Making Bad Choices

by Rita Stradling

  “Nope, can’t draw shit,” Tyler said, not elaborating. “But, yeah, I’ll help Cassie with the comic.”

  “Awesome. Okay, I’ll introduce you to everyone else and tell you about the paper. I mean, I know you two might not have the comics ready to go out in the next issue, but you’ll kind of get an idea of how it works and what we’re thinking. And then maybe you guys can do the comic for the next Monday’s issue.”

  “Wow, she talks fast,” Tyler whispered as Zoe paced up the row in front of us.

  Zoe gestured to a guy with long sandy hair and a shine of blond bristles on his chin. “Jeff is our photographer. You know Jasmine. She, Cole and I write the articles.” She pointed to Jasmine and a guy with headphones in, each gave quick glances and quicker smiles. “Michael does the layout, but he’ll show up later.”

  “Oh, he was just in our last period,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder.

  Zoe leaned in, wrinkling her nose. “He’s probably out back. Don’t bother waiting for him. He’ll show up later.” She stood straight, again. “So, we can work from any open computer, and come and go as much as you want. The only time that really matters is on Thursdays because we have to make sure everything is final and give it to Ms. Hamilton.” She pointed to Ms. Cheese-puff.

  Tyler and I both nodded.

  Zoe turned back and started listing things on her fingers, “We usually do a cover article with the biggest news. The second page has to be reminders, events and stuff like that, unfortunately. But the third and fourth pages are used for student and staff interviews and current events pieces. People usually just read the first page and toss it.” Zoe made a face, but it quickly reversed into a smile. “So, that’s why I think that the comic should go in the back, so people will be drawn into reading more of the paper and won’t just chuck it after reading the cover.”

  I scratched the back of my neck, under my hair. “What’s the comic going to be about?”

  Zoe stared at us for a second. “Well . . . it could be about anything, I guess. It has to pass the teacher’s approval and can’t be about anyone from the school, specifically. Just something that will draw people in.”

  That was extremely vague. I’d figured when she said she had ideas for the comic, she had something specific she wanted me to draw. Instead, her big idea was that the comic would encourage people to read the articles she wrote. I mean, I wasn’t judging her on that; I’d be happy to help her, but I usually drew for an assignment and my own creations had goblins and mermaids, which probably wouldn’t help her draw people in the way she wanted.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Tyler said, completely confident.

  “We will?” I asked. As this was my first day at this school, I had no clue what people here wanted.

  “Yep,” Tyler said.

  Zoe beamed. “Okay, so if you can come up with something by Thursday, that would be amazing. If not, next Thursday would be awesome too.”

  “We can do it by this Thursday,” Tyler said.

  I glared at him. “Can we?”

  “Yep.”

  Zoe looked like she was ready to do a happy dance. “Awesome! Well, I’m going to head off to my computer. You guys can sit wherever.” She left, heading down the row to the desk beside Jasmine.

  “You better have secret skills I couldn’t even dream of,” I whispered at him.

  “I’m funny.”

  “No . . . That’s your secret skill?”

  “Yep.” He grinned like this should be good news.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I mumbled.

  Tyler nodded. “You’re right. Go ahead and tell Zoe.”

  Well, shit.

  Tyler grinned wide. “I didn’t think today was going to be this much fun, I’ve never written a comic before.” He walked toward the nearest open station. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve sent a couple jokes into the paper and they printed them. People liked them.”

  I took the seat beside him, sliding into the smooth, to the point of slippery, blue plastic chair. “That makes me feel a lot better, honestly.”

  “Yeah, so, we come up with an idea and I’ll write the words, you draw the pictures, easy.” He did this sort of pointing at me thing while he said it.

  “Okay. You have any ideas?”

  “Cousin, I am full of ideas.”

  “You know that we have no actual relation, right? If you’re a Fuller, you’re related to Culter’s dad who definitely didn’t marry into my family.”

  He made a ‘pasha,’ sound.

