My Favorite Mistake

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  Who was in the driver’s seat now?

  *****

  “So who’s Joe?” I said when Hunter came back after his very long shower. He looked distinctly grumpy.

  “I told you, a family friend. Don’t stick your pretty nose in places it doesn’t belong, Missy. You might find something you don’t want to find.” He had no idea.

  “How do you know that I don’t have secrets?”

  “Oh, I know you do. I’m just not as overt as you are about finding them out. The best way to get what you want is to pretend you don’t want it.”

  “So are you telling me you don’t want me?” Could have fooled me. I was pretty sure you didn’t proposition people you didn’t want to sleep with every five seconds.

  He pointed to me. “You’re my exception, Missy. I don’t make exceptions very often. It’s bad luck. I can want you without liking you, so don’t take that as a confirmation that I like you.”

  “Am I bad luck?”

  He laughed.

  “No, Missy, you’re a jackpot. Best lucky break ever.”

  “So you’re saying you do want to sleep with me?”

  “Given the fact that I just took my millionth cold shower since I’ve moved in here and I have to constantly recite the Gettysburg Address and The Bill of Rights in my head when I’m around you? Yeah, I’d say so. Why, you want me, too?”

  “No. I hate you.” I gave it a shot.

  “Not a chance, Missy. But if you wanted to get this over with, I could be out of here in an hour.” He hopped up on his bed and started pulling his shirt over his head. Oh, God.

  “No.”

  “No?” He stopped, with half of his stomach exposed.

  “No.” My voice was firm. It was not going to happen. Joking aside, if he EVER tried to force himself on me, they would have to drag me off his dead body because I would have beaten him to death. He must have seen my anger rising or sensed that I was about ready to do something crazy again, because he pulled his shirt back down and put his hands up in a peacemaking gesture.

  “Message received. Shirt is staying on. Well, until we go to bed, but that’s nothing new.” He rubbed his tattoo again. I’d seen him doing that more than once.

  There were other little things I’d noticed about him. Like the fact that he was really into the numbers three, five and seven. Well, the seven was obvious. Five was more subtle. I’d heard him counting under his breath once, like it was a way to calm himself or something. When we walked, sometimes he counted his steps, one, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five. I’d never said anything about it because I knew he wasn’t aware of it, or he didn’t think I was aware of it. I didn’t want him knowing I noticed things like that.

  When we’d had our pizza night with our neighbors, he’d freaked out when we had thirteen people.

  “It’s uneven. We have to have fourteen.” So he’d stuck his head out the hall and yelled, “free pizza!” and some dude we’d never seen before joined us, and Hunter had seemed relieved. He was always giving my peacock stuff a wide berth.

  Hunter was quiet as we both finished our homework and prepared for bed.

  “I wrote something for you,” he said, grabbing his guitar for our nightly “music sex,” as he called it. The first time I’d heard his singing voice, I’d been blown away. His talking voice was amazing, but his singing was like honey and smoke had hooked up in the back of a van at a rock concert and had a love child. Smooth and rough at the same time.

  “Awesome. I can’t wait to hear it.”

  He strummed a chord and grinned.

  “Oh, believe me. This is Billboard material. Top Ten. Platinum record.” He started a little meandering tune.

  I’m gonna tell you a story bout a girl I know,

  Her name is Missy, and wants to do me so,

  I wanna tell you about my Missy girl,

  Her hair is brown and her lips are pink,

  Her eyes are greenish or bluish I think,

  She fights and flirts with me all day long,

  Which is why I decided to write this song,

  She may think that I’ve crossed the line,

  But she tells me she hates me all the time,

  So I don’t really believe anything she says,

  I like the way she glares when she’s mad at me,

  I like the way she smiles when she thinks no one sees,

  She may think this song means I like her,

  But she’d be very wrong,

  I was bored in macro, so I decided to write a song,

  There are two more things about Missy I like,

  Could someone please hand me a mic?

  The way she flips her retainer when she reads vampire smut,

  And I really, really like her… He winked at me.

  …ass

  I threw a pillow at him, but that didn’t stop the song. It was all about me.

  My silly, cute and sexy Missy girl… Missy girl… Missy girl…

  He strummed the last chord and then quieted the guitar.

  “So?”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. What a ridiculous song.

  “Is it possible to be both impressed and insulted?”

  “Sure, why not? What do you think of my song writing?”

  “Not much.” I couldn’t hide my smile. No one had ever written a song about me, let alone all the weird things about me that I thought other people would hate or find unattractive. The weird part was, I had no idea about the retainer thing. That was news.

  “So you like the retainer, huh?” I said.

  “Nothing like a girl who has good oral health.” I rolled my eyes at that, and he plucked a string. “And a cute ass.”

  “I never knew it was song-worthy,” I said, getting up and craning my neck to look at it.

  “You need to stop doing that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t focus my attention there, right now.”

  “Oh, I’m soooo sorry. Does this bother you?” I shimmied my hips a little and struck a pose.

  “You’re an evil, evil girl, Missy.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” I hopped back in bed and popped my retainer in, giving it a little flip and putting my arms up like a gymnast completing a vault.

