Authors: Catherine Clark
“What? I was just making sure you were safe, that’s all.”
“I can take care of myself, Spencer.”
“You don’t know this guy very well. Should you really be up there alone with him?”
“Okay, so, what’s your plan? Are you going to follow me around this entire trip? And what about when we both get to Linden, will you follow me around there, too?”
He looked absolutely appalled. “God, no.”
“Because, for someone who acts like he doesn’t care and claims he doesn’t care—you sure seem to care.”
“I don’t…care. I just think you should be a little more choosy, that’s all.”
“Gee. Could you be any ruder?” I responded, then I stormed out of the room. Who was he to tell me to be more choosy? I’d chosen
him
once. Did he not see the irony there? Not that I’d do it again, because he’d obviously gotten even more conceited over the past two years.
I decided not to go back to the party—it had ended on a fairly decent note, considering, unless you counted Spencer’s interruption, which I didn’t. I’d ruin any magic Blake and I had if I went back now and sort of lamely stood there with a pop, waiting for something else to happen.
I changed into my pajamas and lay down on my bed, totally exhausted. I picked up my camera and started going through all the pictures I’d taken that day, deciding which ones to keep and which to delete so I could free up my memory card.
As I went through them, skipping all the ones with Spencer, I thought about how Blake had touched my hair, how he’d slipped his hands around my waist while we looked at pictures earlier, how we’d been semi-snuggled.
Blake had actually been here, in my room. Maybe that was moving things along too fast, but come on—would anything seriously happen with seven adults downstairs? I mean, I guess it could have, and maybe it would have…and
was I actually ready for that? Me, the person who couldn’t even manage one decent kiss with a guy?
What was I thinking, inviting him up here? Maybe Spencer was right.
No. Spencer can’t be right.
That would make him even more conceited.
Maybe he could be right without me telling him that he was. Maybe then it wouldn’t count.
“D
on’t forget the tomatoes!”
The next morning, I’d been dragged to the supermarket by my mom to help buy groceries. And I do mean dragged. Out of bed. Feet first.
It was our family’s turn to cook dinner that night, and Mom insisted I give her some input, even though she’d already made all the decisions. She was calling the evening “Fiesta! Night” and had grand ideas about decorating, appetizers, and
flan
.
I wasn’t sure what sort of input there was left for me to give her. She had the whole thing pretty much figured out, start to finish. My mom is a great hostess but she can really get carried away with her concepts. I definitely
wasn’t looking forward to spending half my afternoon in the kitchen with her, preparing things. (Not that burritos and tacos take that long to make—for anyone
else
, that is.)
We’d already decided to have fish tacos, chicken burritos, and cheese enchiladas. Now she was picking out the perfect limes to slice for decoration in the frozen margaritas for the adults, and then kiwis for kiwi-lime slushees for us “under twenty-ones.”
Then we had to get cilantro, lettuce, tomatoes, and three different kinds of hot peppers.
Everyone else in our group, right now, was either buying a kite, or flying a kite at the beach. The entire van had headed to Kitty Hawk Kites, because it was a breezy morning and because they were all going to do something fun.
Me? I was standing in the produce section with a perfectionist.
“How about we just order in?” I suggested. “I bet there’s a very good—”
“Em. Try to get into the spirit of things.”
“Olé,” I muttered.
She smiled briefly. “That’s more like it.”
We hit the dairy case and picked up sour cream, cheese, and eggs. We reviewed tortilla types, corn versus flour, large versus small. We got various types of chips. We got enough snacks and lunch things for our family of three to last us through the next millennium. Finally, the cart was full, and we were approaching the registers, looking for a line that wasn’t five-deep, when I saw Blake come striding into the store.
My heart started to pound the way it used to before a ballet solo as I watched him disappear down an aisle.
Aisle 4
, I committed to memory.
“You know what, Mom? I just thought of something that we still need,” I said, already starting to move away, before I lost track of which aisle Blake had entered. “Black olives.”
“Oh?” My mother’s face scrunched into a worried frown. “What do we need them for?” she asked as if I were suggesting we put them on breakfast cereal.
“Have you ever tasted a burrito without
them?” I asked.
“Yes, plenty of times,” she said calmly.
“Oh, I know—I was thinking of the enchiladas, then. They definitely call for black olives.”
“You know, you’re right. But is it green or black?”
“Black.” I didn’t have time to stand in line debating culinary choices. “You wait here in line,” I told her. “I’ll be right back.”
“If you’re getting them, make sure you get enough!” she called after me. “There’s nothing worse than running out!”
I raced around the store, trying to figure out where Blake had gone. I ran past three aisles before I spotted him just at the end of the canned veggies, fruits, and “international condiments” area, putting a jar of salsa into the basket he carried on his arm.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” I said all in a rush, so maybe he didn’t even hear how stupid it sounded.
