Boomerang Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles)

by Chris Cannon

  “Not bad.” He tilted his head and studied my face. “Just less awake.”

  Zoe held a cup of coffee out toward me. “This should help.”

  “Thank you.” I sipped the life-giving brew and waited for my brain to fully engage.

  “I know what it is,” Aiden said. “You normally wear more eye makeup.”

  “True.” I yawned. Trying to draw perfect mega-winged eyeliner hadn’t seemed worth it this morning, so I’d gone with something less involved. “Maybe this is my new low-maintenance style.”

  “I like it. It makes you look less intimidating,” Aiden said.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I snapped.

  “Never mind.” He took a step backward. “You’re still scary.”

  The bell rang, and he took off for class. I turned to Zoe and Grant. “I might be a little crabby this morning, but why would he think I’m scary?”

  “He likes everything to fit into nice neat mathematical equations,” Grant said.

  “And you’re unpredictable,” Zoe said. “I think it attracts him and freaks him out at the same time. But they do say opposites attract, so maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “Well, right now, it’s a ticking-me-off thing.”

  “Come on,” she said. “We better get to class.”

  At lunch, Aiden pulled a flat wooden box out of his backpack and offered it to me. “I bought this at the school fundraising auction, and I meant to give it to you, but I kept forgetting to bring it.”

  I opened the box. It was full of more than a hundred Prismacolor pencils, graphite pencils, and paint markers. “You bought this for me?”

  He shrugged like it was no big deal. “When it went up for bid, I thought of you.”

  “Thank you. So how’d your strudel event turn out Sunday?” I asked.

  “The apple strudel was good, but the rest of the day wasn’t great.”

  “Why not?”

  He took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with a napkin before putting them back on. “My dad’s a lawyer, so he sees everything as black and white. I disagreed with him about something, and he came unglued. Apparently, being his son means I’m supposed to agree with all of his opinions.”

  “That sucks. What did you argue about?”

  Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about what you can do with those pencils and why there are so many different kinds.”

  I used to wonder why Adien wanted to know things, but now I knew it was part of his personality. He liked to understand things and analyze them. It was cool in a geeky sort of way.

  “Allow me to demonstrate.” I grabbed a graphite pencil and a piece of paper and started to sketch him. I could add color later, if I wanted. For now, I drew the angular planes of his face, his short wavy blond hair, and analytical brown eyes behind his glasses. Then I blended in the hair and shaded his cheekbones. “Graphite is cool because it’s soft, so the harder you press, the darker the color. Plus you can blend it to soften lines.”

  “That’s amazing.” Aiden turned the picture so it faced him. “Is this how you see me?”

  Weird question. “Uhm…that’s what you look like.”

  “No, the guy in the drawing looks way more confident than I feel.”

  “Let me see.” Zoe reached for the drawing and held it up so Grant could see, too. She looked at the sketch and then at Aiden. “That’s pretty much you.”

  “I don’t think we ever see ourselves how other people see us,” I said.

  “Why not?” Aiden asked.

  “We all have baggage. When I look in the mirror, I see my grandmother’s nose, which she hated all her life. I think it’s a good fit for my face, but in the back of my head, I’ve always known she didn’t like it and wished she hadn’t passed it on to me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your nose,” Aiden said.

  “My grandmother’s sister was prettier than she was, or so everyone says. She died before I was born. My grandmother never felt good about herself because she wasn’t the ‘pretty sister.’ If you asked anyone who met her, they’d say she was pretty, but she never felt that way about herself.”

  “Sounds like your grandmother could use some counseling,” Aiden said.

  “Probably, but no one from her generation would do something like that. She firmly believes unless you’re bleeding you aren’t hurt, and if you aren’t projectile vomiting, you’re not really sick.”

  “Your grandmother does not sound like a happy person.”

  I put the graphite pencil back in the box. “She’s just a little strict in her beliefs.”

  “A little strict?” Zoe said. “She used to scare the crap out of me when I was younger. She reminded me of the grandmothers from fairy tales who cooked children for supper.”

  …

  In art class, the teacher had drawn a seating chart on the board, which was odd because we already had a seating chart. And why were there extra chairs at the tables?

  “We’ve had to combine two art classes, so please find your new assigned seat.”

  That was weird. I checked for my name and saw it was written in a square across the table from Jack’s. No way. It had to be a different Jack, not Zoe’s brother. I headed for my assigned spot, and nope…I was wrong. “What are you doing in this class?” I asked.

  He frowned at me, like he wasn’t going to answer, but then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Mrs. Beck had to go on maternity leave early, and Principal Stephens said her replacement can’t come in for another two weeks.”

  “So they’re shoving your whole group in here?”

  “Class, I know this is a bit crowded, but to avoid changing everyone’s schedule, we’re going to have to live in close quarters for a while,” the teacher said. “Take out your sketch pads. You’re going to draw the person across from you.”

  Great. I was drawing Jack. “The good news is I don’t even have to look at you to do this.”

  “Just make sure you draw me with hair,” he muttered.

