Laina surveys the piles of clothing stacked haphazardly on a collection of folding tables in our basement, and then she turns her attention to the five of us who have volunteered to help. She turns on her dazzling smile, and I can practically hear Jarod panting beside me.
“Okay, this is a big job,” Laina says, “but if we divide and conquer, we can get it done quickly.” She glances at the clipboard in her hand. “Andi was kind enough to put together a checklist for us, and she divided the work up to make it a little bit more manageable. So this should all run much more smoothly than last year. Even though there are fewer of us this time around, if we stick to the schedule, we should be able to finish it all in one day.”
Everyone cheers and I force myself not to roll my eyes. Helping her coordinate the clothing drive isn’t exactly my favorite way to spend the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, but I’m still walking on eggshells with my parents over my biology grade, and I can use all the look-at-how-responsible-I-am brownie points I can get. And I’m hoping to earn some points with Jarod too.
Besides, Laina is an organizational nightmare. She may be practically perfect in every way, but she’s more of a big-idea dreamer than a put-the-plan-into-action leader. When Laina started the annual drive as her freshman service project three years ago, I didn’t think she’d be able to keep it all organized, but her compulsive perfectionism kicked in and kept the whole thing running fairly smoothly. And when Ms. Detweiler urged her to do it all again her sophomore year, she pulled it off with no problem.
But the clothing drive has gotten bigger every year, and Laina’s natural disorganization has gotten worse lately. Last year, she didn’t even get all of the clothes sorted and distributed for weeks after the collection day. She totally needs my help, so she doesn’t end up doing everything by herself while her “volunteers” stand around eating donuts and ogling her, like they do every year.
“Okay, Andi has broken the job into three easy tasks,” Laina says. “As coordinator, and point of contact for the drive, naturally I’ll be the one to call the shelter and the domestic abuse safe house to collect their final wish lists, so that we can prioritize the division of donations between them.” She glances at her clipboard again. “While I’m doing that, I need two of you to start sorting the clothes we’ve already collected, and the other three can pick up the clothes from the remaining donation drop-off points.” She holds up the map I drew and points to the sixteen little stars. “When you get back with the last of the donations, we can all work together to finish the final sorting, and then we can divide the clothes between the sites, according to their needs.”
Laina looks up, expectantly, but the guys just stare at her blankly, waiting for her to tell them what to do.
I move to a table behind Laina. “I’ll start sorting.” I’ve already mapped out a plan for going through the piles, and I figure I can get this batch sorted long before the others return with the rest of the donations.
Jarod strolls over and grabs a pair of ratty boxer shorts from the top of the pile. “Please tell me we’re not sending things like this to the shelter,” he says, crinkling his nose.
Laina laughs. “Of course not. All used underwear and ripped or stained clothes can go into that trash can for recycling.” She looks at the three remaining volunteers. “Are you boys okay with going to pick up the rest of the donations?”
Rob nods. “We’ve got it.”
“Actually,” Dave says, “I was thinking I might be better at sorting. I’m pretty good at organizing things, and I think Andi and I would make a great team.” He strolls over to the mountain of clothes on the table and starts pawing through the pile.
Laina frowns and consults the plan I outlined for her. “No, we already have two people sorting, and we really need three of you to go pick up those other donations.” She holds out two sheets of paper. “Here is the map, and here is a list of contacts for each location. Let them know you’re with me, and that you’re picking up the final donations.”
Dave frowns. “Jarod can go with these guys.”
I shake my head. “If you’re not willing to help, why are you even here? Don’t you have your little cousin to take care of or something?”
“Nope. They left this morning. And I will help. We can do the sorting.” He grabs a handful of t-shirts from the table and glances at each one before tossing it back into the pile.
“Sorry, this job’s already taken.” Jarod winks at me and bumps my shoulder playfully. “We’ve got this, right?”
“As long as you follow my plan, it’ll be a piece of cake.” I duck my head to conceal the blush creeping up on my cheeks.
