The Opposite of Ordinary

  “What’s not such a good idea?” Maxon appears in the classroom doorway. He has sawdust in his hair, and on the front of his clothes, and what looks like a dirt smudge on the center of his forehead. I have the craziest urge to get up and rub my finger across it. Thankfully, I manage to keep my butt in my seat and keep my stalker title from getting announced to everyone.

  Clove glances at me with amusement. “Ash, would you like to explain to Maxon what your not such a good idea is? Or should I?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “Or no more magical chips for you.”

  “Oh, fine.” He steals the bag of chips off my desk. “But payment is due upfront.” He stuffs his face with chips, typing away and leaving cheesy prints on the keys.

  Maxon smiles at me as he zigzags around the desks toward us, and I can’t keep a dorky smile from plastering across my face.

  As Maxon reaches me, Huntley enters the room. He takes one look at me before scurrying around the far edge of the room toward Clarissa and Kinslee.

  Okay, so maybe he didn’t vote for me.

  “Hey.” A smile lights up Maxon’s face as he stops beside my desk. The sight causes my heart to fly away to Daydream Land, filled with kisses, and touching, and all sorts of other stuff.

  “Hey.”

  Clove giggles, and I kick his shin from underneath the desk.

  His laughter shifts into a scowl. “Hey, what was that for?”

  “For giggling like a cheerleader slash hyena with an underlining teasing tone meant to be directed at me in an attempt to mock my lame-ass reply to your bestie’s greeting,” I tell him.

  “Wow, who knew a laugh could say so much?” Clove muses. “It makes me wonder what my sneezes mean.”

  I narrow my eyes on him, but it’s a playful move. “They probably mean that you need to take a chill pill from this conversation and redirect your attention back to the computer before I repo my cheesy goodness payment.”

  A devilish grin rises on Clove’s face. Then he tips his head back and dumps the rest of the chips into his mouth. “Ha!” he says through a mouthful. “There went your collateral.”

  Maxon glances back and forth between us. “Okay, what the heck did I miss?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I bump Clove’s foot with mine as he giggles again. “Just Clove trying to convince me that he has some hyena DNA in him. I tried to tell him it wasn’t possible, but he won’t give up.”

  Clove blasts me with a dark look. “No, he won’t. Not until you decide that I’m right, and then tell Maxon that I am.”

  “Tell me that you have hyena DNA?” Maxon shakes his head, sending sawdust onto my desk. “Okay, I think you guys are having some sort of secret, coded conversation. And while I’d like to break the code, I’m tired, so please just tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” I say at the same time Clove tells him, “I just want Ash to admit to you that I have hyena DNA.”

  Maxon stares us down while brushing the rest of the sawdust out of his hair. Clove and I remain silent underneath his penetrating gaze. Although, we do squirm a little.

  “Fine, don’t tell me.” He gives up, crouches down beside me, and rests his arms on my desk. “I have a question for you.”

  I stupidly point at myself. “For me?”

  His lips quirk. “Yes, for you.”

  For some stupidly silly reason, my heart flutters to La La Land. “Okay, what’s up?”

  He drums his fingers on the desk. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to help me with something this weekend. And don’t feel like you have to say yes, but I’d really like you to. But you don’t have to.” He shakes his head at himself. “Sorry, I’m doing that rambling thing again, aren’t I?”

  “You’re fine,” I tell Maxon, trying not to get too giddy yet, but mother of all spaceships, my stomach spins wildly as vivid images flood my mind of all the things he could possibly want to do with me. “What do you need my help with?”

  Excitement lights up his eyes. “A sort of science project.”

  I grip my soda in my hand as his words knock the breath out of me. He wants me to help him with a science project? I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to, but my guilty conscience might not make it easy.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he tells me quickly. “It probably sounds really boring, but I thought I’d ask, you know because we’re friends and all. And friends do stuff together.”

