Chapter Twenty-Eight Julia
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“You might hate life in New York from time to time, but it’s impossible to hate the city itself.”
—Remington
Julia
“Why are you in bed?” my mom asked. “Do you feel okay?’
She looked concerned as she stood there in the doorway, and I was torn between wanting to lie and say I was fine and wanting to sob out the truth in hopes that she could somehow make everything all better.
Like she’d always been able to do when I was little.
But I was afraid if I started crying again I wouldn’t be able to stop.
It’d been almost impossible earlier.
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting up. “I’m just tired.”
“Oh. Well, Damion’s at the door,” she said with a smile. “So maybe run a comb through your hair.”
Shit. I’d forgotten all about our tutoring session.
NO.
I didn’t want to see him, and also her comb comment made me think of Miss Bedhead and my throat got all tight again.
I hate it here so much.
“Can you tell him…,” I started, but then I trailed off because if I told her I was canceling a lesson, she’d get all in my business wanting to know why, and I just couldn’t.
Explaining, out loud, what everything was like in my life was too embarrassing for words.
Everyone hates me and I’m a laughingstock, Ma.
I also supposed I should thank him, or at least be polite, for rescuing me from the Skins. I wasn’t sure why he’d said what he said, because everyone was ultimately going to know the truth when we didn’t go to the ball together, but I’d been grateful for the moment.
“Okay, I’ll be down in a sec,” I said.
I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, not even looking in a mirror because what was the point, and I ran down the stairs. I wanted to get this over with so I could climb back under the covers and go back to hiding.
He was standing in the living room, staring out the window, his back to me.
How is he so tall?
“Hey, um,” I said, but my words got a little tripped up when he turned around.
His eyes were sharp, his face serious as he looked at me.
His thick hair was tousled, like he’d been out in the wind, and the collar on his blazer was turned up. The top button on his white Oxford was undone, his tie was loosened, and his hands were in his pockets.
It was a disheveled version of Mr. Perfect, although as soon as I thought that, I realized he looked really good disheveled, so perhaps it was more of a testament to how perfect he actually was.
Ugh.
I cleared my throat and started over. “I think we cancel tutoring today.”
His jaw flexed and unflexed, his gaze tough to read. “But your practice test is coming up—”
“What the hell was that, Damion?” I interrupted, suddenly drained of the ability to engage in cat-and-mouse Gardenwood games.
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, his mouth going to the sardonic half smile that was his signature expression.
“Seriously?” I said with a sigh. “I’m really not in the mood, come on.”
He echoed my sigh, but his was in mockery of mine. “It was a promposal, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And don’t be ridiculous.”
“Who is being ridiculous here, Nebraska?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s you,” I said.
“Come on, honey, don’t be testy,” he purred. “You owe me a favor, remember, and I’ve decided that favor is going to be you going with me to the ball.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. There was no way he was being serious, but even if he was, I didn’t want to go. I mean, I wanted to stick it to Coco, but I definitely didn’t want to attend yet another fancy social event where I didn’t fit in. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to go.”
“Too bad. You agreed to the favor,” he said dismissively, shrugging.
I looked at his face, so cocky and sure, and wondered what his endgame was. Had he done this—as a nice guy—to save me from bullying, was he using my favor to snag an easy date to the ball he didn’t want to attend, or was there something else in play that I was missing?
My head was constantly spinning as I tried figuring out the manipulative motivations of the characters who lived in this world.
“The good news,” he said, crossing the room to stand directly in front of me, “is that now we can spend time together openly, in a different way, without all these tricky mathematical equations getting in our way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips as I tried to figure him out.
Impossible, that.
“I mean that if we’re going to the ball together, we need to plan our outfits,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing in that mocking way, like I was the ridiculous one. “Seriously, Nebraska, you act as if this is your first time attending the season.”
“You know, you’re really kind of a jerk,” I said, half wanting to laugh but too emotionally drained to pull that off.
“A jerk who is your date,” he said, that smirk turning into an actual smile.
I gave my head a little shake and bit my lip to keep from smiling back at him. “How can this be true?”
“You’re a lucky girl, it seems,” he said, his voice dipping into its low, flirtatious octave, reminding me of whatever had gone down in that dark bedroom.
My throat was dry, but I cleared it and said, “Then why do I feel so incredibly unlucky today?”