“Hey, Emily. How’s it going?” he asked. He flashed a broad smile at me, and I think that I
actually sighed with pleasure—but thankfully not very loudly. “What are you up to?”
“Not much. Olives,” I said.
“Really. Olives.” He looked at me and nodded. “You came all the way down here for olives.”
“You know. A girl gets a, um, craving.” I laughed, embarrassed. Why did I just say that? I considered toppling the pyramid of canned peaches behind me just to distract him from my stupid babbling. “Actually, I’m here with my mom.”
God. That was even worse.
“We’re supposed to cook tonight,” I went on. “So anyway, I—”
Before I could get another word out, Blake leaned down and kissed me. On the lips.
Eek! What is this?
I wondered as I attempted to get over the shock and kiss him back.
“You know what? You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he said.
“I wasn’t,” I said feebly. “Flustered.”
However, now, I definitely am,
I thought as he kissed me a second time.
I closed my eyes and wondered when my mother would run up, shrieking, “Emily! You don’t kiss in grocery stores! Emergency, Aisle Four!”
“Um…” I said as he broke off the kiss. What was I supposed to say? Thanks, that was nice? Got any more where that came from? What gum do you chew, because that was cinnamony? I think I love you?
“Y’all should come out with us tonight,” he said, backing up. “There’s a great band playing in town. It’s an all-ages show.”
“Oh, yeah?” Was he inviting me to go out with him? Or them, anyway? “Cool.”
“The guys and I are going down to Ocracoke for the day, so I’ve got to run. Just grabbing some food for the trip.”
I glanced at the basket over his arm, which was filled with chips and candy. I didn’t see any okra, not that I’d recognize it. “Okra-what?” I asked him.
“Ocracoke. The island?” He was walking backward, smiling.
“Oh, yeah. I saw that in the guidebook.” I
smiled, wondering if it was too late to suggest we all go there, too. Knowing my mom, it was planned for a specific day and time, down to the minute. An impromptu sprint to the ferry—on Fiesta! Night—wouldn’t cut it.
“So, see you tonight? How about if we meet y’all on the beach at eight, like, at the bottom of the steps?” Blake suggested. “If anything changes, just drop by, okay? If we’re not home, leave a note on the door. Hey, have a great day!” He smiled and waved good-bye.
I felt my life changing in that exact moment, right by the cans of black olives.
When I got back to the line, in a complete and utter daze, Mom was already through and standing with the cart full of grocery bags, looking around impatiently for me. I smiled when I saw her and waved. I sort of drifted into line. I had to pay for a couple of cans of black olives, but it was well worth the two dollars.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mom commented as I loaded all the paper bags into the trunk of the car.
When I closed it, the Rustbucket gave up a
few pieces of rust, flaking off onto my hand. “Oh, you know. Just glad we got this done, so we can go enjoy the rest of the day,” I said.
“Me too. Now I have two more errands before we head home…”
I wanted to get back to the house and share the good news with Heather. “But Mom. The meat—shouldn’t it go in the fridge?”
“Yes, but it should be fine for a little while.”
“Really? Because it’s like eighty-nine degrees out. And didn’t you get some frozen stuff, too?” I couldn’t believe I had to point that out to her. She was usually the queen of food safety.
“Well, true. Would you mind if maybe I stop by the house and drop off you and the groceries—then go back out on my own?”
“Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll get the guys to help unload stuff.”
My mother snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“What do you mean?”
She slid into the driver’s seat. “You have a lot to learn about boys.”
Well, whose fault is that, Mrs. Overprotective?
I
wanted to ask, but didn’t. I needed to stay on her good side—on
all
her good sides.
As she turned out of the parking lot, the car made a high, squealing sound as if we’d just run over a piglet. “What was that?” I asked.
“Don’t ask,” she mumbled.
I sat back and thought about Blake’s kisses in the canned vegetables aisle. Who would have thought that I’d have the most romantic encounter of my life at a grocery store?
After I put all the food away, I went outside and found Heather on the beach, flying a colorful kite with Adam and the twins, Tim and Tyler. I managed to pull her away for a few minutes so we could dish in private.
“I saw Blake at the grocery store. I mean…I
saw
him, saw him.” I quickly told her the story and how he’d mentioned going to the club together that night. “It was the weak-in-the-knees type kiss.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. And also? Plural,” I said. “Then again, I don’t know. I could’ve been weak-
kneed because I didn’t have breakfast yet. But still, it was shocking. And nice.”
“That’s so awesome!” She squeezed my arm. “For me, last night’s party was kind of a bust. Didn’t you think? I kept trying to hang out with Trevor, but there were so many people. He’s really popular.”
