Chapter 12 #2
“You having nothing to talk about?” I tease, trying to lighten his mood. “I cannot imagine that. All you do is talk.” I think about it for a second. “And smile. You smile more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
On cue, he grins at me. “I didn’t suffer through braces for three years to not show off these pearly whites.”
My brows shoot up. “You? Braces?”
“Can’t picture it?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He tugs out his phone and starts clicking around the screen, pulling up a photo. He leans across the bed to show it to me. “Eighth grade Wes.”
I stare at the image. For some reason, I was expecting him to be scrawny and pimple-faced or something.
He’s not. He’s just Wes…but younger. Still taller than everyone in the picture.
Still broader than he should be at that age.
Still lighting up the room, except he’s got metal in his mouth while he does it.
He reminds me of all the guys I’d avoid in the middle school hallways.
I snort. “I did not look like that in middle school.”
“I bet you were cute.”
“I wouldn’t bet a lot. I had braces, too, but I didn’t wear them as well as you did.” I point to the girl beside him in the picture. “Who’s that?”
“My sister, Audrey. I think she’s a junior in college here.”
I examine the photo, studying Audrey’s face. She’s pretty, with dark, dramatic eyebrows and wavy, shoulder-length hair. She has a similar nose to Wes’s, though somehow a bit softer, and the same full mouth. “You two look alike.”
He nods. “We get that a lot.” He pulls the phone away, swiping through a couple more photos before turning it back to face me. “My nephew, Leo. He’s three.”
The toddler in the picture is beautiful, with curly black hair and wide, curious eyes. “He’s adorable. I love those blue eyes.”
“That was a shock,” he says, leaning back and tucking his phone away. “Micah, my sister’s husband, has blue eyes, but Audrey’s are brown like mine.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Not so much with school, but hopefully, I’ll have more time after graduation.”
I can’t help it. My stomach sours at the reminder that Wes is graduating at the end of the school year, and I change the subject, so I don’t have to think about it. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Should we practice?”
Wes nods. “Let’s do it.”
Before I know it, I’m standing in the middle of Wes Tucker’s bedroom with my speech outline poised between my fingers. This time, I’m able to make it past the first word, though I’m not exactly graceful about it.
“A-as an introvert, I sometimes feel guilty spending time, um, alone. The good news is that there are, um, benefits to spending it—I mean, to spending time by yourself.”
I cringe at my delivery, which is nothing like the way I practiced in my room, and glance nervously at Wes. He gives me a thumbs up and an encouraging nod. “That’s great. Keep going.”
Swallowing against my dry mouth, I stare down at my paper.
“The, um, first positive benefit of alone time is an increase in neur—crap—creativity, I mean. A 2020 study found that social isolation actually led to an increase in activity in neural circuits related to imagination. Basically, when there’s, like, a decrease in social stimulation, the brain ramps up its, um, creative networks to fill the void. ”
I finish off my first point, surprised that I’m able to recall the words I practiced over and over again. Moving on to the second point is easier. I stumble a little, I stutter a lot, but I start to establish a rhythm, muscle memory taking over after enough time.
I keep waiting for the walls to cave in and the floor to drop down and the air to suck out of the room, but whenever I meet Wes’s warm, supportive gaze, everything stabilizes.
The walls stay firm, the ground secures, the air pumps through my lungs with relative ease.
The tight ball of panic in my chest loosens, and my voice shakes less and less.
My finish is rocky, but I make it, and my reward is the gigantic smile on Wes’s face, better than a thousand trophies. “You did it, Ives! That wasn’t bad at all! I’m impressed.”
My eyebrows raise, still skeptical. “Seriously?”
“I’d never lie about that,” he assures. “After a few more runs, you’ll be good to go.”
I drop back into the chair with a sigh. “We’ll see.”
“I had a thought about your attention getter,” Wes says.
“What if instead you ask the room something like, ‘how many people here consider themselves introverts?’ It might be an easy way to engage the class, and you won’t have to turn the focus so much on yourself.
That could be what’s making you nervous. ”
I chew on my lip, considering. “What if no one raises their hand?”
“Do you see how many seniors are in our class? A ton. And they’re all most definitely introverts who pushed it to the last minute.” He points to himself and waggles his brows. “Case in point.”
“Oh my god, don’t even,” I say, rolling my eyes at his statement. “You’re Mr. Social Butterfly. You know every person on campus!”
“They know me. Huge difference.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How many happy birthday messages have you gotten this weekend?”