  “I hope you’re actually funny, Full-of-yourself-Fuller,” I said, mostly teasing as I had to admit that he was pretty funny.

  He wiggled the computer mouse to wake up the screen. “Don’t even lie to yourself. I’m damn funny.”

  “Looking,” I said.

  He only grinned. “Mark my words, Cassie, we are going to make the whole school shit their pants laughing at our comic.”

  I wasn’t sure that I’d wish for that, but I hoped we wouldn’t humiliate ourselves in front of the entire school.

  Chapter Twelve

  All through the shopping trip with Culter and the next day at school, I kept thinking about what Tyler said. Most specifically, I kept thinking about what he’d said about Culter missing me. I’d never even considered that was the reason for why he was trying to hang out with me so much. When I’d thought that he had been trying to look out for me because he felt sorry for me, or because he was just being nice, that had made sense. But that he’d missed me? We’d been so dysfunctional together when we were younger, I just didn’t get what there was to miss.

  However, as he tromped around the mall with me for an hour after practice, and as he continued to seek me out throughout the school day, Tyler’s explanation fit best with the way Culter was acting. Culter Fuller had missed me in the years we’d been apart. Did I know why? No. Would I ever ask him about it? Nope, never.

  As I sat cross-legged on my bed after my second day of school, drawing up sketches for Tyler and my comic, I was keenly aware of my open bedroom door and the sound of the shower running in the bathroom down the hall.

  I turned back to my sketch. Tyler had the idea that we should stick to one set of characters, and just have them face different situations, which, thankfully, would be way less work for me.

  Looking at my current sketch, I blew out a laugh. I grabbed my phone from where it sat on my bed and snapped a picture of the sketch, before sending it to Tyler.

  The characters were Tyler’s idea too, but I put a little of my own flare into it. The fit muscular figure of Boris the Bull, our school mascot, stood leaning against a sign for Bulvin High. He had a confident, suave smile on his face as he talked to a beautiful grinning cow in a cheerleader outfit.

  Beside Boris stood a second bull who looked just a little younger and decidedly less buff. He leaned up against the same sign, just a little bit over, mirroring Boris’ posture and smile, while talking to another cheerleader cow. Nearby this bull however, was a big garbage truck scooping up a dumpster and the cow who was talking to him was holding her nose. Underneath it all, I title the comic ‘Gunther the Bull Gets a Date’.

  Tyler immediately responded back with a laughing emoji. Then my phone rang. Seeing it was Tyler, I put the phone on speaker and threw it down on the bed.

  “You like it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, is that going to go on every comic?”

  “Yeah.” I looked back to the sketch, shading while I talked. “You don’t think that it should be ‘Gunther the bull tries to get a date’?” I asked.

  “No, because then it’ll be funnier when he’s always ruining it for himself. Like every time you’ll wonder, is he actually going to get a date this time?”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “I was thinking for the first one we could do: ‘Gunther Instant Messages a Girl’. So, Gunther watches his brother Boris message a girl cow, and Boris is all like, ‘You’re hot, I’m taking you out.’ And the gi
rl’s response is, ‘Yes! Yes!’ on the instant message.” He did all the voices as he explained it. “Then Gunther takes Boris’ place at the computer and writes the same message with a big smile on his face. But, then he second thinks it, he’s too embarrassed, so he writes the message, ‘Will you go to the movies with me? I think you’re pretty.’ His smile is dropping now, but he accidentally presses send. He freaks out at his computer, pressing the ‘undo’ button, because there’s an undo button on his computer. But there’s an error message on his screen.”

  “Poor Gunther,” I interrupted.

  “Yeah, I know, but flash over to the pretty cow cheerleader he likes . . . Betsy, or whatever you want to call her, and she’s writing yes.”

  “Oh, good,” I said.

  “Not yet. Flashback to Gunther, he’s throwing his computer off his balcony, screaming and looking panicked.”

  I blew out a laugh. “Poor Gunther,” I repeated.

