“Maybe.” He motioned to the door, inviting me to walk out into the hall with him. And just when I thought, this is it, the conversation is done and I’m never going to get this feeling again, and I was so so sad about it even though it hadn’t even happened yet, that’s when he stopped, turned and stared at me for a moment with those dreamy eyes and said, “I think we should study together.”
I’d seen it on TV. Read about it in books. But, Diary, that was the first time I’d ever had the sensation of all my insides melting. And I swear I could feel his stare as he awaited my reply. I could feel it in every cell in my body. In my heart. In my stomach. My brain. I could feel it all the way to my toes.
I’m positive I flubbed the words. Because this tall, gorgeous boy with the incredible blue eyes was staring at me in a way no boy has ever stared at me. I know I said yes, because somehow, even though my brain was going a million miles an hour like adog with zoomies, I got that he was asking me to meet him after school at his parents’ coffee shop.
It was that moment, Diary, that I knew this boy wasn’t just asking me to help him with his geometry homework. This boy was asking me out. Like on a date. Only he wasn’t calling it a date. But it was the first day of school, and everyone knows they don’t give homework on the first day, so there would be nothing to ‘study.’
To this day, five whole days later, I can still feel the tingles that shot through my body when this boy—who I hadn’t ever given a second thought to when we passed in the hallway. Who I’d never spoken a single word to even though we went through the whole second grade together. Who five minutes before that conversation even happened wasn’t a part of my world—had suddenly become my whole world.
“You like coffee, right?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head that had him looking even dreamier.
“Yes,” I lied, hoping I was convincing.
Mom drinks coffee every morning. I tried it once and gagged. But I lied to him, because in that moment I really really wanted to like coffee. I mean, his parents own a coffee shop, and not liking coffee might have been a red flag. And I didn’t want to give this amazing boy with the striking blue eyes any reason not to like me.
Something else I didn’t know about him is how kind he is. He’s thirteen, and aren’t all thirteen-year-old boys supposed to act all tough and cocky and like they don’t have feelings? But not Trevor. Because three hours later, when I thought we were going to meet a half mile away at the coffee shop, I left school to see him perched against the half wall right out front. He was leaning right up against the CR in Creek, talking with Jaxon.
I wasn’t sure what to do. My plan was to walk past him and walk to the coffee shop, because maybe he didn’t want Jaxon to know about me and our maybe-date. And because I didn’t know what to do, I pretended not to see him.
But he called out my name. And my heart pounded furiously in my chest when he said, “Ava, wait up.”
He walked me to the shop, and he didn’t say one single thing about himself the entire way. He asked me about my favorite shows. What I liked to do. How I liked my other classes.
And then… Then he opened the door for me.
He led me to a booth near the front window and motioned for me to sit. It’s since become my very favorite booth in my very favorite place.
When he asked me what kind of coffee I wanted, I told him to pick for me. And, Diary, the grin he gave me made me even more melty than I’d been in the geometry classroom.
Today is Friday. We’ve already met two more times for coffee.
I love coffee now.
Or maybe I just love the boy serving it to me.
Chapter Nineteen
Trevor
Holy shit.
I slide the diary back across the table, not quite knowing how to feel about reading something so deeply personal and full of feeling.
“Have I ever read this before?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve never shown my diary to anyone.”
The enormity of this situation has me feeling overwhelmed once again, because… Jesus, that’s one hell of a pedestal she put me on back when she was thirteen. The expectations she must have right now. Of how I should act based on what I used to do. That I’ll suddenly remember because I read her most private thoughts.
Part of me is mad at that kid for being so goddamn kind and chivalrous. She’s right. How many thirteen-year-olds are like that? Then I scold my thoughts, because that kind, chivalrous kid wasme. But it’s a lot to fucking live up to.
There’s more of that uncomfortable silence between us. Her breasts rise and fall with a deep sigh. It’s hard not to look at them. Her shirt is showing a bit of cleavage. And she’s got damn nice cleavage. And hey, just because I don’t remember shitdoesn’t mean I’m not a normal red-blooded guy. Still, I avert my eyes, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.
She didn’t seem to notice my ogling, however, as she’s too busy brooding. She clearly expected more of a reaction to the diary entry than I’m giving her.
It makes me feel like a jerk. A lowlife. But mostly, it makes me feel like an imposter. An imposter in her life. In everyone’s lives.
Earlier today, I decided I can’t let that shit just sit and fester inside me. And I shouldn’t continue to punish Ava, or anyone else, because of my crappy memory. She doesn’t deserve this. Even so, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump right in and play house or anything.