  I bit my lip, trying not to laugh, but it didn’t work. He glared at me. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one who told everyone you peed in our lemonade.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Excuse me?” I knew Jack was a jerk, but I didn’t think he was a liar.

  “I didn’t tell everyone. I told two people, as a joke. Apparently, they were stupid and didn’t understand sarcasm when they heard it. I guess it spread from there.”

  I stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. “Then why didn’t you tell us that?”

  “How was I supposed to know you’d go psycho and put Nair in my shampoo?”

  “I spent days drawing on all the cups and making that banner.” I bit back the “you idiot” I wanted to end that statement with. “You had to know I’d be mad.”

  “Normal people don’t draw on paper cups. They just pour lemonade in them. As far as I knew, you were out the cost of a dozen lemons and some sugar.”

  I could see his point, even if he was being obnoxious about it. “So you jokingly told some idiots you peed in the lemonade, which means you were just being an average jerk rather than telling everyone and being the huge jerk I always thought you were.”

  “That’s how you classify me?” he asked. “I’m a jerk either way?”

  “Pretty much.” I looked down at my sketch pad and started shading in his cleft chin. “But only the huge jerk deserved the Nair, so as much as it pains me to say this, I guess I’m sorry.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he asked.

  And now I wanted to stab him with my pencil. “What’s done is done. Accept the apology and move on or don’t. Your choice.” I glanced up and studied his face, taking in his dark eyes and sandy brown hair. Funny, I’d never noticed how pretty his eyes were with the heavy fringe of lashes most girls would kill for. I continued drawing. When I finished, I didn’t recognize the handsome guy I’d drawn. I held it up so I could check it side by si
de against Jack’s face. Holy crap. Jack was really good looking…handsome even. When had that happened?

  …

  Jack

  Delia had a strange look on her face. “What?” I grabbed the sketch and studied it. Huh… “If I get lost, I want you to draw my picture for the milk cartons. This is good.”

  “Thank you.”

  I handed it back to her. “I guess it’s my turn to draw you. Just remember, this is my first art class, so don’t expect much.” Why did I say that? I was decent at drawing, but Delia was talented. There was a huge difference between those two skill levels, and I hated participating in anything where I knew I was at the disadvantage.

  Pretending I wasn’t nervous, I used soft strokes to outline her eyes and nose. Her eyes were chocolate brown with flecks of hazel. I’d never noticed that before. And her hair…that was a puzzle. I paused, tapping my pencil on the paper.

  “Are you drawing me bald as some sort of fantasy revenge?” she asked.

  “No.” I tapped the pencil again. “I’m trying to figure out how to show your crazy pink streaks.”

  “I’m going to pretend that when you said crazy, you meant fabulous…and you can shade some areas darker to show there’s a color variance without using pink. It won’t be nearly as cool, but it’s a good technique.”

  I tried her suggestion. The end results weren’t bad. They weren’t good, but they weren’t bad. I passed it over to Delia.

  “Don’t take this personally, but if I disappear, I don’t want you to be the person who draws my face on the milk cartons.”

  “Fair enough.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back at me, and all of sudden it didn’t seem like she was my little sister’s best friend…she was just a pretty girl who made my heart beat a little faster. And I realized I was staring. Time to regroup. “So how do you like being the Pie Princess?”

  “It’s kind of fun,” she said.

  “I’m surprised you don’t wear the tiara all the time,” I teased. “Since you’re into that sort of thing.”

  She laughed. “That sort of thing? Do you mean that I fantasize about being royalty or that I like sparkly objects?”

  “I’d go with sparkly objects,” I said. “Because you’re not known for trying to blend in.”

  “Anyone can blend in,” she said. “I prefer to stand out.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  The bell rang, signaling class was over and breaking the weird spell that had fallen over me. What the hell had I been thinking? Had I been flirting with Delia? Had she been flirting with me? No. That was ridiculous. Delia wasn’t an available girl. She was my honorary sister. I told myself that as I watched her walk away. Purposely, I stayed back, not wanting to make small talk or do whatever it was we’d been doing. Because Delia was not datable. She wasn’t. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I’d believe it.

  For the rest of the day, I had Delia on my brain. Whatever switch that had been flipped in art class, I needed to flip it back. Fast. Before someone noticed me acting weird.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be working tonight. I should have asked what her schedule was, but that might’ve made it sound like I’d hoped she was working when the opposite was the truth. I needed a little Delia-free time to get my head on straight.

  Later that night as I crossed the parking lot to the back door of Betty’s, I waved at Todd, who was basting pork steaks on the grill.

  “So how’s the new Pie Princess working out?” Todd asked, like he was speaking in code.

  “She can sing, and she doesn’t drop pie on people, so I think she’s doing pretty good.”

  “Did you ask her out?”

  “Dude, she’s my little sister’s best friend. She practically lives at my house.”

  “So.” Todd grinned. “What’s the problem?”

  “You can’t date someone who lives with you,” I said, “because when you break up, it would be awkward.” Not that I was considering dating Delia. That would be all sorts of wrong.