Dave takes the pages from Laina, glaring at Jarod as he backs away from the table. “Do we really need three people to pick up donations? It looks like there’s a lot of stuff to sort here. Maybe I should stay.” He hands the pages to Rob and looks at Laina with sad, puppy dog eyes.
“We have sixteen donation sites to cover,” she says. “And we have to get them all today. I think Andi and Jarod will be fine.”
Rob grabs his keys and consults the map, and Dave yanks his coat off the back of his chair, shoving his arms into the sleeves before stomping up the stairs.
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Josh says. He and Rob follow Dave, and a moment later, I hear Rob’s truck pulling out of the driveway.
“You got this?” Laina asks me.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Jarod says. “Andi’s already got a system all worked out.” I blush and he laughs. “See? No problem.”
Laina hugs us both. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she says. Then, she races upstairs to start making phone calls.
“Tell me your master plan, oh wise one.” Jarod bows in mock reverence. “What do we do first?”
I pull a second folding table over and arrange the tables to form a U-shape with the couch, placing the trash can between the tables at the top of the U. Then, I grab an armful of clothes and dump them onto the couch.
“First, we consolidate all of these little piles into one central location. We can do a quick, rough sort, putting the boys’ clothes here and the girls’ clothes over there, and tossing out anything that isn’t in good shape or is just plain gross.” I grab the ratty boxers Jarod is still holding and toss them into the trash can. “We can do a detailed sort after that.”
“What if we find something really snazzy and we want to keep it for ourselves?” Jarod pulls the ugliest lime green and hot pink Hawaiian-style shirt I’ve ever seen out of the pile. The shirt is ginormous and gaudy, but otherwise in good shape. We’ll keep it in the donation pile, because there’s nothing technically wrong with it, but I wouldn’t wish a shirt like that on my worst enemy. He slips it on and flexes his muscles, but the shirt is so huge that it still looks like he’s swimming in a sea of hideous fashion sense.
I laugh and fish a thick, orange and avocado green, scratchy woolen scarf and a rainbow striped belt out of the pile. “Your ensemble is missing something, dahling,” I say in my best snobby fashionista voice. I buckle the belt around his waist and reach up to wind the scarf around his neck.
My fingers brush against the stubble on his cheek, and I shiver as a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, but Jarod is too busy rummaging through the pile to notice. He pulls out a pair of purple plaid shorts and pulls them on over his jeans, and then he struts across the room like a runway model.
I laugh and clap. “Brilliant! That outfit is so you!”
Jarod bows and then he saunters back to the pile of clothing still to be sorted. He holds up a long, velvet dress. “Hey, do you know what this reminds me of?” he asks.
I nod. “Much Ado About Nothing, right? That looks almost like the dress I had to wear.” I pull it out of his hands and inspect it briefly before tossing it onto the “girls” pile. “Except mine had a broken zipper.” I laugh, remembering the awkward way I had to slide across the stage, careful never to turn my back to the audience, so they wouldn’t know about my ward
robe malfunction.
“But you pulled it off,” Jarod says. “No one even knew you weren’t fully-clothed. Except for those of us who had to stare at your bare back onstage every night.” He grins and digs back into the pile of clothes. “Do you still wear a Hello Kitty bra? Or have you graduated to Dora the Explorer?”
I roll my eyes and busy myself with the clothes to hide the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “So you’ve spent the last six years daydreaming about me in my underwear? That’s a little bit creepy, don’t you think?”
Jarod turns a brilliant shade of red. “That’s not what I meant.”
I laugh. “Relax. I know I flashed the whole cast on a nightly basis. Probably pretty hard to forget. But I think it’s pretty obvious that you weren’t paying attention. I never wore Hello Kitty. Strictly Wonder Woman.”
We quickly paw through the rest of the clothes, tossing them into “his,” “hers,” and “trash” piles, finishing the preliminary sort in almost no time. Even though we keep everything that isn’t ripped, stained or disgusting, I’m amazed at how much we have to throw away. The trash bin is already more than half full, and this is only from the clothing collected at school.