  “It’s probably not the best one we’ll come up with, but it’ll kind of get people used to the idea. And then we can make it about events coming up to, like Winter Ball and Prom proposals and stuff, all gone horribly wrong.”

  “Is Gunther ever going to get Betsy?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Betsy likes him, but Gunther just has a really bad streak of luck, he’s trying to be like his dick of an older brother or he doesn’t have the confidence.”

  “Okay, so I counted nine frames, or scenes, should we just stick to that every time?” I asked as I flipped to a new page and started sketching the first scene out.”

  “I don’t know, all that’s up to you.” He paused. “I got to go do some stuff, can I call you later?”

  “Yeah, or I’ll just text you some sketches later. I don’t know how we’ll do this shit when we have homework.”

  “We’ll be like a well-oiled machine by then.” His voice lowered. “Okay, really have to go now, later.” He hung up without waiting for me to respond.

  “Was that Tyler?”

  I glanced over to see Culter filling up my doorway, once again shirtless. Actually, all he wore was a pair of jeans . . . yet again. Little wisps of steam rose from the bare skin of his chest like his skin was still hot from his shower. His hair was still wet, and drops of water dripped onto his face and shoulders.

  I turned back to my sketch, feeling that same strange nervousness churn low in my belly. “Don’t you wear clothes?” I asked in an embarrassingly breathy voice.

  When he spoke, his voice had come closer, “I’m hot.”

  Dear Jesus, yes he was.

  What was wrong with me? I had to scrub my mind out with soap, or something. I concentrated so hard on not looking at Culter that when he flopped onto my bed, I almost fell off of it. A spray of water drops hit my arm.

  “Shit!” I said as I grabbed at my sketch pad. Turning, I glared at Culter who lay sprawled across half of my bed, stretching up his arms. “Culter, I am going to murder you. You splashed the sketch I have been working hours on.”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “You haven’t even looked at it.”

  “Seriously?” My glare intensified.

  His hands went behind his head, and he got comfortable on my pillow. “Just check your sketch, Cassie. If I splashed it, I’ll feel bad about jumping on your bed. But I’m not going to feel bad if I didn’t do anything.”

  Pulling the sketch pad away from my chest, I gazed down at the sketch. My eyes scanned every centimeter of the sketch, finding no water. “Well, you could have splashed it,” I grumbled, making him chuckle. “And you’re getting my bed all wet.”

  A smirk lit across his lips.

  A clean smell permeated my room, a warm, soapy, boy smell. Part of me wanted to lean closer to Culter’s bare chest and inhale more of him. Obviously, there was something very wrong with me.

  “Go away,” I mumbled, but even though I intended to mean it, my words held no conviction.

  “So, why were you talking on the phone to Tyler?” His brows rose over tired looking eyes.

  I held out my sketch to him.

  “Gunther the bull gets a date,” he read through a yawn. Culter Fuller was lying way too close to me. If he inhaled a big breath of air, his side would brush my bare knee. His blue gaze returned to mine. “Tyler joined the newspaper with you?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  He shook his head, slowly.

  I shrugged. “Well, it was only yesterday.”

  Culter closed his eyes, looking like he might pass out, but asked, “So . . . who’s your type, Spencer or Jake?”

  “You’re not actually trying to set me up with your friends, are you?” The idea made me feel as exhausted as he looked.

  Though Culter didn’t open his eyes, he turned onto his side, toward me, folding the pillow under his head. “No. I’m just curious.”

  “I don’t know.” I looked up to the ceiling, considering my choices. While they were both incredibly hot and had been so nice to me, I didn’t feel that spark of attraction for either of them. “They’re both good-looking. But I’m not ready to like anyone like that, definitely not now, and probably not for a long time.”

  “I didn’t ask who you like, I asked who was your type.”

  I rubbed down my face and groaned out the words, “Culter, I don’t know.”

  He reached across the space between us and pulled my big toe. “Come on.”

  “Fine, neither. But don’t tell them that, okay? I don’t want to hurt their feelings, I barely know them.”

