Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
With my back toward Harper, I bend to pick up a knight and lean it against the wall to dry. “I dunno. Might be.”
Behind me, Harper scoffs. “Didn’t you and Maddie used to be friends in middle school?”
“Everyone was friends in middle school.”
She snorts. “Not me. I hated middle school. Worst years of my life.”
That catches my attention. “Why?”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Girls like Maddie Miller made me feel like a loser. My shoes weren’t cool enough. I didn’t have the right leggings or some giant tumbler. I was never invited to bonfires or any of that ‘cool kid’ stuff.”
A knot forms in my chest. Hearing Maddie’s name tied to that kind of crap doesn’t sit right with me. My grip tightens around the cardboard shield in my hand, flecks of dried silver paint clinging to my fingers.
Harper leans against the workbench, her tone shifting, more reflective now. “Middle school’s brutal for girls. Not that guys have it easy, but girls? We tear each other down for no reason.”
I glance at her. “Really?”
She nods. “It’s this weird social shift. You hit middle school, and suddenly, there’s pressure to fit in—but the harder you try, the worse it gets. Everything feels like a test, like where you sit at lunch somehow defines you.”
I watch her for a beat, realizing she’s not just talking in general terms.
“Now I’m glad I never cared about anything but hockey,” I joke, but I’m mostly serious.
“Sorry to trauma dump on you.” Harper nods. “But…yeah. So, is she the reason you want advice?”
God, why did I make up that stupid rule? She will never let this go. Might as well have her give me advice, though; clearly I fucking need it.
“I guess.”
“What specifically do you want to know? How to flirt? Because as you may have noticed, I’m not great at it myself.” Harper laughs.
I noticed.
The truth is, she’s way worse than I am.
“If by flirting you mean scowling and roasting people, I would say you’re actually pretty decent.”
“Ha ha—very funny.” My partner pauses, looking at me thoughtfully. “My only advice would be to…be yourself. And don’t be so shy.”
Me? Shy? “Am I shy?”
She shrugs. “Maybe not around me, but I’ve seen how you are with other people.”
“Are you saying you watch me?” I ask, smirking.
Her eyes widen. “No, of course I don’t watch you—but I notice things.” She throws her hands up in mock frustration, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
“What kinds of things? You can’t say you notice things about me and then not tell me what they are. So what kinds of things are we talking about?”
Harper rolls her eyes. “Fine. You really wanna know?”
“Desperately.”
She rolls her eyes but plays along, seemingly studying me. “I notice how you laugh differently with your friends than you do with other people. And when we had World Lit together, I noticed you would crack your neck before a test or quiz.”
For a second, we just look at each other, caught in that strange, comfortable silence.
“And you’re bad at flirting,” she continues. “You could try complimenting girls.”
I grin, meeting her gaze. “You look really good right now.”
She snorts. “That sounded so cheesy.”
I step closer, dropping my voice. “I swear, every time you look at me like that, I forget how to act normal.”
Harper’s eyes go wide for a split second before she clears her throat, dropping her gaze. “Better.”
I huff a laugh. “Better? That’s all I get?” I tilt my head, smirking. “If you think I’m so bad at it, then show me how it’s done.”
Chapter 14
Harper
…Show me how it’s done.
I can’t get those words out of my head.
They kept me up all night staring at my ceiling in the dark, playing on a loop in my mind. Over and over. The way he said it. The way he looked at me when he did. Like he was daring me to react. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and wanted me to lie in bed thinking about it.
The worst part?
It worked.
Here I am in the light of day, starting Monday with zero sleep and having spent way too much time overanalyzing every second of our conversation. I can’t stop thinking about teaching him. Showing him, as it were. But what would that even mean?
I’ve never had a boyfriend! What the hell do I know about guys?
I spin the combination to my locker, pretending not to notice Easton sidling up to his, my eyes covertly straying to his arms. He’s got on a bright blue hockey T-shirt, his biceps barely contained by the sleeves.
There’s also sheen of sweat on his skin, making it glisten like he’s starring in a sports drink commercial.
Also: glitter on the bridge of his nose from last night.
I busy myself organizing my locker even though it’s already tidy.
“Just get done with gym class?” I shoot him a sidelong glance of indifference despite my increasing heart rate watching the water drip off his hair.