by AJ Matthews
“No. Ah, um, I can’t, I mean I can, but I don’t think I should, I just … well, you’re Oliver’s friend.” Her eyes watered as she tried to say what she meant through the basil.
Trey laughed and banged her on the back until she coughed the leaf up.
“In a town as small as Spaworth you might have to get over that particular hang up.” Kat said, offering her a glass of water.
“While my pride is knocked by your comment, I actually meant just as friends. I find myself unhappily single on the last Saturday night before we go back to school, and I could use a final blow out. Go on, I’ll be on my best behaviour, scout’s honour.”
“You should, Chloe, it will be fun. I wish we could go too, but it’s my godmother’s birthday tonight.” Kat looked torn.
“I could go,” Carter said with a straight face, then gave a cheeky grin when Kat socked him in the arm.
“Alright, thank you,” Chloe gave in, “but just as friends!”
Trey gave her a scout salute.
“Oliver?” His mother found him lying on the floor, staring at the TV, absorbed in an online game. “It’s only a couple of days until school. I hope you’ve started on your speech?”
“My what? Oh shi…sugar!” He completely forgotten – he’d been so involved with thinking about Chloe that he’d forgotten he was supposed to be making a speech on the first day of term.
At the end of last year, the school had made him Head Boy. His classmates had voted him Class President for four years running and it had been noticed. And now he was stuck with making the stupid welcome speech.
“We’re so proud of you,” his mother was still talking, “and you’ve really matured this year. It’s made me very happy to see you being so nice to Chloe Gilmore. She’s such a lovely girl.”
“Yeah, I know.” Oliver knew his mother would keep talking until he turned the game off – it was one of her tactics – so he gave in gracefully.
“I’ll start on my speech now.”
“Wow, this place is really getting packed,” Chloe commented as Trey returned to their table with cold drinks.
“More like what you’re used to, city gal?” Trey teased.
“Better than I’m used to. Oliver…” She trailed off, having been about to say that Oliver had mentioned it. She felt a fresh pang of regret that she’d been so adamant about them not doing anything alone together whenever he’d invited her out.
“You can talk about him if you want to. This isn’t a date, remember?” Trey settled in comfortably beside her.
“Has he said anything about me?” She couldn’t help but ask.
“Only that you were the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s in full self-pity mode right now.”
“He said that?” She found it hard to believe. “That doesn’t sound like Oliver.”
“No offence, but I’ve known Oliver my whole life, he’s generally an open book to me. Though less so where you’re concerned, that’s why I wondered if you were even real, he was really cagey. But now I’ve met you I can see it’s just because he was in love for the first time, it was more private.”
“He doesn’t love me, at least, he’s never said so,” she answered truthfully.
“Well, it’s obvious to us. He’s done nothing but talk about you since you arrived. He’d clearly always rather be with you than with us. On your own, you know? But he said you wanted to get to know everyone before school started. The old Oliver, pre-you, wouldn’t have been that considerate about a girl’s feelings.”
Chloe chewed her cheek thinking that over. Oliver had put her needs first because she had him over a barrel. She could have exposed his lie if he hadn’t done exactly what she wanted. But he had been just as nice during the brief times they were alone as he had been when they were with his friends. He could have dropped the pretence, but he hadn’t. So did that mean he genuinely cared?
“Not wanting to stick my nose in, Chloe, but are you sure you guys can’t get back together? Since you moved here, Oliver has been the happiest I’ve ever known him.”
That was the second time that day that she’d heard Oliver had been happier because of her. She could understand him being nicer to her, because he had to keep up the pretence of being in a couple, but happier? What did that mean? That he genuinely liked being with her? That when he talked about her it wasn’t just to keep up the ruse? She wished she knew. She couldn’t help but think she might have done the wrong thing…
Oliver was watching TV and feeling restless when his watch buzzed.
Stopped for a drink in the Old Rock, Trey here with Chloe, dancing, pretty close
The message was from Jaden, and Oliver had to read it several times before it sank in. He’d actually stayed home on a Saturday night because he’d been depressed about Chloe, and she was out with Trey? After everything she’d said? He threw his drink can at the wall, then swore when he realised it wasn’t totally empty.