  “Not Jake?” he asked, like he expected that I’d already been holding a candle for his beefy friend after knowing him for forty-eight hours.

  “Can we change the subject?” I grumbled. Setting my sketch pad back down, I tried to find some detail that I needed to work on, but my brain wasn’t cooperating with so much boy so close to me.

  “How about Spencer? You started flirting with him pretty quick.” Was there a touch of judgment in his voice? That was pretty rich coming from the guy I rescued from a hotel threesome gone wrong with two strangers.

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “He’s fun to flirt with.”

  Culter yawned, yet again, but kept talking, “Yeah, but you should know he acts that way with every girl in the school.”

  Seriously? Like he needed to warn my fragile wittle heart off Spencer, right after I just told him that I wasn’t at all interested. Lovely. Obviously, I gave off a strong confident impression.

  “Go away, Culter,” I said.

  “Huh?” he asked, blinking up at me, sleepily startled, probably because this time I meant it when I told him to leave. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. But you don’t need to warn me off Spencer, or anyone. Trust me, I don’t fall for every guy that talks to me.”

  He rolled his eyes, before stretching out and settling into my bed, again. “All I was doing was asking you questions, I didn’t mean anything by it.” His eyes closed and he looked way too comfortable in my bed.

  I poked him, making him open one eye at me.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Don’t you dare pass out in my bed.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

  “That’s why you have a room, Buttface, go use it.”

  He grinned, but didn’t look to be going anywhere. “It’s fine. You should lie down, too, take a nap . . . you’ll be less cranky.”

  The suggestion stunned me so much, I didn’t respond for a second. It wasn’t the cranky part that stunned me, but that was what I found myself commenting on, “I’m not cranky.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he whispered. Opening his eyes slightly, he grabbed my sketch pad and stretched to set it on my nightstand.

  “Hey,” I said, though I hadn’t fought him. I was starting to feel very nervous again, feeling that very same something-feeling pumping through me.

  His hand came back, and pushed my shoulder ever so slightly. “Lie down, take a nap. It’s good for you.”

  �
��No, you’ll spoon me,” I whispered, but at the same time, I found myself lying down in the bed beside him.

  He breathed out a laugh. “I won’t spoon you.”

  Despite knowing that it was a very bad idea, I lay down and looked across my pillow at him. “You spoon in your sleep, I found out the hard way.”

  “I won’t. Go to bed, Cranky.”

  “I’m not cranky.”

  “You get cranky sometimes, it’s fine.” His hand reached between us, gently stroking down the side of my hair. “Sleep, Cassie,” he said, drowsily.

  I could barely breathe, let alone sleep.

  Pulling away from me, he tucked his hand under his face, looking like he was simply tucking in for a nap and it wasn’t weird at all.

  I breathed out slowly, looking over at his restful face. Culter was so weird that he probably thought this was normal. I mean, did he have any friends that were girls . . . or girls in his life beside me and his mom? As in girls that he wasn’t using one of his playlists for.

  Lying next to my half-naked stepbrother seemed way into this-isn’t-normal zone for me, but possibly this was just how Culter thought guys and girls hung out.

  Maybe they did? I mean, I’d never taken a nap with Max or Charlie, but maybe other friends did this type of stuff.

  Minutes later, his breathing evened out.

  Closing my eyes, I listened to the slow even tempo of his breathing. Lying inches from Culter was not a good plan to induce sleep. Every inch of me was aware of his proximity. Well, I didn’t think I could sleep, I didn’t even think that I was tired, but somehow my mind drifted off.

  I woke to the phone ringing and found an arm slung down my side.

  The phone rang again, my loud, system default ringtone.

  “Where is it? Can you turn that off?” Culter whispered into my hair.

  I looked around wildly, not sure where the hell my phone was. My eyes went bleary as the beginning of a headache pulsed in the front of my skull. Drowsily, I grabbed my phone and looked at the face flashing across my screen. My dad smiled up at me.

  I stared, waking up fully in an instant. “Crap,” I whispered as I glanced down at Culter’s arm.