  “Yes, they do.” Clove’s tone carries insinuation. “So why didn’t you ask me to help you?”

  “Because you always help me,” Maxon replies, giving Clove a hard look.

  “Oh, I see.” Clove presses back a grin.

  Maxon sighs. “I hate when you do that.”

  Clove thrums his finger against his lip. “Hmmm … Do what, exactly? Because I do a lot of things all the time.”

  “When you say stuff without actually saying stuff,” Maxon answers, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

  “I don’t know why you’d hate that,” Clove replies. “Talking without actually talking seems like a real talent. One people would pay to see.”

  “Then maybe you should go track those people down,” Maxon quips. “Because I feel like I need to get paid to deal with this.”

  Clove reaches into his pocket, digs out a quarter, and slaps it down on the desk. “There you go. And”—he drops another quarter onto the desk—“this is for this …” He gives Maxon the same look that started this conversation.

  Maxon shakes his head, but picks up the quarters. “I’m keeping these.”

  “Good. You earned them.” Clove then concentrates on the computer again, his goofy grin remaining on his face.

  Maxon, on the other hand, seems quite the opposite of amused. I don’t know what Clove told him with his secret look, but whatever it was got under Maxon’s skin. I don’t like that he’s irritated. I want him to be the happy, full of slushy and licorice Maxon.

  “Maxon, I’d love to help you with your science project.” Which is true. After watching him put projects together from afar, I’m excited to see the process happen up close. I just hope my guilty conscience doesn’t taint the moment. Maybe I should take the chance and tell Maxon the truth about what happened and avoid the guilt altogether.

  Would he hate me if I did? Probably. But he might hate me more the longer I lie to him.

  What do I do?

  “Are you sure?” Maxon asks. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

  I nod. “I’m absolutely sure.”

  “Okay. Good.” He smiles, but then gets all fidgety. “I’ll probably work on it Monday. It’ll take me a few hours, but you can just come over whenever you want.”

  “Okay.” I prop my elbows on the desk. “Can I ask what the project is?”

  The glimmer in his eyes turns my stomach into a bouncy house. “Actually, if it’s okay with you, I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Wait a second. Are you trying to build a storybook transporting device?”

  “Not quite, but close.”

  I slant forward on my arms. “Well, Maxon, I’m intrigued.”

  He grins, yet seems flustered, taking in an unsteady inhale. “Good. That’s how you should feel about science.”

  “Normally, I don’t,” I admit. “So maybe I’m more intrigued by the idea of hanging out with you.”

  Um, what? Did I seriously just say that out loud. And in a flirty tone!

  Maxon’s flustered level goes off the charts, his cheeks tinting pink. “Um … Yeah … That’s good.” He ruffles his hands through his hair, sending more sawdust onto my desk.

  While Maxon is dusting the dirt onto the floor, Clove makes fishy kissy lips at me.

  My eyes narrow as I mouth, “You shush.”

  He grins and blows me a kiss.

  I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him right as Maxon looks up.

  His forehead furrows as his gaze travels to Clove, who thankfully has toned down making out wi
th the air. Then he drums his fingers against the desk, considering something. Before he can get the words out, though, the bell echoes throughout the classroom, announcing lunch is over.

  “Well, kid, it’s been a real pleasure doing business with you.” Clove shuts the computer and rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. “Sadly, I think I’m going to have to ask for an extension.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell him, though I was hoping I’d have the info by now.

  “Don’t worry; it won’t be too much longer.” He collects the laptop and tucks it under his arm. “I’ll check the computer out again tomorrow and hopefully have something for you by then. Saturday at the latest.”

  “There’s no rush,” I lie, standing up.

  “I’ll get it done by Saturday,” he insists with a firm look before strolling toward the front of the classroom where Clarissa is waiting for him near Mr. Chester’s desk.

  When our gazes momentarily meet, her brows dip. Then she wrenches her eyes off me and smiles at Clove.

