The Opposite of Ordinary

  Quiet, erratic breaths rush from his lips as his gaze roams from my mouth to my eyes. “I didn’t save you. I just made sure you weren’t alone. It wasn’t a big deal. You’re an easy person to get along with when you’re being you.”

  “You know who that is?” The air feels electrified, dangerous, as if something epic is about to happen. “Because I sometimes wonder if I even know who I am.”

  “I don’t know you completely, but I do know some stuff,” he says with hesitancy. “You hate ketchup, getting dirt on your legs, and people who smell like hairspray. And you love anything that has to do with fantasy books or the fairy tale world. You love to read and listen to punk music. You hate it when people drag out silence—it drives you nuts. You get excited over good food. You’re curious about the unknown. You feel guilty for every bad thing you’ve ever done. And you did a lot of those bad things because you were scared.”

  My jaw is hanging to my knees. “What the hell, Maxon? Did you, like, invent a mind-reading machine or something?”

  Strands of his hair tickle my forehead as he shakes his head. “No, I’m just observant.”

  “I thought you said that was Clove?”

  “It is.” Pink splotches across his cheeks. “But I might’ve been observing you. Plus, a lot of what I said I learned back in fifth grade when we ate lunch together.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. “But I didn’t tell you all that stuff.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes wander to my mouth again. “You didn’t have to … I could read you.”

  With difficulty, I resist a gulp. “Can you still?”

  “Sometimes.” He searches my eyes, as if trying to channel his inner mind reader.

  I don’t want him to be able to read everything that flows through my strange, sometimes twisted mind. However, I wish he could read exactly what I am thinking at this precise moment.

  Kiss me, please. I want to see what it would feel like … to kiss a guy I want to kiss. A guy who makes my stomach turn into a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

  “And what am I thinking right now?” I dare ask, wetting my lips with my tongue.

  His breathing quickens as his attention once again zeroes in on my lips. Then he starts to lean in, and I think, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! This is it. This is the moment my stalker side has been waiting for. For Maxon to kiss me, to touch me, to—

  Water splashes all over my shoes as the sink overflows, spilling over the counter and onto the floor.

  I squeal, jumping back and banging my shoulder against his chest.

  Letting out a string of curses, Maxon moves me out of the way and shuts off the water. Then he snatches up a hand towel and presses it to the puddle on the floor while I move back to the counter behind me and work on getting my ragged breathing under control. I sound like I ran a marathon and kind of feel like it, too. My heart is pummeling, my skin is warming up, and my brain is spazzing out on overdrive as I attempt to process what just happened.

  Oh, my dizzy spells, Maxon almost kissed me. Put his lips on mine. Let me slip my tongue into his mouth.

  We were so close, and then the water had to ruin it.

  I glare at the puddle on the floor. Stupid water.

  Once Maxon gets the mess cleaned up, he pulls the drain and lets the water go down a couple of inches before plugging the sink back up.

  “Sorry about that. I should’ve been paying more attention.” He doesn’t look at me, and his tone wobbles with embarrassment.

  “It’s cool,” I assure him. “I once overfilled the bathtub because I was too busy playing air guitar in front of the mirror.”

  He turns to me, intrigued. “You play air guitar, huh?”

  I nod. “I’m actually thinking about going pro after I graduate. Well, if the whole quote of the day gig doesn’t pan out for me.”

  He reaches down to scoop up the sopping wet dishrag from off the floor. “Sounds like you’ve got your future all figured out.”

  “Not really,” I admit, growing serious. “I mean, I know I want to go to college, but I have no clue what I’ll major in.”

  “I don’t, either,” he says, tossing the dishrag onto the counter.

  “Really? I thought you’d major in science or something like that.”

  “I probably will, but there are multiple degrees in science, and I’ve only narrowed my choices down to six.”

  “That’s better than how I’m doing. I’ve narrowed my choices down to all the choices.”

  He glides open a drawer beside the sink and pulls out a … Well, I’m not sure what it is, but it looks like a fuzzy caterpillar on steroids.

  “Maybe you could just do general studies until you figure it out.”

  “I probably will. I just hope I’ll figure it out before I have one hundred and fifty credits under my belt and no degree.” I push away from the counter and step toward him. “My brother’s still undecided, and he’s been going to college for over a year.”

  “That’s not too uncommon.”

  “Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier if I was like you and had an interest that’d at least guide me in the right direction.”

  “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have an interest in science,” he confesses, setting the jacked up caterpillar doohickey on the countertop.

  I turn into an open-mouthed Nutcracker doll. “Are you being serious?”

  He nods, twisting a screw on the unidentified object. “Not because I hate it or anything—I love science. I just hate why I love science.” His jaw tightens as he briefly dazes off into empty space.

  I put two and two together. “Your dad loved science, didn’t he?”

  He blinks then nods. “He used to make me watch all these science shows with him every Saturday morning, and then we’d go out to the garage and spend the rest of the day putting together our own projects.” He turns his back to me, facing the sink. “But then he started getting really into his work, and we spent less time doing that kind of stuff. At least, he told me it was for work.” He spreads the caterpillar thingamabob apart and uses the screw to fasten it to the side of the sink.

