“Now get out of my stall.” She grins. “Or you’ll be late for tutoring.”
What choice do I have? I rise from my place on her cushion and make my grand exit.
Whatever. I don’t believe in this hocus pocus, anyway. What does she even know? Someone stealing my man? Ha! This requires me tohavesaid man, like that would ever happen.
Thanks for nothing, Bon Bon.
Shaking my head, I thrust open the bathroom door and make a sharp right turn, but because I’m not paying attention to my surroundings, I smack directly into someone’s torso.
Ow.
I’m stepping back when a voice says, “Oh geez! Sorry about that!”
And as I glance up, I realize who I’ve mistakenly bumped into—and that person is none other than Joe.
FIFTEEN
Sara
“Oh my gosh,” I blurt, flustered. “I’m sorry!”
I just walked smack-dab into Joe.Joe!Ah!What are the odds?
Genuine concerns splays over his face. “Are you okay?”
What a gentleman, asking if I’m okay whenI’mthe one who collided withhim!
“I—um.” What are words? Say something, Sara! “I’m good!”
Joe gives me this shy smile, andoh. It’s really cute. “Okay. Good.”
“Good,” I repeat, as though this is the one and only wordI possess in my personal lexicon. My mouth opens again and . . .I’m suddenly rendered speechless. I couldn’t string a sentence together if my life depended on it. Nouns? Verbs? What are those?
And now we’re just staring at each other as this awkward pause stretches on. My face grows more scarlet by the second. Soon I will transform into the same color as a fire truck, setting a Guinness World Record for Deepest Shade of Red a Human Can Turn.
He tugs a hand through his hair. This is so awkward.I’mso awkward! What am I even doing?
“Um, okay.” It comes out more like a squeak. “Bye!”
And then I sprint down the corridor, curve around a corner, and flatten my back against the wall.
Ugh. Why did I do that? I could have asked him about Newspaper Club! Or what school he attended before transferring. Literally said anything else besidesgood. Good?! How many times did I even say that? What is wrong with me?
It’s official. When it comes to boys, I’m doomed.
Sighing, I keep walking until I’ve entered the library. Patrick’s sitting at the study table Subwayboy and I occupied last week, but Oliver’s nowhere in sight. That’s good, considering I’m early on purpose.
I slump into the seat next to Patrick and tug my disguise from my shoulder bag, popping my glasses on my face.
Patrick sets his phone down, observing me. “How long are you going to pretend you’re not the creepy girl from the subway?” As I’m pinning my bangs back, he adds, “Not that I care, or whatever.”
“Listen, I’ll tell him eventually—okay? Just, uh, not today.” I twist my scarf around my neck and pull it up to my chin. “Also? I just embarrassed myself in front of Joe ten seconds ago. I can’t double embarrass myself right now. I need recovery time, but I’m going to tell him, okay? It’s not that easy—”
“Sara.” Patrick looks at me like I’m a tiny baby bird who’s just fallen from a nest. “Calm down. You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to.”
My fingers find my compact at the bottom of my bag. I admire my disguise. “Should I draw a unibrow?”
“Yeah, sure,” he deadpans. “While you’re at it, draw a fake moustache. Thatdefinitelywon’t be weird.”
