For the next couple of days, it seemed like I ran into Trey and Portia everywhere. In the halls at school, in the cafeteria, at the library, and even at the movies, when Trey decided to invite her to come along with the Nerd Herd and me to our midnight premier. I tried hard to be the better person. To ignore her annoying laugh. The way she always had to latch right on to Trey’s arm whenever I was around. But I swore, if I had to spend one more second with her, I might have to pop her inflated chest and see if she flew away like a balloon losing air.
Mom carried a ceramic bowl into the dining room and sat in on the table in front of me. My nose wrinkled. Spinach with ham chunks in it. How the hell did she come up with these dishes?
My gaze flicked to one of the pictures of an antique truck on the wall. What I wouldn’t give to hop into one and drive away about now.
“Something smells good,” Dad said. He slid into the chair across from mine.
Probably his cologne because it sure wasn’t dinner. Yuck.
“I think Carver’s supposed to come home from school in the next week or so,” Mom said to Dad, who’d picked up a copy of today’s paper.
Now that got my attention. Carver Foster was the king of shirtless carwashes. The crush of my elementary and junior high years. Not to mention the star of many, many fantasies. He was three years older than me and two years older than Drake. And he’d been the one to teach me how to play soccer. Hard to believe Jimbo belonged to him—or rather his family since he’d been away at college.
“Um—why’s he coming home?”
Mom glanced up from scooping blobs of green glop into Dad’s bowl. “His mom’s been sick.”
That explained the last time I saw her. “Is she gonna be okay?”
“I’m not sure. We haven’t really heard what’s going on. All I know is they’ve been gone a lot lately.”
My parents changed the subject and talked about a part they needed for their computer and where the best place was to get it. At that point, I zoned them out and focused on rescuing my ham bites from the green, mushy mess Mom called spinach. It looked more like someone had scooped algae up from a swamp or sneezed in my dish.
The phone rang from the kitchen and I hopped out of my seat, carrying my dinner with me. I turned my body so Mom wouldn’t see me with it. “I’ve got it.”
When I got in the other room, I grabbed the cordless phone and brought my food over to the trash can and scraped it out. “Hello?”
“Del, hey, it’s Trey,” he said. “I hate to keep bugging you. But I need your help again.”
No, if he hated it so much then he’d quit doing it. But instead he tortured me with calls about Portia. And how he couldn’t figure out how to impress her without my help. Hell, it was beginning to feel like I was the one dating her, not him.
“What’s going on?”
“Do you think you can stop in for a few?”
The word ‘no’ sat perched on the end of my tongue. But for some, stupid reason, I couldn’t say it. I clenched my fist at my side and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
I hung up then poked my head into the dining room to tell my parents I was leaving. However, when I caught them in a lip-lock, I decided to just go. A minute later, I stood inside Trey’s living room, watching him pace the floor. His faded jeans sat low on his hips, the black T-shirt he wore stretched tight over his broad shoulders and biceps. Something I seemed to focus on way too much, as of late.
“Here’s the thing. I want to set up a special date to ask Portia to prom. And I thought you might have some ideas?”
My throat thickened. No. This wasn’t happening.
“Let me think this over for a second.” I fell back on the couch, drawing my legs up to my chest.
Right then, his cell buzzed. He glanced down at the number and smiled. “Speak of the devil. Hey Portia … ” Trey made his way out of the room.
Devil was right. Portia ruined everything. I so missed the days when Trey and I could have a conversation that didn’t revolve around her. I pulled my own phone out and texted, “
A few seconds later, my cell came to life with the sounds of waterfalls.
“Del, what’s going on?”