  “Apparently, he started a new family that we didn’t know about, and that’s why he was gone all the time.” He dips his hands into the sink. “And when he was here, he was always yelling at my mom or me. I thought it was because he was stressed out from working so many hours. I think he just hated his life here. Then, one day he decided to stop hating and just moved on.”

  “Do you ever talk to him?” I ask, moving up beside him.

  He shakes his head. “Sure, I wish he’d decide he wants to be part of my life again, but he doesn’t, and I’m not going to beg him to.” He pulls his hands out of the sink and shakes some water off his fingers. “I don’t think you should ever have to beg someone who truly cares about you to be a part of your life. They should want to be a part of it, and it should come naturally, like breathing.”

  His words strike a nerve deep inside my heart. During mine and Queeny’s six-year long friendship, I always felt like I was chasing her around all the time and struggling to breathe.

  “Maybe you should be the one standing on the street corner and handing out quotes of the day.” I rest my hip against the edge of the counter and fold my arms. “I think you’d be pretty good at it.”

  He wipes his hands off on the sides of his pants with a trace of a smile on his lips. “I don’t think I have the people skills for that.”

  “Your people skills are fine.”

  “Clearly you haven’t seen me in a debate.”

  “I have, actually. Sophomore year.” I try not to laugh.

  He groans, his head bobbing back. “God, I forgot you were in that class.”

  I pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry; you aren’t the only one I’ve seen throw up during a debate.”

  “I bet I was the only one you ever saw throw up on their opponent, though.”

  “Yeah … But puke is puke, right? Hey, that could be one of my quotes.”

  “Tha
t actually might be pretty good,” he says with a laugh.

  “I’ll have to make sure to write it down,” I tell him, glad to get him to smile after such a sullen conversation about his dad.

  I gesture at the sink. “Okay, so I hate to be one of those people who completely does a one-eighty with the conversation topic, but my head’s about to explode, and I really don’t want to get brains all over your kitchen. Not only because it’d be gross, but because it’d increase your risk of getting a zombie infestation if the apocalypse ever happened.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” he plays along, amused. “So, please tell me what I can do to keep that pretty head of yours completely intact.”

  Pretty head? Pretty? Okay, now my heart’s about to explode out of my chest.

  I gesture at the weird fuzzy object, playing all suave and cool like I’ve been called pretty a hundred times, which I have, but not by my dream guy. “I want to know what this creepy, mutated looking caterpillar thing is. I’m starting to worry it might be just that, and I’m not a fan of bugs.”

  His eyes brighten as he pats the mutated bug in question. “This is what’s going to clean the potatoes.”

  “Are we just going to use it to scrub off the dirt?”

  “Nope. It’s going to scrub off the dirt on its own.” He picks up a potato, sets it in the center of the fuzz ball, and then flicks a knob on the side. The machine buzzes to life, and the bristles begin scrubbing off the dirt from the potatoes.

  I giggle in awe. “The noise it’s making sounds just like the minions of Despicable Me.”

  He smiles at me in a way that makes me feel cute. “Do you spend a lot of time watching cartoons?”

  My initial instinct is to lie, since when Queeny found out about my Disney DVD collection, she snickered and cracked jokes so hard she could barely breathe. With Maxon, though, I feel comfortable enough that I don’t think he’ll make fun of me.

  “I actually prefer cartoons over regular stuff,” I confess, twisting a ring on my finger.

  He studies me for a gibberish machine squeak of a second before snatching my hand and pulling me toward the hallway.

  “I want to show you something,” he says, leading me into the last room on the right.

  I know we’re going into his bedroom before we even step in, you know, since I’ve spent so much time watching him half-strip and play mad scientist in there.

  “This is your bedroom?” I play the innocent card as I peer around at the posters on his walls, the closed curtains embroidered with images of glass beaker and gadgets, the towering metal structure covering his desk, and the torch balanced on his bookshelf.

  Ha! I finally saw his torch!

  “Yeah, this is my room.” He looks at me, and I mean really looks at me, without releasing my hand. “I thought you already knew that, though.”

  Oh, so we’re playing the honest game, huh?

  Lovely.

  “I may have noticed you in here a time or two while I was looking out my window.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder at the curtains. “You know, since my room’s straight across from yours. But I didn’t see anything I wasn’t supposed to; just you working on your projects, which I enjoy watching. And you taking your shirt off.” Which I kind of like watching.

  Thank all the goddesses in the sky that I manage to keep that last thought inside my head. I just wish I didn’t blurt out the whole shirtless thing out!

  “I didn’t see you take your pants off or anything,” I add, trying to salvage what dignity I have left. “I looked away when you started undoing the button.” Face palm.

  Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

  I clear my throat several times over the silence tiptoeing around us.

  Say something, please!

  He simply stares at me, his cheeks candy apple red.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say. “Watching you without your permission was crossing a line. I knew it while I was doing it. And I totally get if you want to kick me out of your house. In fact, I’ll kick myself out.” I turn to leave, feeling more mortified than I ever have, but he constricts his hold on my hand, draws me back, and spins me around to face him.

