by Amanda Abram
My mom, like Chloe and Sophia, always knew the right thing to say. And even though on the inside I was inconsolable, her words of encouragement allowed me to at least mask my pain on the outside.
“Thanks, Mom.” I sat up straight, stretched my arms out and faked a yawn. “I’m tired. I think I’ll do a little reading and then go to sleep.”
Mom removed herself from my bed. “Okay. But if you want to talk, you know where I am.”
I smiled and nodded as she let herself out of my room. As soon as she was gone, my smile vanished. Reaching into my purse, I took out the card with the number 7 on it and threw it in the trashcan next to my computer desk.
For the rest of the night, a part of me still held onto the hope that I’d get a call from Amelia from Dream Bean, letting me know that my mystery date had arrived late, and was crushed to discover I’d left.
But my phone never rang, and my dream of having a romantic summer with my soulmate was officially dead.
Chapter Five
LOGAN
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my phone vibrating on my nightstand. Still half-asleep, I reached over and grabbed it. The screen was lit up with a picture of Grace smiling sweetly at me, but I knew that was false advertising. I knew if I answered it, she wouldn’t have anything good to say. Maybe she was calling to apologize for the way she acted the other night. Maybe she was calling to tell me she had fallen in love with her mystery man.
Either way, it was too early in the day to converse with Grace. With one swipe of my thumb, the call was ignored.
When I saw what time it was, I groaned. It was already eleven o’clock. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to sleep my entire summer vacation away. With a yawn, I forced myself out of the bed and headed to the bathroom for a quick wake-me-up shower.
The smell of bacon hit my nostrils as soon as I exited the bathroom and I smiled. Rachel must have heard me get up and figured she would cook me some breakfast. She often did that for me on the weekends and it was much-appreciated. I followed the scent down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Rachel stood at the stove, holding Abby in one hand, and a spatula in the other.
“Good morning,” I said cheerfully. The shower had done its job and woken me up and I was now ready to conquer the day—right after I got my bacon on, that is.
“Morning,” Rachel responded. Her voice sounded tense, like something was bothering her.
I wasn’t going to pry, though. On the off-chance it had something to do with my Dad, I didn’t want to get in the middle of their relationship troubles.
Instead, I walked over to her and removed Abby from her arms so that she could focus solely on making my breakfast.
Abby giggled as I placed her on my hip and bounced her up and down a few times. I was ashamed to admit I hated Abby when she first arrived. I’d spent seventeen years as an only child and although during those years I occasionally yearned for a sibling—especially a brother—I was always spoiled by all the attention an only child gets, so I was ultimately content.
But then my mom died seven years ago. My dad met and fell in love with Rachel five years later, they got married, and did what a lot of married couples do: they had a baby. At first, I was resentful of Abby because I knew she was going to become the main focus of the household. Then, I was resentful of her because she had a mother and I didn’t. It was stupid, I know, because it wasn’t like it was her fault. But she was an easy target for me to blame all my anger on, so I did. However, after a few months, the kid started to grow on me. I still wasn’t her number-one fan, mostly because she was gross, but I didn’t hate her anymore. How could I? Her cheeks were so chubby. Like, seriously—pinchably chubby.
Taking a seat at the kitchen table, I set Abby onto my lap and turned on my phone. I had one voicemail and a bunch of missed texts from Grace. Apparently, she had something important to say to me. I was about to listen to the voicemail when Rachel set a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast onto the table in front of me…and placed a card down next to it. A card with the number 7 on it.
“What’s that?” she asked me, taking Abby back so I could eat.
As I glanced at it, I couldn’t help but feel a small, tiny bit of guilt form in the pit of my stomach. I vaguely remembered removing it from my pocket when I got home last night and dropping it onto the kitchen counter. “That? Oh, that’s something from school. A fundraiser thing.”
“Huh,” she said, in a way that indicated she already knew exactly what it was.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as I shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“You know, I was out taking Abby for a stroll earlier and I ran into Olivia Dawson.”
I swallowed hard. Emma’s mom. Why would Rachel be telling me about running into Emma’s mom? “Oh yeah?” I said, taking a sip of orange juice.
“Yeah,” she said, taking a seat across from me. “She and I got to talking and she mentioned that Emma was supposed to go on a blind date last night. Some fundraiser thing from school, apparently. But the guy never showed. He stood her up.”
I could feel her eyes boring into me, like she was waiting for some sort of reaction. One that I wasn’t going to give her. “Huh. You don’t say?”
“Oh, I do say,” she said. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was unhappy with me and I wished I could swipe to ignore her like I just had with Grace. “See, she happened to mention something about a number. The number 7. And as soon as she said it, I remembered seeing this card laying on the counter this morning and I thought…there’s no way Logan was supposed to be Emma’s date, right? Because if that were the case, that would mean he stood her up. And you wouldn’t do that, would you, Logan?”
