“Well, Eli came to the library again today.”
“Eli?” She quickly sits up and grabs my ankle. “The hot guy?”
“Eli and another guy.” I scoff when I mention the second one.
“What’s wrong with the other guy?”
“He’s a tool. He called me munchkin.”
“Oh, hells no.” Carley shakes her head. “Did you give him hell?”
She knows me and how much I hate being called one of those horrible names for short people. “Eli told him not to call me that so instead, he called me ‘Shortcake’.”
“What an asshole.”
“Douchenozzle.” I say with a snicker. “That’s what I calledhim.”
“You called him douchenozzle?” Carley has scooted closer to me; my legs are now on her lap. “To his face?” she squeaks.
“I did.” Remembering it makes me snicker. “Eli cracked up.” He has a great laugh––deep and rich.
“Then what happened?”
So, I told her the rest, about the hockey stuff and also about Ava.
“No.” Carley shakes her head. “Don’t you dare go get her if Eli shows up while you’re working. She’s a worthless bitch. She was in my ed psych class. We had a group project...” Carley sighs. “She’s one of those who doesn’t do her part on group projects so people like me have to do her shit too.” I hear a growl.
“I hate people like that.” I really do.
“Right?” I want to laugh at the fact that Carley just went way off track when she adds, “Besides, she’ll chew him up and spit him out. Then you’ll never see him again.”
“But she’s—”
Holding up one of her fingers in front of my face, she waggles it back and forth and says, “Don’t you dare say you’re not good enough for him.” She squeezes my ankle. “Because I know how that brain of yours works, Em. You think because Ava looks like aSports Illustratedswimsuit model that she should be with Eli––but that’s not true.”
“They match.”
“That’s not a thing, sweetie. People don’t end up together because they ‘match.’”
“Think about their babies. How pretty—”
Holding up her right hand this time, she shakes her head. “That’s also not a thing.”
“Maybe not, but one thing is certain, guys like Eli don’t date women like me.”
“Oh, really?” Carley says with a scowl. “Guys like Eli don’t date beautiful, smart, funny, classy women?”
“Classy?” I giggle after that one. “I’msonot classy.”
“You are. You never cuss. You drink tea from a fancy cup, you-you—”
“It was my grandmother’s teacup. I drink out of it because I loved her, and I miss her. It reminds me of her.”
“Let me finish.”
I sigh, exasperated.
“You hold doors for strangers, you help old ladies cross the street, you’d give a person the shirt off your back if you thought they needed it more than you and—”
“That’s not about being classy. That’s about being a good person.” I’m proud of that part of myself. I try to be a good person.
“You’re generous.”
I guess she’s giving up on the classy thing—probably a good idea.
“Just stop.” I’ve rolled my eyes about twenty times in the last few minutes and now my eyeballs hurt. “I get what you’re saying, and I thank you, but I stand by my claim. Guys like Eli Baxter don’t go for girls like me.”
Moving my feet off her lap, she stands. “Not true.”
It is true. And the sooner she realizes it, the sooner we can move past all of this stuff with Eli, and I can get back to my life of books, school, and the knowledge that I’ll probably live alone with a hamster or two. I refuse to accept the “crazy cat lady” label so hamsters it is. Ooh, wait… make that a guinea pig.