  “Vicky and I live together,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”

  I didn’t have time to explain how faulty his logic was. Instead, I went in and relieved the waitress who’d been ringing people out. There used to be another guy who worked the front counter, but he’d been recruited to make pie dough in the kitchen, and Betty hadn’t hired a replacement. Business was always good, but it seemed like Betty wasn’t replacing the people she let go or moved around.

  There was a line of senior citizens waiting to check out. They finished dinner before most people even came home from work, which seemed strange. My grandma didn’t act like that. She ate dinner with us at a normal time. Plus, it seemed to be a universal truth that the seniors weren’t good tippers. They had these laminated cards someone gave them ages ago, which allowed them to figure out the tip at 10 percent. Twenty had been the standard for years. There was probably an updated version online. Maybe I’d print them out and pass them out at the cash register, because better tips would make everyone happy.

  I found myself checking to see if Delia was behind the dessert counter, but whenever I glanced over, it was one of the waitresses grabbing pie for the customers. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved.

  Chapter Five

  Delia

  Aiden waiting by my truck after school made me wonder what he wanted. I played it cool, opening my truck door and tossing in my backpack before leaning against the doorframe. “What’s up?”

  “I’d rather not go home and deal with my family. Do you want to grab something to eat?”

  Okay. I didn’t love the way he made it sound like he only wanted to hang out with me, because he didn’t want to go home. Maybe that was the shy-guy way of hedging his bets. If I said no, he could pretend it didn’t matter.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I followed Aiden toward his beige Volvo parked toward the end of the row.

  “Do you like Mexican food?” he asked.

  “Bring on the chips and guacamole.” I loved Mexican food.

  Eating and talking to Aiden during dinner was comfortable, but something was missing. This didn’t feel like a date. After I ate the last tortilla crumb from the bottom of the basket, he drove me back to school and parked next to my truck.

  “Thanks for going with me.” He stayed on his side of the car, behind the wheel, not leaning toward me one iota, which meant he had no intention of kissing me. At this point, I could come to only one disappointing and confusing conclusion. I’d been friend-zoned.

  Okay. I could deal with that. Given a little time, I probably wouldn’t want to badger him with questions about why he didn’t think I was datable. But for now, I had my pride, so I’d fake it. “See you tomorrow.”

  I climbed out of his car and up into my truck with a smile on my face. I started the car and waved as I took off like nothing was wrong. I headed for the highway and focused on not crying tears of frustration. This was not a big deal. Not every guy I liked would like me back. And that was okay. Aiden would make a good friend. But why in the hell wasn’t he interested in me? Had he met someone else? Some super-smart girl who was into math and boring colors as much as he was? Maybe I’d ask Zoe. Then again, if she knew anything, she would have told me. Only one thing would make me feel better at this point. Pie.

  …

  Jack

  Delia wasn’t working tonight, which was good. I needed some time away from her to get my world back in order. She might have apologized to me, but that didn’t change the fact that she was unbalanced. Any guy who got involved with her would be asking for trouble. Once, I’d overheard her and Zoe plot to slash Grant’s tires. And while I knew they wouldn’t actually go through with it, it was still a little disturbing that they’d even suggested it. Normal girls didn’t plot vandalization. At least, I didn’t think they did.

  I was cracking open a roll of quarters when someone set a chocolate cream pie on the counter. I checked the price chart and looked up. And there was Delia. My he
art tripped a beat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Pie,” she said in a voice that sounded like she was about to rip someone a new one. “I needed pie.”

  I took the twenty she held out to me and then counted out her change, trying to ignore the fact that she looked like she was about to cry. When I made eye contact to hand her the receipt, I caved.

  “Are you all right?”

  She sniffled. “No, but I’ll be okay.” And then she headed out the door.

  Well, crap. I glanced around for Betty, and since she was nowhere in sight, I pulled out my cell and texted Zoe. Delia’s upset. Call her.

  There. That took care of any obligation I had toward Delia as a sister or friend or a coworker or whatever. It was a busy night at Betty’s. A lot of people picked up carry-out to avoid cooking on Monday nights. Time flew by. At the end of my shift, I grabbed carry-out for myself, and then I was out the door and on my way home.

  When I walked into the house, my grandmother was sitting in the living room crocheting. She nodded at me. I nodded back, appreciating the fact that she didn’t try to talk to me as soon as I set foot in the door. Betty’s could get loud. Some nights, I needed a little quiet before I could relax and do my homework or watch television.

  Sitting by myself at the kitchen table, basking in the silence, I polished off two hamburgers and then grabbed a slice of the apple pie my grandmother had made from the apples they’d picked. I’d never tell her, but Betty’s was better.

  “The pie is good, isn’t it?” my mom said as she came into the kitchen in her pajamas and cut a sliver for herself.

  “It is.” I took a large bite and wondered why my mom was smiling at me. “What?” I asked, wondering what was up.

  “That was nice, what you did for Delia.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

  “Maybe her working at Betty’s is like a do-over for you two. You can get to know each other as the people you are now rather than the way you were as little kids.”

  Nope. Not a good idea. I knew all I needed to know about Delia. Getting to know her better could lead to disaster. I shoved the last hunk of pie into my mouth and nodded like I agreed with my mom.