“Don’t people realize this is supposed to be stuff for actual people to wear?” I ask. “If we wanted to collect trash, we would have applied to be sanitation workers instead.”
“What? You’re kidding me.” Jarod shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Your problem is that you’re too picky. If you weren’t throwing away so many treasures, we wouldn’t have such a big trash pile.” He grins and pulls a shredded pair of jeans from the garbage can. “You don’t think someone will want these? You’re into fashion. Didn’t you know that the ripped denim look is really hot right now?”
I laugh. “Um, I’m not exactly into fashion, Jar. I’m more interested in looking good. Can I help it if I have a talent for that?” I push my fist through the massive hole right next to the zipper. “Showing a little skin on the knee, or even the back, is one thing, but no one really wants to see this much!”
“Oh, come on. Now you’re being judgmental. How do you know what other people want to see and what they don’t?” He digs through to the bottom of the trash bin until he finds that old, ratty pair of boxer shorts. “Well, look at that. It’s a perfectly matched set,” he says. “I could wear this ensemble to my next college admissions interview and make a really good first impression.”
Jarod could totally pull off the ripped denim look. With his super-confident swagger, I bet he could even get away with wearing something like that for an actual interview and not blow it. I glance at the torn jeans in his hands and imagine them wrapped around his muscular legs, the tight denim hugging the perfect shape of his butt, the tears and slashes revealing his perfectly-toned thighs …
I blush and grab the jeans out of his hands, quickly burying them under several layers of trashed clothes and breathing deeply to bring my pulse back to normal. I’m cool and unruffled and in control. “Yeah, I’d love to see that,” I say.
Jarod reaches into the bin and grabs a handful of black fabric from the top of the pile. “And I would love to see you in this.” He holds the item up and gives it a little shake to unfold it. My eyes about pop out of my head when I see that he’s displaying a tiny, black nightgown that wouldn’t have covered much skin, even before someone ripped the entire lace front to shreds.
My stomach flips as I imagine modeling that nightgown for him, but I raise one eyebrow and lean against the table. “Still fantasizing about me in my underwear, huh?” I ask.
Jarod glances at his hand and the color drains from his face.
“Not that I blame you, or anything. I am pretty hot.” I flip my hair over my shoulder and strike a pose.
Jarod drops the lingerie back into the bin. “I meant this,” he mumbles, pulling out a torn Guns N’ Roses t-shirt that’s missing one sleeve. His face burns a brilliant shade of crimson. “They’re both black. Easy mistake.”
I grab the nightgown and hold it up in front of me. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I bet I’d look amazing in something like this.”
He gulps and looks away, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’re too young for that,” he says, yanking the nightgown out of my hands and tossing it into the trash bin. “Stick with Guns N’ Roses.”
I take the vintage t-shirt from him and set it aside. With the missing sleeve and torn hem, it’s not exactly something I’d pass on to the shelter for the clothing drive, but I might actually be able to make it work. I’m keeping it.
I turn to the piles of pre-sorted clothing, determined to keep myself busy, so I won’t slip up and say something I’ll regret. “We still have to sort these by size and style.”
“Right.” He joins me at the table. “Stop playing around and get to work.”
I grin and bump against him with my shoulder, taking a deep breath to still the butterflies that kick up in my stomach when we touch. “I’m sorry if you can’t concentrate, but you can’t just turn off beauty and charm like mine. I don’t blame you for fantasizing about me.” I glance pointedly at the trash bin.
He blushes. “What? No, that could’ve happened to anyone.”
I nod thoughtfully. “You’re right. Guys fantasize about me all the time.” I wave my hand in front of myself. “Ahem. Smokin’ hot, remember?”
Jarod laughs and smacks himself in the forehead. “Oh yeah. How could I forget?”
“I’ll forgive you this one time,” I say, “as long as you don’t ever forget such an important fact again.” I sigh dramatically in a way that hopefully says “I’m totally playing right now” and not “why won’t you love me?”