“He definitely seems to be,” I agreed. “What about some of the other guys?”
“I’m not sure any of them even noticed me—there were so many other girls around.” She shrugged.
“Not notice
you
? Impossible.”
“I’m short. And then I went outside onto the deck for some air, and I saw my mom sitting over here by herself,” Heather explained. “I had to go see if she was all right. We went for a walk, got some ice cream.”
“Did you guys…have an okay time? Good ice cream?”
She laughed. “We bond over ice cream. So, yeah. But I totally missed anything happening for me at the party. But you—wow! Last time I saw you, you took off with Blake. How did that go?”
“Fine, until Spencer butted in.”
“He did what? Hold that thought.” She glanced at her phone, which had started to ring. “Unknown caller. Great,” she said. “Just what I need.”
I shrugged. “You never know.”
“Hello? Oh. Oh! Hi. This is Heather. Yeah, of course I remember you guys. God, you don’t think I give out my number to
everyone
, do you?” She covered the end of the phone with her hand and whispered, “It’s the guys from Currituck. Corolla. Whatever!”
“You’re kidding!” I whispered.
“So you’re wondering what we’re doing tonight?” she said. “Well…I think we’re going to this place. Can’t remember the name of it, but there’s a club and live music—Yes! That one. You can meet us? Oh, great. That sounds awesome. Okay, see you then, Dean.”
She closed her phone and we both looked at it, and each other, and burst out laughing. “See, good things happen when you take a risk or two. You’re with Blake, and now I might have a chance with one of them—”
“I’m not
with
Blake,” I said. “I mean, not totally.”
“You kissed him! I think that counts for something,” Heather said. “Unless you’re planning on going farther?”
“No, I’m not. Absolutely not,” I said.
“Unless, of course…you change your mind.” Heather wiggled her eyebrows. “Heat of the moment and all.”
“Shut up,” I said. “If that happens? I’ll unheat. Okay?”
That afternoon, we quickly ran the going-out plan past Heather’s mother, just to let her know. Of course, she had her own idea, which involved getting chaperones. It took us a while to convince her that Adam and Spencer would make good chaperones—then we had to actually convince Adam and Spencer.
We walked over to where they were standing in the surf, talking while they watched a big freighter out at sea. Spencer was holding a book, and Adam was dressed to go for a run.
“Will you guys go out with us tonight to a
club? My mom said you need to go with us, so we don’t ‘look vulnerable,’” Heather said, making air quotes with her fingers. “Whatever that means.”
“I’m not sure I get this. Why should we tag along just so you can go out with a random guy?” Spencer asked.
“They’re not random,” I said.
“They?” repeated Adam.
“We met Dean and his friend—the lighthouse guys—already, and then there’s Blake. We already know him,” Heather said.
“Not well,” Spencer reminded me.
Actually? Better and better all the time
, I thought, remembering again how Blake and I had kissed in the canned veggies section. I
hadn’t
forgotten how nice it felt and I hoped he hadn’t, either. But it definitely wasn’t something I’d share with Spencer, who suddenly cut into my thoughts with, “You know, it never works out with the girl next-door. That’s a total myth.”
“Speaking from experience?” I asked.
“No, I’m just saying it’s a stereotype, the whole girl-next-door, boy-next-door thing. It’s
like what you wish would happen, that this person you’ve known for a long time ends up being wonderful and you’re perfectly matched, and you live happily ever after because they realize how incredibly fantastic you are, too.”
“Dude. You sound jaded.” Heather grinned. “I am totally going to ask your parents what this is all about. I bet your mom could tell me stories.”
“There’s no story, it’s just an observation,” Spencer said.
“Right. It just came out of
nowhere
. I’m sure,” Heather teased him. “Anyway, you don’t even know these guys.”
“Maybe not, but neither do you,” said Spencer. “I’m not trying to be mean, but if you think you’re going to end up anywhere near Bl—”
“Bitter, jaded, pessimistic. What
aren’t
you?” I interrupted.
“Your personal chaperone,” Spencer replied calmly, giving me a look that was very close to
You’re annoying me, you children. Go away.
“Look, I already said
I’d
go,” said Adam.
“What are you guys waiting for?”
“You’re the best. Thanks.” I hugged him, and as I did, I caught Spencer’s eye. Why was he looking at me like that? Like everything I did bothered him? “Do you have a problem?” I asked.
“What kind of problem?” he replied.
“I don’t know,” I said. “With me? With us going out to this club tonight?”
“Going out?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” I asked.
“Am I repeating everything you say? I didn’t realize,” he said.
I sighed in exasperation as Heather, Adam, and Spencer all laughed at me. I grabbed Spencer’s book out of his hands and tossed it into the ocean.