How to Hook a Bookworm (How To #3)

  The corner of his mouth twitches up, and he’s blinking like mad and damn it, none of that crying stuff. No, no, no. So I push into his arms, and he hugs me tight.

  “If Mom gets the job, then I’ll use it,” he says after a minute. Always putting us first, but I let it slide. Mom will get a job. We totally got this.

  His arms squeeze again, and I hear him sniff, and I’m out of his hold in an instant, patting his stomach. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”

  He laughs, and I can’t help but feel a million degrees lighter and warmer when he stuffs the money into his back pocket.

  ***

  When I get to Adam’s house, he asks me what I want to do for our last day. I really just want to make out. All day long. I don’t care that it’s “not allowed,” but I figure that’s not the answer he wants. So we end up going to Target and getting every kind of M&M possible, Sobe waters, and he tries to buy me more minutes for my phone, but I don’t let him. Then we go back to his place and lounge on the couch to watch Child’s Play. Adam forces me to watch Toy Story after so he can go to sleep thinking toys love him and don’t want to kill him.

  It’s still twilightish after the movies, and we’re both sugar buzzed, so he takes me out back to our spot, and we pretend there are stars to watch in the very cloudy sky.

  “I feel like I need to confess something to you,” he says after he’s given me fake names to constellations we can’t see.

  “It’s not an internship is it?” I toss a dandelion into the air. “You’re going off to work for the government on some super secret project involving aliens.”

  “Damn! Now I’ll have to silence you.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  He’s on top of me in a flash, and I’m thinking haha, I win! even though he’s totally got me pinned. He tickles that spot on my knee to the point that I almost wet myself. His hand steadies on my leg, and he loosens his grip on my wrists enough so I can wipe the tears that ran over my temples.

  “I used to watch you,” he says, rolling to his back. We keep our shoulders touching.

  “Um… creepy.”

  “It was.” He laughs. “I turned into one of those guys who like to watch girls sleep.”

  “When was this?”

  “When you stayed here. I’d sneak downstairs for midnight snacks and end up staring at you on the couch instead.”

  “Like dinner and a movie.”

  “Yeah… and it was not cute at all.” He flinches as I go to sock him in the shoulder. “Your mouth was wide open, you drooled all over the pillow, and your leg never stayed on the cushions.”

  “Well, I’m used to a bed!” I chuck a dandelion at him this time.

  “Every time you twitched I thought you were gonna fall on your ass.”

  He turns to face me, and I can’t help but notice his gaze fall to my lips.

  “Well, if it makes you feel less creepy,” I say, turning to the less sexy sky, “I like watching you read.”

  “I’m one hell of a good-looking reader.”

  “It’s adorable.”

  “Adorable?” He tosses his head back. “Adorable! Come on… give me something better than that.”

  Laughs tumble from my lips, and I curse my eyes for magnetizing themselves to him. “That was adorable too.”

  He threatens to tickle my knee again, but I think he changes his mind once his hand makes contact. His fingers squeeze lightly, and it sends fuzzies up and down my skin.

  “I still go down there sometimes.”

  “Huh?”

  His eyes drift to mine. I reach up to fix his glasses. “To the couch,” he says. “I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and for some reason I expect you to be there.”

  “Maybe I am.” I make ghostly sci-fi theme music and watch his smile widen. I take a mental picture and store it away.

  “I think it’s gonna be weird for a while.” He adjusts on the grass, leaning up on his elbow. “I’ll pick up my keys to drive to your house. Or I’ll look up from a book at the library and expect you to be sketching across from me. I’ll buy packs of Stride gum out of habit and save all my red M&Ms.”

  His face feels closer, and his fingers start playing with the keys I have hooked on my belt loop. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “You’re not helping, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s hard enough sitting here, trying not to kiss you, and you say romantic crap like that. Makes me want to toss the rule book out and force you into a long distance relationship.”

  He crooks a grin, lets go of my keys, and falls back to the grass. “It’s hard for me, too.”

