specific about the band. But she had absolutely no comments on her own life stuff. And yeah, zero followers. So … I followed her. And commented on her posts. All of her posts.
It was just to prove someone was out there.
That someone cared.
CHAPTER 35
NOAH
NOAH
When Peyton had to move in with us, I already knew she was bitter about the divorce. I mean, obviously. Since I read her blog. Plus, there was the glaring fact she refused to go to the wedding, or even see her dad. So, I knew she’d be a bit of a witch to us. I was expecting it. And planned to overlook it. I got where she was coming from. I planned to melt her with kindness—be a brother to her and show her that things aren’t that bad.
But I was in for a shock when she got here. I knew she was pretty. I mean, I’d never met her in person since she despised us all and wanted us dead. But I’d seen pictures of her. Lots of pictures. So, yeah, I’d known she was pretty. But when she got here and I saw her in person—man! I was not expecting that—her to be so heart-stopping, mind-blowing gorgeous. And the weird thing was, I could tell she had no clue she was. She had no idea she was gorgeous. Her mom had hidden her away. So … she didn’t know.
Anyway, she took my breath away.
And I was like, Oh man, this is going to be bad.
But no.
I was determined to be a good guy. So, after getting over how beautiful she was (and giving myself a moment to breathe—and okay, witness in true life she hated me) I was able to pull it together.
I told myself—So, she’s pretty. So what? There are lots of pretty girls around …
But then I was like: —but they don’t live in my house. Or write poems, and dance like a graceful ballerina.