He blinks at me, adopting a much too innocent expression. “A couple.”
I shake my head, seeing right through him. “You’re such a liar. You need to count them.”
“Count them?” he asks in disbelief.
“As an apology for last night,” I tell him, surprising myself with my boldness.
“Okay, okay. Hold on, let me count.” I wait patiently while he goes through his inbox. “Thirty?” I ask, but he shakes his head, still staring down at his phone. “Fifty?” He shakes his head again. “Over a hundred?” When he doesn’t respond in any way, my jaw drops. “Wes, are you serious?”
He looks up, giving me a sheepish smile. “Maybe.”
“How do that many people have your phone number?” I ask, incredulous.
“I get added to a lot of group texts.”
I blink at him. He blinks at me. “You get added to a lot of group texts,” I repeat.
He grins like he realizes how ridiculous that statement was. “I don’t know. People just give out my number to whoever they want. It’s annoying, honestly. You should see how many propositions I receive a week.”
I frown, confused. “Propositions?”
“You know…” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Propositions.”
It hits me then, and my eyes widen, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Like for sex?” I blurt.
He stares at me for a moment and then bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Oh my god, you look horrified. I don’t take them up on it, Ives! Come on.”
“I would hope not,” I mutter. “Can I see one?”
“No,” he groans. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Please? Pretty please?”
He sighs and starts scrolling again. “This is a horrible idea,” he mutters, almost to himself, before passing me the phone, “but I can’t say no to that face.”
I look down at his screen, and my eyes grow wider at the message there.
Unknown: Hi, Doc. It’s Chrissy, Jade’s friend. I’m free tonight if you want to come over ;)
I wrinkle my nose. “Who’s Chrissy?”
“Jade’s friend, clearly.”
I glance up at him. “Who’s Jade?”
He blinks at me. “I have zero clue.”
I hand back the phone, taking small comfort in the fact that he never responded to the message. “I can’t believe girls send you texts like that. Have you thought about changing your number?”
“I have, but it’s such a hassle.” Tucking his phone away, he gets to his feet, reaching over me to grab his notebook off his desk. “For now, I just block them.”
“Seems like a lot of work,” I mutter, still trying to wrap my head around the full extent of his fan club as he gets ready to recite his speech.
We go back and forth for the next hour, rehearsing and exchanging notes. Each time I practice, I become more comfortable in front of Wes, and the words come easier. We’ve just finished our third round when there’s a tap against the door.
"Yeah?" Wes calls.
The door swings open, revealing Kaden standing in the doorway. He holds up his phone and points to the screen. “We’re ordering pizza. You guys want in?”
“Fuck yes,” says Wes. “I didn’t notice how hungry I was until you said that.” He looks at me. “Are you hungry?”
I check in with my stomach, realizing how empty it is. “Very.”
“Excellent. Anything you don’t like?”
"No, I’ll eat anything on pizza.”
He grins, looking almost proud. “That’s my girl. How about a large veggie, a meat, a Hawaiian, and a Deluxe? Oh, and that cheesy pepperoni bread. Oh, and an order of wings. Buffalo. Blue cheese and ranch.”
Kaden, who doesn’t appear at all concerned by this amount of food, types the order into his phone. “Anything for the birthday boy.”
“How’s Ben doing?” Wes asks.
Kaden snorts. “He says the pizza will either heal him or end him. I don’t envy his current state.” Kaden looks at me. “Ever had a J?gerbomb?” I shake my head. “Keep it that way.”
Wes nods gravely and says, “It’s true. No one’s ever said, ‘man, that J?gerbomb was an awesome idea. I’m really glad we did that.’ Not a single person.”
Kaden snickers, still entering our order into his phone. When he’s done, he glances up and says, “I’ll call you when it’s here.”
“Thanks, K.”
“You ordered so much food,” I say, as soon as the door shuts.
Wes pats his stomach with a grin. “Growing boy.”
“Sure," I say, amused. “I hope Ben is okay. That sounded bad.”
“He has difficulty regulating sometimes. He’ll be fine, though. Have you ever been hungover before?”
I wince at the question. “Oh, yeah.”
When Wes’s brows raise, I know immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. “That was a pretty visceral response. I think I need to hear this story.”
Panic flares inside me. “Oh, no. Forget I said anything.”
“Come on, Ives. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Everyone’s been there. Here, I’ll tell you my worst hangover story.”
“You don’t—”