  “Then let’s just kiss,” I tease, but not really. His smile fades.

  “I don’t want that phone call three, four months down the road. The one when you tell me that you’re tired of not talking enough, of going through things alone, that you need someone physically present, and I’m just not cutting it. Or worse… I don’t want to make the call myself. That’s what happens to people when they live miles apart and think it can work. They hold each other back, and no way in hell do I want to do that to you.”

  I toss my head back, pointedly looking at the overcast night. Not a star in the sky to wish on. I want to fight him on this. But I don’t want our last night together to be one giant argument. So I breathe in, sucking down all the word vomit I want to upchuck in his face, and breathe out.

  “If it’s any consolation,” he says, breaking the quiet, “it’s really hard not to kiss you when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Breathe.”

  I snort. “I’m always breathing.”

  “Exactly.”

  My hands slam over my face. “Damn it, stop that! Or I’ll throw the rulebook out.”

  He chuckles and zips his lips. And I don’t care if it’s not a good idea or if it makes it harder when he goes or whatever crap he said earlier, I roll to my side, rest my head on his chest, and listen to his rapid heartbeat until his dad gives us the signal that it’s time for me to go home.

  Even though Adam takes the long way, it’s not long enough. My hand keeps twitching next to his on our way to my porch, hoping he’ll reach out and grab it, but he doesn’t.

  “Hey,” he croaks, and I let out a half-hearted laugh as he clears his throat. “Um, I’m not going to use the L word tomorrow.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Liver? Lime? Loser? Lame? Lamborghini?”

  He flicks the end of my braid and takes a step up so we’re the same height. “Sorry, but it’s going to be hard enough. And—”

  “Clean break. Yeah, yeah.” Does a clean break count if he keeps fracturing me every time he says it? “You’re not going to use the word tonight either, are you?”

  His lips purse, and there’s my answer.

  “Got it.” I whip around, not sure if I can take it anymore. My arguments keep coming to the brim of my lips, and I’m sure they’ll explode to my empty room when I get inside.

  “I do, though,” he says, and damn it, I’m turning back to face him. His finger tucks into my belt loop, and he tugs me into him. He only kisses my cheek and forehead, but it’s enough for me to know that he doesn’t have to drop the L bomb again. I totally know how he feels, and I hope he knows without me saying anything either.

  Neither of our arms loosens. Quiet tears roll down my cheeks, and I swipe at them, begging them to stay behind my eyes, but they don’t listen. Wretched things. My lips tingle, and it takes everything in me not to lean back and kiss this guy I’m totally in love with at least one more time.

  Adam’s phone goes off, and we both squeeze tighter thinking the other person was going to let go. Then we laugh and separate enough for him to look at the text.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I still have to pack some stuff, and my dad’s going nuts.” He plants a kiss on my forehead, and I give him another squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I nod, too afraid to use my voice.

&nb
sp; Then we’re not touching, and I feel so cold and torn and my feet want to bolt down the road and follow his car. But they carry me inside instead.

  I wear Adam’s shorts to bed. They’ve already lost his smell so I’m thinking I’ll wear them under my clothes at Nut World in a poor attempt to replicate it. I twist and turn in the dark, alternating between screaming into my pillow and crying into it. Would things be different if I had a computer or internet or a smartphone? Or would he still be feeling the way he does? Is it me? Or one hundred percent the situation? I hate feeling insecure about this. I hate knowing that hours from now he won’t be here. And it eats me up so much that I finally rip my covers off and tiptoe down the hall.

  The clock in Mom’s room says it’s 3:37. As quietly as possible, I click the door shut and pad to the bed. Her blonde bun is falling out, wavy strands across her face. She sleeps with her mouth open and she’s spread out over the bed just like I do. Just like Levi does too. I cross my arms and bend over, sniffling a tiny bit.

  “Mom?” I whisper. Her eyes twitch but she doesn’t wake up. I poke her lightly in the shoulder. “Mom?”