After all the effort he’d put in to show Chloe he cared, to try to spend time with her, and she had chosen to go out with Trey instead? He thumped his fist into a sofa cushion. She wasn’t even worth caring about.
Except that she was.
It was Trey that he was mad at, he decided, giving the cushion a hard elbow. No, not Trey, Jaden. It was none of Jaden’s business who Chloe was with, Jaden had just sent the message to wind him up because he was like that. He would enjoy being the one to tell him. Oliver threw the cushion to the floor.
Are you out with Chloe? J says you’re making a move?
He sent the message to Trey. The reply came immediately:
Just as friends. She’s done nothing but talk about you, I’ve got your back
Oliver took a few deep breaths. If he trusted anyone it was Trey. He wouldn’t say that if he was trying to pull Chloe. Knowing Trey, he was bigging Oliver up and trying to get them back together. Oliver calmed down.
It was his own fault. He should have fought harder. He should have made it clear how much he liked her, more than liked her. But he’d let his pride stop him because he didn’t think she felt the same way. He’d tried to show her in small ways, but maybe he needed to go all out. What did he have to lose now that he’d already lost Chloe?
Two days later Oliver stood by the temporary stage on the school field and scanned the crowd looking for Chloe. But with the entire school in attendance it was impossible to spot her. When his turn came to speak he climbed the steps, holding his speech in his hands, and wondering if he could really do it.
“Hi, everyone, most of you know me, and it’s my job today to welcome you back to school.” He smiled at the jeers and booing as he scanned the crowd once more. Where was she? He looked at his speech again and saw nothing but a load of blurred scribbles. He needed to focus.
“I hope you all had a good summer, I know I did. A great summer, but sadly it doesn’t last.”
He found her! She was sitting right at the front with the other new kids. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. She looked so unsure, but so beautiful.
Focus, Oliver!
“I’m also supposed to welcome the new students, but there’s one in particular I need to say something to,” Oliver gripped the podium in front of him; his focus could go jump off a cliff for all he cared.
“Chloe Gilmore, I love you – please will you think about giving me another chance?”
For a second Chloe hid her blushing face in her hands, then she looked up and nodded.
“Then let the year begin.” Oliver dropped the pages of his unused speech on the floor and jumped off the stage to go to Chloe.
“How was that for crazy and goofy?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but went into his arms for another mind-spinning kiss, as the whole school cheered.
THE END
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Eleanor Parkhurst is determined to get in the way of bad boy Nathaniel Naverly seducing her sweet cousin Rose. Getting Nate to switch his attention to her seemed like a good plan, but Ellie didn’t foresee that she might have to protect her own heart from his schemes as well. Midnight meetings, fighting or kissing, it’s all part of the fun of flirting. Set in an English boarding school, Ellie discovers that boys are more complicated than classes, and you have to play the game well or you might just get played!
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Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Zolton Arthur
Cover Art by Colbert Creative Design LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
May
“I’m so stupid!” His voice rises loud above the clatter of voices. Voices belonging to the throngs of men and women packed in two rows deep, all of them waiting for a turn at each game running along the boardwalk. Duck Hunt. Fish Bowl Toss. Ring Toss. Lots of “toss” games at a carnival. Over and over again I hear, “I’m so stupid!”
What the hell?
The crowd of gawkers swells with each of the poor man’s cries. As they move in, his cries grow louder, causing the crowd to gawk harder.
Someone has to put him out of his misery.
Someone, it seems in this case, has to be me as no one else steps up to do the job. When I muscle my way through the tight gathering of bodies, well, I’m momentarily struck dumb. Even amid a major freak-out, men with his level of hotness only exist in magazines and wet dreams. And I would know, I’ve had plenty of both.
Having been back in town for a couple of days, I’ve seen him around, working here, but never really gave him a second look. Why didn’t I second look sooner? Spending my days at the boardwalk was already better than being stuck at home. Now though, whoa.
He’s usually a quiet guy. Mostly keeps to himself, unless someone speaks directly to him which must have happened since he’s in the center of an ever growing circle of losers, screaming and crying, his face puffy, and red.
“I’m so stupid!” He screams again. Hitting himself repeatedly on the head. Hard.
“What happened?” I ask the random standing next to me.
“Don’t know. He was already mid freak-out when I got here. So weird,” he answers with a strain to his voice from craning his neck to get a look at the spectacle.