“Okay, it’s a deal.” He shakes my hand, holding it just a bit longer than necessary, and for the tiniest flicker of an instant, I think I see a glimmer of interest in Jarod’s eyes. But before the tension between us can develop into anything more than the barest hint of a spark, the door opens and Laina skips down the stairs.
“Hey guys, how’s it coming down here?” She glances at the piles of clothes and shakes her head slowly. “I kind of expected you to be nearly finished by now, but it doesn’t look like you’ve done much of anything. Andi, you said you were going to help. I can’t have you distracting my volunteers.” Jarod blushes and moves away, as if the air around me is suddenly toxic.
Like everything else about Laina, her timing is absolutely perfect.
A sharp knock at the front door makes me jump, and I spill milk all over the homework I’m trying to convince myself to complete. I toss a towel over the soggy mess and glance through the window next to the door.
Jarod.
I run my fingers through my hair and straighten my sweater. And I tell my heart to stop fluttering. He’s not here for me. He’s been avoiding me since the clothing drive. He barely looked at me when our family sat next to his at church on Sunday, and he didn’t even say hello when he came to pick Laina up for their annual I-hate-Valentine’s-day dinner last night.
I take a deep breath and open the door. If he’s still embarrassed, the best thing is to act like Saturday never even happened.
I’m good at pretending.
“Um, Laina’s not home from school yet,” I say. “I thought she stayed after to hang out with you at play practice.”
Jarod grimaces. “She did.”
“Well, you beat her home. Do you want to come in? She should be here any minute.”
“She left over an hour ago,” he says. “I had to go over some issues with the stage manager, and then Mr. Finn wanted to talk to me about the lighting for the big musical number.”
I frown and glance over his shoulder at the street. “Maybe she stopped at the library or she had to get gas or something? Or maybe that old clunker of hers broke down on the side of the road?”
“No. I would have seen her.” Jarod glares at Laina’s empty parking space. “We were supposed to study tonight, but then that creep, Crawford, asked her to drive him home. An ho
ur ago.”
“I don’t think I know anyone named Crawford. Is he new?”
Jarod growls. “You know, Crawford. Arrogant. Ego-maniac. Star of every school play since kindergarten. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. Pain in my a— in my butt.”
I smile. Laina has this strict no-swearing rule that she expects everyone to follow, and Jarod is usually pretty good about it, except when he’s all worked up. It’s kind of cute to watch him stumbling all over himself to follow her rules, even when she’s not around to notice.
But I still don’t know anyone named Crawford. “Are you sure I’ve met him?”
“You know, Shane Crawford. Used to be my best friend, until I realized that he didn’t care about anyone besides himself?”
Oh. Shane. The guy Laina’s been lusting after for the last three years, ever since Jarod introduced them to each other.
“You mean Rachel’s boyfriend? If he’s so horrible, why did you give him the lead in your play?”
Jarod frowns. “I didn’t. Mr. Finn wanted him, and faculty advisor trumps student director.” He glances back at the empty street, as if he expects Laina to magically appear. “And it’s not that I hate Crawford. He’s not even worth the effort. I just don’t trust him.”
I bite my lip and step back, pulling Jarod into the house. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Laina’s totally safe.” I take Jarod’s hand and lead him into the living room, and I say a little prayer. But I’m not sure if I should ask God to make Laina hurry home, or if I should ask Him to keep her out for a while longer.
It’s not like anything is going to actually happen between Shane and Laina. She’s too clueless to realize that he has a crush on her too, and he’s too stupid to make his move. They’ve been stuck in this endless loop of almost-flirting for years, and instead of asking her out, Shane started dating Rachel Nichols, Emily’s sister and Laina’s ex-best friend, a few months ago. I’m pretty sure he was trying to make Laina jealous, but instead it totally killed any chance he might have had with my sister. Miss Perfect would never do anything with her friend’s boyfriend, even if they haven’t actually been friends since Kendra wormed her way in between them back in seventh grade.
Twleve Steps Page 3