  “Ten!” Hunter said, holding up ten fingers.

  It was times like this when I thought that Hunter and I could be something. That we could be something. That maybe… he could be the person I would break all my rules for. I hadn’t had a lot of luck. Maybe I was getting it all at once in the form of Hunter Zaccadelli.

  “So, can I get some payment for that song? It took me a whole hour to write it,” he said, moving his guitar and raising one eyebrow up and down. I’d never been able to do that. “Why don’t you bring that fine ass over here and take care of it? Or do you want me to put it on your tab?” And just like that, the lucky feeling was gone.

  “I have a tab? Please, tell me what’s on it.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Whatever.” I grabbed my pajamas and prepared to head to the bathroom to change. It was a pain to have to do that, but there was no way I was getting naked in the same room with Hunter Zaccadelli. I was sure he would tell me he was completely turned around, but I wouldn’t believe that for a second. He’d been trying to catch me sans clothes since day one. I’d somehow managed to evade him thus far.

  I had my fingers crossed.

  When I got back Hunter was naked, under his covers, and the light was off.

  “Why Hunter, are you tired?”

  “Yes. Being with you is exhausting, Missy.”

  I crawled into my bed and grabbed my e-reader and clicked on the book light.

  “Who’s she with now?”

  “The vampire.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one you don’t like.”

  “What is she doing with him? She knows he’s going to break her heart. He can never love her because his heart belongs to another.�
�� For a second I thought he was making fun, but then I realized he was actually serious.

  “And don’t get me started on that werewolf,” he says, propping his head on his arm. “He’s just trouble.”

  “Aren’t all werewolves?” I said.

  “Hairy trouble.” He shook his head.

  I started giggling again. Seemed I’d had a bad case of them today.

  “You may laugh, but when the full moon hits, you’ll wish you had some silver bullets.”

  “Goodnight, Hunter.”

  “Love me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hate me?”

  “More than the DMV.”

  “Oohh, burn.”

  I went back to my book, and Hunter went back to his sleeping. Well, he wasn’t exactly sleeping. I could tell he was awake. Hunter was only very still when he was pretending to sleep. The actual thing was pretty restless.

  I read until my eyes begged me to shut them. I spent most of the night thinking about Hunter and how the hell I was going to get rid of him. The hate thing wasn’t working. Unless he did something to seriously piss me off, which was pretty likely, or I had sex with him, or I made him believe that I loved him.

  Three options. Three paths to take. As long as they lead me away from him, I’d take whichever one would do that. I was drawing the line at turning in my V card. I’d only said yes to that bet to mess with him. Hunter was insane if he thought I would go to those lengths to get rid of him. I mean, really, who would do that?

  I went over and over my options as Hunter mumbled in his sleep. The stupid tune he’d made up was also stuck in my head.

  If he wasn’t so much of a dick, things would be so much easier. I watched him throw his hand over his face and frown.

  Easy wasn’t my style.

  Twelve

  I saw Hunter when I woke up. I saw Hunter as I ate a bowl of cereal. I saw him in human sexuality, where he seemed to be trying to break a record for most innuendos in one hour. I saw him at work where he assaulted my email. I saw him every night at dinner. I saw him go to and from the bathroom. I saw him at our stupid mediations, which were as pointless as socks with sandals.

  I. Saw. Him. EVERYWHERE.

  I’d never spent so much time with someone I wasn’t related to, ever. I escaped to Megan’s every chance I could get, even with the smelly boys that were always there. We were too broke to go out, but sometimes we went for walks around campus, or near her apartment.

  “My couch is open anytime,” she said when I told her about the newest bet. “I’m sure if you told housing about it that they’d do something.”

  “Been there, done that.” I’d tried again with housing, but they just told me to continue with mediations. They were still dealing with all the freshmen playing musical roommates, so maybe around the end of October I’d be able to do something.

  “Are you sure you want him gone?”

  “Yes. The more time I spend with him, the more I want him gone. I just… I can’t.” I kicked at a pinecone and a few steps later, crushed it with my foot to a satisfying crunch.

  “I know, I know.”

  We took a few more steps. Megan paused. I knew she wanted to say something else, but she was doing that waiting thing she did when she wanted to pretend she had moved on to another topic.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot, and no one would blame you for giving up on men, but have you ever thought that you can’t let one guy ruin all guys?”

  “Sure, I’ve thought about it. I don’t know, Meg. I think about it and then I remember that night, and it all comes back to me. I can’t see someone like that without it reminding me of that night.” It wasn’t chilly, but I wrapped my arms around myself and pulled my sleeves over my hands.

  “Therapy didn’t help?” She knew the answer, but she had to do the friend thing and ask anyway.

  “I had a string of interesting therapists who didn’t really know what to do with me. They tried, but I guess I just couldn’t be helped. Haven’t you heard? I’m a lost cause.”

  “No one’s a lost cause, not even you.”

  “I don’t know, Meg, I’m pretty fucked up.”

  “Have you met my boyfriend? He thinks running around in the middle of the night pretending he’s an elf is a good time. If that’s not fucked up, I don’t know what is.”