  “So, about the party on Saturday”—she loops her arm through his and steers him toward the door—“you’re coming, right?”

  “Ha! Do you even have to ask? You know I never miss a party. And I just bought a large bag of M&Ms. You know what that means?” He starts singing “Brass Monkey” by the Beastie Boys.

  Clarissa giggles as they step into the hallway and get swallowed up in the mob.

  Maxon makes no move to leave, waiting by my desk as I stuff my pen and notebook into my bag. I wonder what he’s doing, but I can’t grow the lady balls to ask, mostly because I worry he’ll realize he should leave.

  When Kinslee and Huntley head for the door, I expect him to finally unglue his shoes from the floor. Yet he lingers by my desk, even when Kinslee slows to a halt in front of the doorway and gives him an expectant look.

  “Max, are you coming?” she asks with a hopeful, doe-eyed look on her face.

  Huh. I think Kinslee might have the hots for Maxon’s tots. Hmm … I wonder if he knows. If he did, would he want to date her? I wouldn’t blame him if he did. She’s smart, loves science, and could be pretty if she didn’t scowl so much. And she and Maxon together make much more sense than Maxon and me. They should be together.

  Besides, who even says Maxon has considered us being together? Maybe he has a crush on Kinslee.

  I frown, too aware of how much I don’t want that to be true, which might make me an even more terrible person. After rescuing me from suffering through Queeny’s torture all by myself, shouldn’t I want only good things for Maxon?

  “I think I’m going to walk with Ash to class since we have it together,” Maxon tells her. “I’ll see you in fifth period, okay?”

  “You’re seriously walking with her?” She shoves a finger in my direction, focusing her furious gaze on Maxon. “After everything she’s done—with everything everyone’s saying about her?”

  “None of that’s true.” I walk down the aisle, slinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “Not what everyone’s saying about me. I have done some crappy stuff, though. I’ll admit that.”

  Her gaze cuts to mine. “Those photos sure don’t look like a lie.”

  Maxon follows after me with his eyes fixed on Kinslee. “You, as much as anyone, should know that photos can be very misleading.”

  She steps back like he slapped her, bumping into the whiteboard. “What happened to me isn’t the same as what happened to her. I was innocent. She’s not.”

  “I don’t want to fight about this, okay?” His eyes silently beg her to understand.

  “Then walk with me to class and leave her here,” she pleads, pushing away from the whiteboard. “Or this will turn into a fight.” When he stops walking, her expression crumbles. “Fine. I see how it is.” She stomps out the door.

  “Maxon, go after her.” I nudge him in the back, urging him forward. “I can walk myself to class.”

  “I can’t. She needs to learn to be okay with us being friends.” He signals for me to follow him as he heads for the doorway.

  “But if it makes her upset …” I trail after him, biting my lip to collect my falling expression. “Maybe you shouldn’t be friends with me.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not going to dump you just because Kinslee isn’t happy about us being friends.”

  “But she’s been your friend for longer.” I walk close to him as we start toward class. Every time our shoulders touch, my stomach flips. “It’d make sense if you ditched me because she doesn’t like me.”

  He doesn’t respond immediately, and I wonder if he’s considering it. Then he looks at me, and I can tell he’s not. Not even a little bit. I don’t know why—he probably should—but I’m grateful.

  “I can’t just do whatever she wants to keep her from being upset with me,” he says in a pressing tone. “That’s not how friendships should work.”

  I understand what he’s saying. Still … “Not all people know this. Me being one of them. At least, I used to be that way. Now I think I’m starting to see the light or whatever.” I give a short, considering pause. “Kinslee might not realize that, and I don’t think you should bail on her because of it. She seems like a nice person … Well, when she’s not around me. And she really seems to like you.”

  “I’m not bailing on her,” he assures me, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m just letting her cool off before I talk to her.”

  “And what if she’s never okay with us being friends?”

  “She’ll get there. It might take some time, but I know she will.”