  “Ash, it’s fine.” His cheeks aren’t so red anymore. “I don’t get why someone like you would watch someone like me, but I’m flattered.”

  The nerve bubbles in my stomach start to pop. “What do you mean by someone like you and someone like me? Aren’t we both just people?”

  “People from two different worlds. Your world being charming and popular and gorgeous.” He stares at the floor. “And my world being weird and different and uncool.”

  “I like your world. It’s part of why I watched you so much … because I was so fascinated by everything that you do.”

  He rubs his lips together, his gaze traveling up to mine. “I thought you said you did it only a couple of times.”

  “It might have been more like four or five times.” Or six, or ten, or twenty.

  He studies me for a bubblegum pop of a moment before grinning. “So you secretly want to be part of the nerd world, huh?”

  “I don’t really think it’s a secret anymore, is it?” Whoa, whoa, whoa, is he seriously going to just let what I told him go? And why does it feel like he might be happy I was spying on him?

  “Maybe not. And I’m glad,” he says, pulling me toward the bookshelf. “Want to see why I brought you back here?”

  I nod, slightly disappointed we aren’t heading to his bed. “Yes, I do.”

  He kneels down in front of the shelf, towing me down with him. Then he lets go of my hand and drags his fingers along the bottom row of books … No, wait. Not books. DVDs. And not any DVDs, but a collection of Disney movies.

  “You’re a Disney junkie, too?” I ask, nearly bursting with excitement.

  He nods. “I watch at least three a week.”

  “Me, too.” I glance at the titles. “What’s your favorite?”

  “There’s no way I can answer that. It’d be like having a favorite band.”

  “Or book.”

  “Definitely.”

  My smile is so huge my cheek muscles hurt. “You know what? You might be the coolest guy I know.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “No way. You definitely are.”

  He cocks a brow. “Considering you dated Knox, I know that’s not true.”

  “Knox isn’t cool. He just thinks he is.”

  “But you thought so once.”

  “No, I didn’t. I mean, yeah, I thought he was popular and had a lot of friends, but I never looked at him and thought, ‘hey, there’s a really cool guy I’d like to date.’ ”

  His brows scrunch. “Then why did you date him?”

  I shrug. “Because Queeny told me I should, which I know is as pathetic as it sounds. It’s one thing among a very long list of stupid life choices I made over the last six years.”

  “Why did you become friends with her? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  I slip my legs out from under my butt and tuck them to the side, twisting to face him. “You remember how it was for me in elementary school. People thought I was a loser. I was teased, tormented. And then Queeny came along, and all of that stopped. She saved me from middle school hell—at least, I thought so at the time—and I spent too many years trying to make that up to her until the moment she thought I stopped. Then she tossed me away like a pair of ugly shoes.” I gesture between us. “And now I’m here with you.”

  “And now you’re here with me,” he repeats, his gaze hitched with mine.

  “I meant that as a good thing,” I feel the need to say.

  “I know.”

  “Good. I don’t ever want you to think I’m here because I have nowhere else to be.”

  “So, you’re saying, if Queeny took you back, you wouldn’t go?” he asks dubiously.

  I nod, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I know it’s only been a week since she called off our friendship, but I??
?ve felt more like myself than I have since I was eleven years old.”

  A small smile tilts his lips. “I’m glad. Because the girl who I hung out with behind the dumpsters was pretty awesome.” He scoots closer to me until our knees kiss. “And I always wanted to be able to hang out with her again, but I’d honestly given up until the day Clove and I gave you a ride to school.”

  “You saw her then?”

  “I did briefly.”

  “And what about now?”

  His gaze travels all over my face before resting on my eyes. “She’s definitely here, I think.”

  I smile, all warm and gooey melted chocolate inside. “Yeah?”

  He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, she definitely is. And I really want her to stay.”

  “I really want her to stay, too.” And I really want to kiss you.

  I don’t know if I space off to Daydream Land or what, but I start leaning in to do what I really want to do, although I have no clue if he wants me to do it. He doesn’t lean away, which is a good sign, but he doesn’t meet me halfway, either. I toss the worry aside and move closer, closer, closer until our lips touch.

  My stomach spins like spun sugar as my eyelids slip shut and my lips part.

  Please, kiss me back.

  Instead of kissing me back, though, his lips leave mine.

  My eyelids flutter open, and what I see makes the spun sugar in my stomach dissolve.

  Horrified.

  He looks absolutely horrified.

  And that, Ash, is karma biting you hard on the ass.

  “Oh, my sweaty monkey balls.” Yep, to add to the mortification, those are the five words that leave my lips next.

  Sucking in a gradual breath, his lips part. “Ash, look, I’m—”

  “Maxon!” someone shouts. “Your weird little potato scrubber has gone mad and is making a potato massacre all over the kitchen counter.”

  “Shit.” Maxon springs to his feet and bolts out of the room like there’s a fire. Or like a girl he doesn’t like just kissed him.