More bacon and eggs suddenly found their way into my mouth, preventing me from answering. I took my time chewing, buying myself some time to think of a way to respond to this. But I wouldn’t have to respond. Rachel knew. She wasn’t an idiot.
“How did you two even get matched up to begin with? You guys couldn’t be any more different.”
The guilt on my face must have given away the fact there was more to the story than I was letting on.
“Logan, what did you do?” she asked, her voice laced with accusation.
With a nonchalant shrug, I replied, “I may have lied on the test.”
“Lied?” she echoed. “Why? Why would you do that?”
So, I explained to her why, leaving no detail out. There was no use in hiding it. She would have broken me down and forced it out of me eventually.
When I was done, she sighed. “Seriously, Logan, that’s messed up.”
“It’s not that bad,” I assured her, pushing the eggs around my plate with my fork.
“Not that bad? You let that poor girl sit alone in that coffee shop all night, waiting for someone that didn’t even exist.”
I snorted. “Emma is anything but a ‘poor girl’. She got what she deserved.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped, and her face reddened slightly in what I could only assume was anger. “Logan, I don’t know what your issue is with Emma, but she is quite possibly the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. You shouldn’t have stood her up. That was a lousy thing to do.”
I pushed my breakfast plate away. I suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. “Look, Rachel, Emma and I don’t get along, okay? We never have, and we never will. Me standing her up was the best thing I could have done for her. Trust me—I’m sure she’d rather get stood up by some unknown guy than to think for one second that she and I have anything in common.”
Rachel shook her head, not buying it. “I can’t even begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you, Logan. But I can tell you this: you’re going to make it up to her.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was Rachel about to threaten me? “Oh yeah?” I said, my voice laced with challenge. “Or else what?”
A contemplative look passed over her face, as if she was trying to think of what the “or else” would be. I saw the precise mom
ent the light bulb lit above her head.
“Well,” she said, a devious grin forming on her face. “You know how your father and I are taking Abby to New York for a week in July, to meet my family?”
“Yeah,” I replied slowly, not liking where this was going. “How could I forget? You guys are letting me stay here alone that week.”
“Well, I was thinking, maybe you should come too. My family would love to meet you. And it would be nice for all four of us to spend a week together—you know, do some family bonding.” She paused, studying me. “All it would take is for me to suggest it to your father. I’m sure he would think it’s a great idea. I could also maybe plant a seed of doubt in his mind about leaving you home alone. It’s too bad, though, because I know the same week we’re going to be gone, the Dawsons and the Fishers are going on that couples retreat together for the weekend, leaving pretty much the entire street to just you kids. That would have been the perfect opportunity to throw some kick-ass parties, huh?”
It was official. My stepmother was of the evil variety. She knew I’d been looking forward to their week in New York ever since they planned it five months ago. She knew I was aware that the only two other currently occupied houses on our street—Emma’s and Matt’s—would be parents-free that same week, and that I was planning on throwing, as she put it, “some kick-ass parties”.
And she knew exactly how to take that all away from me.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.”
Sitting back in my chair, I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “And how do you suppose I ‘make it up to her’?”
Rachel shrugged. “That’s for you to figure out, not me. But you’d better make it good or I’m having a talk with your father tonight. And I can guarantee he will not be pleased to find out you stood up Jake Dawson’s daughter. That alone will encourage him to make you come with us to New York. It will be your punishment.”
There was no doubt in my mind that she was right. My dad thought Emma was the greatest. And while both he and Mr. Dawson had both spent years trying to get the two of us to bond with each other and become friends, my dad was way worse about it than Mr. Dawson. I think my dad was so adamant about it because he thought Emma would be a good influence on me. Especially after we entered high school and I started hanging out with all the cool kids and getting myself into trouble, and Emma…well, Emma stayed her old boring, goody two-shoes self.
If Dad knew what I’d done last night, he’d probably kick me out of the house.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I have to do this today?”
“Yep.” Rachel stole a piece of untouched bacon from my plate before getting up from the table. “And you know what they say: there’s no time like the present. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can stop worrying about having to go to New York with us.” She paused for a moment before adding, “By the way, Abby appears to be prone to carsickness. I figured I would throw that out there, since you’ll be riding in the backseat with her for six hours or so.”
Boy, Rachel sure knew how to play dirty. I glanced over at Abby in her highchair and cringed. I’d seen that kid projectile vomit before and it wasn’t pretty. There was no way I was going to spend six seconds in the backseat of a moving car with her, let alone six hours. Pushing my chair back, I stood and said, “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.”
“Splendid.” Rachel smiled, and I could tell she was mentally patting herself on the back for a job well done.
Grabbing the card off the table, I headed out of the house and started in the direction of Emma’s. I had no idea what I was going to say to her or how I was going to “make it up to her”. I was going to have to wing it and come up with something on the fly.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d knocked on her front door. I wasn’t sure I’d ever knocked on her front door. I’d never made it a habit to visit her, and when I did, I would just jump the fence between our two yards because I knew how much it irritated her. I chose not to take that route today, because she was already going to be plenty irritated enough after she heard what I had to tell her.