  I fiddle with the strap on my backpack, contemplating an idea that’s stepping close to borderline losing my damn mind territory. But I’ve been tripping down the straitjacket path for the last few days now, so I might as well keep heading toward that padded room.

  “Maybe I could help,” I suggest. “Maybe if I talked to her or spent some time with her, she’d realize I’m not a total straight-up bitch.”

  He gives me a hesitant glance. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  I struggle not to frown. “Oh, okay.”

  “Not because I don’t want you to,” he adds quickly. “I just don’t think Kinslee will go for it.”

  “You think she hates me that much?”

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with you.”

  “It’s not hate she feels,” he promises, slightly loosening the tie around his neck.

  “Then what is it?”

  His cheeks turn pink as he looks away and mutters, “Just other things.”

  “So, we’re going back to evasive answers?” I fake a pout, dying to know why he’s blushing like that. Then I wonder if it’s because he has other feelings for Kinslee and decide maybe it’s better if I don’t know.

  He shakes his head apologetically. “Sorry, but there are some things I can’t tell you, or I’ll break the friend code.”

  “I get it,” I tell him. “And now I feel less bad about mine and Clove’s code talk.”

  He gives me an inquiring sidelong glance. “Yeah, what was that about?”

  I pantomime zipping my lips. “Sorry, can’t break the friend code.”

  “I don’t think Clove would mind if you told me.” He scuffs his boots against the floor as he swings around a couple making out in the middle of the hallway. “In fact, he’ll probably tell me later, so you might as well tell me now.”

  “Don’t try to be sneaky with me, Maxon Harter.” I gently poke him in the chest. “I can’t believe you’re trying to trick me into telling you.”

  Maxon chuckles, rubbing the spot where I poked him. “Okay, fine, he probably won’t tell me, but I still think you should.” He waits a moment before throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine, you two can keep your silly, little secret.”

  “Thanks. I’m so glad I have your permission.” I throw a haughty grin in his direction.

  He mimics my move. “Well, I’m glad
you’ve realized you need my permission for those sorts of things. Now, quick, tell me all the rest of your secrets, because I’m not giving you permission to keep those.”

  “Hardy har har. You’re a freakin’ riot.” I playfully poke him in the chest again, mainly as an excuse to touch him.

  He laughs softly, pressing his hand to his chest. “Will you stop poking me?”

  I poke him again. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” When he doesn’t deny it, I poke his chest again.

  I’m having way too much fun with this. Enough fun that I’m going to ignore the fact that I’m completely flirting with him in front of at least half the school.

  “Ash, stop,” he pleads as he laughs, backing away from me and bumping into the lockers. “Or I’m going to have to poke you back.”

  “Go ahead and try.” I reach out to touch my finger to his chest again, but he captures my hand.

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then he yanks me toward him and starts poking me in the ribs.

  No, scratch that. He isn’t poking me. He’s tickling me!

  “Maxon, stop!” I cry out, squeezing my legs together and trying not to pee my pants. I haven’t laughed this hard in over a week, and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after being locked in the washroom for hours with my brother’s dirty work clothes stewing in the hamper.

  “What? Are you ticklish or something?” His fingers make a wiggly path up and down my sides.

  “Yes!” I laugh uncontrollably, barely aware that we’re drawing a crowd. “So, please, please, for the love of all maddening things, please stop!”

  “Nope, not until you say the magic words.” He continues to nearly tickle the pee out of me.

  I stumble, unable to keep my balance any longer, and he catches me in his arms. Our chests collide, our legs tangle, and somehow my head ends up tucked underneath his chin. He smells like sawdust with a splash of cologne and burnt wood, exactly how I imagined he would smell. And the sensations his touch sends through my body makes me feel terribly guilty yet amazingly wonderful at the same time, which leaves my mind in a fit of confusion.

  I can barely think straight. Part of me wants him to stop, yet part of me wants him to continue forever. And ever. And ever …