  She groans, stretches out, and I lean back so she doesn’t hit me. When her eyes open she inhales sharply. “Oh, Brea… you scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Is everything okay?” She starts to sit up. “Is it Levi?”

  I shake my head, and she relaxes. “Sorry, I just… I can’t sleep.”

  A small frown pulls at her lips, and she slides over, smoothing the sheets down so I can crawl in. And the second her arms wrap around me, I’m out.

  Chapter 31

  Goodbye is the hardest word to say ever.

  I stare at my blank cell, wishing I had some extra cash to put a million and a half minutes on it even though I’m pretty sure I’m getting a new phone soon. I just need them to hold me out till then. But even if the art of dancing squirrel paid that much, I don’t think a million minutes would be enough.

  A tap comes at my door, and Sierra peeks her head in. “You about ready to go?”

  No.

  “Just need shoes.” I slide from the bed, slipping my phone into my top drawer since it’s pretty much useless right now. Sierra semi-smiles at me, then tucks her arm with mine after I tug on my flats. Her eyes are already bloodshot, so I refuse to look at them while she talks.

  “This is so not going to be easy,” she says through a sniff and a laugh. We both give each other reassuring squeezes. Every second that ticks by, every step toward Sierra’s mom’s car—which she must’ve borrowed for today—a sharp weight drops into my stomach.

  Levi’s lounged in the front seat, but frantically rushes out to open doors for us. I’d laugh if I didn’t feel so damn awful.

  “Oh!” Sierra says once we’re all buckled in. “We’re getting our phones today! Do you have work later or can you come with us?”

  A small light shines through the cloudy day. “I’m off today.” I think Pegs counted my time off as bereavement. “Are you sure you guys can aff—”

  “Stop that. We’re getting you a new phone, and you can surprise Adam tonight by making your first call with no limits on it.”

  She manages to get a smile out of me. That will be nice. Just wish I could tell him that I love him.

  My eyebrows bunch in the middle of my forehead, and Sierra presses the radio on and exits the trailer homes. Adam said he’d be home at Christmas. I tick off the months on my fingers, and when I count seven my stomach sinks out my toes.

  He expects me to not say I love him? Not kiss him? Not show him exactly how I feel before he leaves for seven freaking months?

  Screw that.

  I sit up, accidentally kicking the back of Levi’s seat. I mutter a “sorry” but keep my eyes trained on the road, bouncing my knees and wishing Sierra would drive faster.

  The giant ticking clock pounds through my ears as we pull up to Adam’s house. The Geo is parked in the drive, full from backseat to trunk with Adam’s stuff. He’s jamming what looks like the last bit into the trunk, but there’s no way it’s getting in there. As soon as Sierra throws the car in park, I’m out of the backseat and stomping across the front lawn.

  Adam smiles when he spots me marching to him. He pushes and pushes on the trunk of the Geo, but the thing won’t close. Laughs tumble from his lips as he hops up, landing on his forearm only to bounce right back up. I slide between him and the open trunk, not giving a single shit about our audience, or that we’re technically not together. I grab his face and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. Because for us, there won’t be.

  “Whoa,” he says over my lips. “Brea… you know that—”

  “Yes,” I clip, then kiss him again because I don’t care. “It’s not going to change anything. You’re going to be 814 miles away. You’re two years older. Long distance relationships stats are shit. I know.” I huff, drop my hands and my gaze. “But right now, we’re two inches apart, and I still love you. And I don’t want to spend the next seven months wondering why I never kissed you when I had the chance.”

  The words barely leave my lips before he hoists me on the edge of the open trunk and shuts me up. His fingers weave between mine while his tongue slides slightly into my mouth, and bits and pieces of my skin tingle and pop. Then the tingles zap all over, and we both press the pause button on the world around us.

  “I’m gonna miss you so damn much,” he says, one of his hands coming up to tug on my braid.

  “Me too.”

  “Get to the library as often as you can.” He winks. “We’ll Skype.”