  “You love him, though.”

  She sighs, a little smile on her face.

  “Yeah, I do love him. I just don’t love his stinky friends. You have no idea how much I spend on room spray and air fresheners. I should buy stock in that stuff.”

  “Now I know what to give you for Christmas.”

  “Please, the strongest you can find. I don’t care if my house smells like a pumpkin threw up in it.”

  “Pumpkin Barf. Got it. Not sure if that’s an official Yankee Candle scent, but I’ll check.”

  We laughed and moved on to talk about other things. Megan never harped on things I didn’t want to talk about, which was one of the reasons I liked her so much. She wasn’t pushy or in-your-face. She was sweet and loyal and she’d do anything for her friends. Even her boyfriend’s friends who liked to take advantage. One of these days they were going to push her too far. I’d seen Megan snap, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Actually, one of my therapists had found a way for me to deal with some of my issues. All I needed was some watercolor paint, straws and paper. I decided to treat myself and went down to the art section of the school bookstore and splurged on the real deal.

  That evening I had the place to myself. Darah was on a date with Mase, and Renee was at the library again. I didn’t know where Hunter was until he walked in on me blowing my brains out through a straw.

  “So this is what you do when I’m not around.”

  I blew out the rest of the paint drops to the edge of the paper. I was working on a calming blue piece, blending in some green so it looked like the ocean. Some people actually tried to make a picture, but I just liked to mess with the colors to see what I could make and then try to find images in the mess. Like clouds.

  “It’s called blow painting,” I said, taking the straw out of my mouth. At the word blow his eyebrows migrated farther up his forehead.

  “Is that so?” He dropped his bag and came to examine my work. He turned his head from side to side, as if he was trying to figure out what it was.

  “It’s not supposed to be anything,” I said.

  “Oh.”

  “I just do it sometimes.” Suddenly, I wanted to hide my picture. It wasn’t like it was anything special. Picasso, I was not, but it was a personal thing I did and I didn’t share it with a lot of people.

  Hunter looked at it again, after rubbing his tattoo. One, two, three. Someday he was going to rub it off.

  “Got another straw?” I handed him one, and he paused over the paint. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, go ahead.” At least he’d asked.

  He dipped the straw in the dark blue paint, making sure he had a decent amount before dropping it on the page and puffing up his cheeks and blowing the drop of paint as far as it would go. The drop split out into several drops, and he separated each one with a blast of air, making the paint look like it was exploding. He took the straw out of his mouth and examined it.

  “I think you need a little more of the dark blue here,” he said, pointing to a corner I hadn’t gotten to yet. He turned his head, and our noses almost touched. He laughed a little, his breath moving the little wisps of hair that had escaped my ponytail.

  “Go ahead,” I said. He looked shocked for a second. “The paint. Go ahead.” My brain seemed to be only capable of firing a few words at a time.

  His mouth opened just a little, and my eyes zoned in on his lips. They were very nice lips. Full, for a guy, but they looked like he slathered them with Chapstick. For all I knew, he kept it in his pocket and only applied it when he was by himself. It seemed like something he’d do.

  He slowly drew the straw to his li
ps. Funny, he didn’t seem to have a snappy comeback, but then again, neither did I.

  He was the first to break eye contact, and I felt like all my air had been sucked out when he did. I grabbed my straw and stuck it in the green paint. I did one corner and he did the other, and somehow our paints met. Without hesitation, we put our heads together and went crazy on the paint until we couldn’t get it to go any farther. Our heads knocked together, and we both dropped our straws.

  “Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot.

  “Sorry, Missy. You okay?” Jesus, it was just a little bump.

  “Yeah, no big,” I said, looking back down at our masterpiece.

  “You sure?” He raised his hands, as if he wanted to check and make sure, but didn’t want to touch me for fear I might freak out. He knew me too well.

  “Yeah.”

  “More blue?”

  “You can never have enough blue,” I said, picking up my straw again.

  By the time Renee got back from the library, we’d done another painting, this one in autumn tones.

  “I think that one’s a keeper. That should go on the back of the door. I can get a frame if you want.”

  “It’s not that great, Hunter.”

  “What’s not great?” she called after coming back from the kitchen with a banana, a spoon and a jar of peanut butter. Ugh. I hated bananas with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

  “We made you a picture,” I said in pretend kid-voice. “Here’s me, and here’s you, and that’s Darah and Mase and Hunter.”

  “It’s beautiful, darling. That one’s going on the fridge right next to the A you got on your spelling test,” she said, playing along.

  Hunter was looking at me like I’d grown an extra head.

  “What?” I said.

  “You are so odd sometimes.”

  “Says the boy who has a vendetta against werewolves.”

  “Hey, they can’t control themselves during the full moon. They’re completely unpredictable.”

  “Hey, they look way better shirtless. Also, they still have beating hearts. Having sex with a vamp is like having sex with a corpse. I’m not into that,” Renee said, wiping a glob of peanut butter on the end of the banana. She saw me watching her. “Want some? Oh, right, I forgot.”