The door opened only a few seconds after my knock. Upon seeing that I was the knocker, Mrs. Dawson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. “Logan,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you by?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Is Emma here?”
Her look of surprise and confusion intensified at my query. “Uh…yeah, she is. She’s out back by the pool…” She studied me, as if trying to figure out what my deal was. I’m sure it was shocking enough for her to see a boy knock on her door to see her daughter, but for that boy to be me? I had to be blowing her mind right now. “You can head around back.”
With a smile and short nod, I said, “Thanks, Mrs. Dawson.”
“You’re welcome, Logan.”
I could feel her eyes on me as I crossed the front yard to head out back. As I began my journey, I started rationalizing in my head how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go to New York with Dad, Rachel and Abby after all. Rachel mentioned having a younger sister around my age, and if she was half as hot as Rachel was, that might be incentive enough right there to go. And even if she wasn’t hot, she was probably a lot nicer than Emma.
By the time I’d convinced myself that Abby’s continuous vomiting in the back seat of a hot car for six hours was preferable to having to deal with the girl next door, I was already out back, and she’d already seen me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked with a glare, her voice full of venom.
She was sitting by the pool, book in hand, glasses on face, her long legs—the ones I’d inadvertently checked out the night before—stretched out before her on the lounge chair. Surprisingly, her jean shorts were shorter than usual, and she was wearing a tight camo tank-top in lieu of one of her usual oversized t-shirts with some sort of nerd logo on it. Maybe me standing her up somehow made her question her fashion sense?
That was doubtful. This was probably a fluke.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Hello to you, too.”
Setting her book down on the ground, she sat up, folding her arms across her chest, and repeated, “What are you doing here?”
She was making this hard. “I was wondering if we could talk?”
Emma removed her glasses from her face and slid them up to rest on the top her head. She wanted to make sure I could see her glare loud and clear, with no obstructions. Mission accomplished. But what I could also see was the slight puffiness around her eyes, like she’d spent a greater part of the night before crying.
“Talk? What could you possibly want to talk to me about?”
There was no reason to prolong this, so I cut right to the chase. Pulling the card out of my pocket, I walked over to her and dropped it into her lap.
She stared down at it for a moment, as if trying to decipher what it was. When she picked it up and saw the number printed on it, her jaw dropped. “Where did you get this?”
“I got it in the mail,” I replied.
“No.” She shook her head. “I got this in the mail.”
“We both got it in the mail,” I said slowly, hoping it would help the realization sink in.
I could see the precise moment when it did. Her normally pale face turned about three different shades of red as she jumped up from the lounge chair.
“You’re Number 7,” she said numbly, staring at the card in disbelief. “No. That’s impossible. You and I have nothing in common.” She slid her judgmental gaze up and down the entire length of my body. “Nothing.”
“Yeah, believe me, I know,” I grumbled, becoming increasingly frustrated at the bitchy tone in her voice.
“So then how did this happen?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
It was truth time. I wasn’t sure I was prepared for this; she looked like she was about ready to murder somebody. Most likely me. “I lied on the test.”
> She stared at me, slack-jawed. “You what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I lied. On the test,” I repeated, suddenly realizing what a horrible idea that was.
“You lied?” I could tell she was trying to control her anger. “Why would you lie on a compatibility test?”
I knew no answer I gave her would be an acceptable one, so I opted for the truth. With a defeated sigh, I said, “I didn’t want to get matched up with Grace.”
Emma closed her eyes as her hands slowly formed into fists at her sides. When she reopened her eyes and they landed on me, I was glad looks couldn’t kill. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “Why would you not want to get matched up with your girlfriend?”
“Sometimes-girlfriend,” I corrected her weakly, but that only earned me another death glare from her. “Look, Grace made me take that stupid test because she thinks we’re soulmates. I didn’t want to get matched up with her because...well, because I’m not as serious about our relationship as she is, and I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea that we’re, like, meant for each other or something.”
Emma chuckled at that, but it was a crazy chuckle. Like she was about to go postal on me. “If you’re not serious about Grace, why don’t you break up with her?”
My eyes widened at her suggestion. “Are you serious? Grace would kill me if I broke up with her. Quite literally. I’d have to make our breakup look like it was her idea, otherwise she’d make my life a living hell.”
Finally, it appeared to make sense to her. With a slow nod, she said, “So, let me get this straight. You lied on that test to get your sometimes-girlfriend to question your relationship, and in turn, you also screwed me out of the chance of finding my match and left me sitting alone in a coffee shop all night, unknowingly waiting for no one?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said. When she put it that way, it did sound kind of douchey. But before I could stop myself, I added with a grin, “Bonus.”