  “You know my shifts at Nut World. I’ll be at the library on every break. I hope my bushy tail fits in the computer chairs.”

  He lets out a light chuckle, but I’m not kidding. Until Mom and I can get the trailer back up to date on payments, bills all caught up, and then the fun stuff like a new phone or computer or internet even—which probably won’t happen till I’ve graduated—the library will be my best friend, because that’s where I’ll see Adam.

  “I got you something,” I say, hopping off the trunk and ducking down to the purse Sierra made for me that I dropped by our feet. The bag crinkles as I wrap my fingers around it and pull it out for him.

  His lips quirk when I hand him the Ziplock full of red M&Ms. “I’ll have you know,” I say, “it took a lot of self-control not to keep all that luck for myself.”

  He kisses my forehead, then leans back into the trunk and pulls out an almost identical bag of the same color and puts it in my hand. “Great minds…” His lips press against a spot on my jaw, kissing away a fallen tear I had no clue was there. I’m usually ashamed of my tears. Always afraid they showed weakness. But I am unashamedly crying now, because they aren’t showing my fragility. They’re showing unconditional love for my best friend.

  My arms find themselves around his neck, and his around my waist, and we hold and hold and hold. And hold some more. He’s shaking with me, tucking his face into my shoulder while I tuck into his. We’re equally giving and taking, comforting and seeking comfort. And I silently pray I don’t crumble to a million pieces at his feet when we let go.

  Something slams behind me, jolting us enough to part, but not enough to let go of complete contact. My hand stays in his.

  “Sorry,” Levi says, his face a ripe red tomato. “Uh, I got the trunk closed.”

  I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand and let out a small laugh. I’d totally forgotten him and Sierra were even here. She leans her head on Levi’s shoulder when our eyes connect, and I send out mental thank yous to her for letting Adam and I have a minute.

  “Thanks, man,” Adam says to my brother, and he drops my hand to give Levi a hand-shake/hug. I fold in on myself, wondering if I’ll get another turn, or if I’ve had my goodbye already.

  Sierra’s crying just as much if not harder than I am. Mine have been silent tears, and I don’t much notice them anymore, but she can’t seem to catch her breath. And when she and Adam hug, they laugh o
ccasionally as they whisper things to each other. She’s loud and crying and laughing and an arm suddenly wraps around my shoulders, holding me tight. I lean into Levi’s side. We’ve never been much of a touchy family, but bubbles of gratitude spill from my already leaking eyes that he notices how much I need a comforting arm.

  Adam and Sierra let go after she kisses his cheek. Adam turns to me and spreads his arms like he’s definitely not done saying goodbye, even though I’ve stolen more time than everybody else.

  I dive right back into them.

  “Take me with you,” I joke, but only partly. I’m pretty sure pieces of me will stow away in his suitcase.

  “Don’t worry, I am.” He gives me an extra squeeze, then the air parts us like the deep Pacific Ocean separating Australia from South America. His smile twitches once, twice. His hand reaches for his pocket to click his pen on the way to his front door. I want to scream out that I love him, but we promised we wouldn’t do that. And I already sort of broke that rule, and he didn’t break it back. So I press my lips together, refusing to blink so I can engrain every single movement he makes into my memory—then into my sketchbook.

  Sierra’s arms wrap around my neck from behind, and I reach up to let her know I need her there. The giant clock that’s been settling over us for a month now reaches the red mark, ticking down, down, down as Adam gets into his car. The door makes the loud craaaaank sound it always does. He waves from the driver’s seat. Starts the ignition. That damn clock won’t stop ticking. And soon all I’m looking at is the rearview mirror, hoping to get just a flick of his eyes back at me as he drives away. The second he’s around the corner, I feel like folding in half, breaking to the ground. But Sierra’s arms keep me steady.

  “Christmas isn’t too far away,” she tries to reassure me. I nod, even though seven months feels like forever. Suddenly that giant speed clock is replaced with one that doesn’t know how to move fast.