“Shut the fuck up. I think he’s autistic, you douche.” He reminds me of my cousin who happens to be autistic. “Somebody needs to stop this.”
“Whatever. That chick.” Douche loser points to a woman sanding off to freak-out boy’s side. “Says she’s a social worker. Tried to talk to him all nice and soft. He just kept screaming and hitting himself.”
“Well she’s not doing the right thing.”
“Then you do it, if you’re so mighty.”
Me? Everyone would be watching. When I decided to wade in, I wanted to be the good guy. Now I’m wishing I’d have kept my yap shut. All these faces, so many of them familiar. It’ll be social suicide to get involved. I know it. None of these people know about me, and I graduated with half of them. For my family, who still live locally, I should keep my mouth shut.
But hell, not a one of these former classmates, some who recognize me, turning their noses up at my appearance, some who don’t recognize me and turn their noses up at my appearance, show the least bit of compassion for the guy. And god, he needs someone.
Screw it.
Who needs a social life anyway, right? A couple of months and I’ll be back to the safety of school, town forgotten. I’m not the guy they knew, namely the prom king who escorted his girlfriend, and as cliché as it sounds, pom captain, up the stage to receive her crown for prom queen as well.
We were the “it” couple.
I never wanted it. I had to pretend I wanted it. When we broke up after graduation, I thought the road had been cleared of all obstacles. Go to college two states over, and finally get to be me. My folks took the whole guess what, I’m gay thing pretty well, but no sense rocking that boat without getting to test the waters first. The plan had been to blend this summer. Keep a low profile.
“I’m so stupid!” The guy still yells, while smacking his head hard.
After rubbing my clammy hands down the front of my jeans and one huffed out breath big enough to flutter the purple streaked bangs from my eyes later, I push through the crowd the rest of the way.
“Hey,” I say with a firm tone, although not yelling.
No response.
“Hey, stop this now,” I say again, with more firmness this time. He pauses for a moment and I think I got through to him. No. He pauses, but keeps on hitting his head and crying. “Hey,” I say for a third time, with the maximum amount of firmness my voice could muster.
He stops.
And stares.
But he stops.
“Come on, come with me.” Thankfully when I reach out gently grabbing his hand, he flinches but doesn’t freak out again.
I should’ve stopped to consider if he’s the kind of autistic who hates to be touched. The thought just hadn’t come to me until I’d already touched him. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to mind. He walks alongside me, not speaking, though no longer crying or hitting himself.
So I’ll call it a win.
We walk to the most secluded spot on the boardwalk, stopping in front of an old automaton the park owners haven’t bothered to remove yet. The only things nearby us, an underutilized restroom and semi-rusted out drinking fountain.
“Lean down,” I order. “I’m going to splash some water on your face. It’ll make you feel a little better.” Again, he doesn’t argue or protest in anyway, lowering his face, I do just as I said and splash two handfuls of water. He cringes and shakes his head. He does not pull away.
Another win.
“All right, we’re done. Here.” Shrugging out of my hoodie, I offer it up for h
im to dry his face off.
The dude takes it, but doesn’t use it at first.
“Is there a problem?”
“Your shirt will get wet,” he answers.
“It’s okay. If I minded, I wouldn’t offer.”
He smiles. This man I’ve socially killed myself for smiles at me and it hits me, I’m staring at the face of probably the most beautiful man-boy I’ve ever seen in my life. Though even as his grin reaches his ears, his hazel eyes never meet my brown ones. Glassy and blank, but not vacant. His eyes, I can see the intelligence running behind them even if he won’t look directly at me.
Whatever he’s thinking about by not looking at me must come to a head in his mind. Then it’s as if his happiness bubble suddenly pops, poof! His mouth drops to a flat line just that quickly. Face dried, he hands me back the hoodie.
We stand there both silent, me wondering what could be going through the guy’s head, if he wonders what could be going through my head and what I should do next.
Screw it. “What was all that about?” I ask.
Silence.
The bell from his strength game dings in the distance. Someone either took over for him, or the park is losing money on an unattended game.
“Okay then. I’m gonna…” I thumb behind me to show him I’m leaving.
“They’re bullies,” he says in a voice too soft to come from the freak-out kid of the carnival. Too soft but filled with just as much sadness.
