Chapter Four
Age Thirteen
“Hi, I’m Gareth.” A chestnut-haired boy suddenly appears in our kitchen, my brother trailing close behind. Gareth comes over to me, hand extended.
It catches me off guard. Dylan and I don’t shake hands unless we are meeting an adult and our parents want us to show our manners.
Hesitantly, I take his hand. The only thing I can think about is whether my palm feels sweaty or clammy.
My cheeks heat as I think about what he must be thinking, and suddenly I’m all out of sorts.
“Hi, I’m Indy.” The words tumble from me awkwardly, and I look over his shoulder to Dylan, who’s watching us like he’s watching a car crash. It’s not unusual for my brother to bring home friends, and holy crap is this one cute.
“So where do you want to work on the project?” Dylan butts in, dropping a binder on the kitchen table with a sharp thwack. “My room, the table, or we could go outside?”
“Wherever.” Gareth slides his backpack from his shoulders, letting it land on the linoleum next to his feet. “Here is good.”
“What are you guys working on?” I ask innocently, walking over to the fridge. I came downstairs to get something, but now I can’t remember what.
Opening the fridge, I settle for a soda. Dylan eyes me skeptically when our eyes meet. Ignoring him, I swing the door shut, and the condiments rattle from the force.
“Bio. Life cycle project.”
“Sounds boring,” I murmur, but both boys have already gotten started on their homework, tuning out my presence.
For the next several minutes, I pretend to busy myself, cutting an apple I have no interest in eating and putting some peanut butter into a small container.
I’m a little bummed that Gareth doesn’t pay me any attention, so with one more quick glance, I retreat to my bedroom.
My brother wears a look of amusement as I flick him in the back of the head when I pass by.
An hour later, the sound of footsteps and an eruption of male laughter grows closer as Dylan and his friend head upstairs. I purposely left my music low and only one earbud in so I could hear if they came up, hoping to maybe see Gareth again.
On silent toes, I stand by my door, eavesdropping first.
“You should just try out for the team, man. Who cares if you’ve never played. There’s plenty of new guys.”
“I’d never make it,” Dylan argues. “Plus, I’m not really a team sports kind of guy. I’d rather spend my time in the water.”
“Because Ridgewood is so close to the beach, right?”
“Hey, an hour isn’t bad.”
“Yeah, and how often are your parents making that drive for you? Just think about it! It’s a no-cut team, so you’d make it. Coach’s version of a tryout is basically a verbal interview. He just wants to make sure you’re not a total shit-bag and you’re actually going to put in the effort.”
“And if I don’t put in the effort? Or I do, and it’s not up to his standards?”
“Then he’ll kick your ass off.” Gareth laughs, and I can’t help but to smile. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”
Their conversation fades as they go into Dylan’s room, but their loud footsteps still echo against the hardwood floors. Dylan’s obnoxious laugh is apparent; their muffled voices still deep in conversation while drawers slam.
What the heck is Dylan doing?
Minutes later, heavy footsteps descend the stairs.
That was quick.
I could have followed them into Dylan’s room—plopped onto my brother’s bed to bug him like I do pretty much on the daily, but I hesitated for too long.
And Dylan gets pissed when I hijack his time with his friends—not that I care.
But you know what? Downstairs is public domain. He can’t stop me from hanging out in the living room.
A few more seconds pass by as I stand at my bedroom door, my hand hovering over the doorknob while I listen.
For what I’m not entirely sure, but the hallway is silent. There’s only a low murmur of voices from downstairs.
Why am I nervous?
Sure, Gareth is probably the hottest guy I’ve seen, but he’s literally just a guy.
I snort at myself for getting so hung up on someone I just met. Especially someone my brother is friends with.
Ew.
Shaking my head, I open the door.
Then I nearly collide with the guy leaning against the wall right next to my bedroom.
“Ah—” I jump back, my heart racing in surprise.
“Sorry.” Gareth raises his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He’s taller than my brother, or maybe it just feels like he is because he’s towering over me, close enough we’re almost chest to chest.
There’s a faint smile on his face like he’s amused.
My eyes narrow. “Why are you here?”
“I was looking for the bathroom.” He lifts his shoulders innocently.
Ugh, he’s cute.
His hair is a little messy, coming out from the sides of his baseball cap, and for some reason, it’s really doing it for me.
I glance at the open door across the hall. “You didn’t look too hard.”
He smirks again. “No, I really didn’t.”
Heat creeps up my neck as he leans against the wall again, openly checking me out. But he’s not creepy—not like how some guys can be.
It just makes me very aware of how I look.
My skirt feels like it hangs all wrong, and I tug at the hemline, glancing down at the rest of my outfit.
Ripped black fishnets with black crew socks over them because I just kicked my boots off and I can’t stand how fishnets feel inside of shoes without them.
My thrift store band tee’s three sizes too big and ripped at the neckline so it hangs off my shoulder.
And my hair—God, let’s not even talk about my hair.
I can’t remember if I brushed it this morning, and the pink peek-a-boo pieces underneath are beyond faded from doing them myself over a month ago.
As though he can read my thoughts, Gareth’s gaze flicks to my hair. He tips his chin. “That’s surprising.”
“What is?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “The pink. Dylan mentioned you have an alternative vibe to you. I wasn’t expecting the cotton candy.”
My nose wrinkles at what he’s insinuating. “There’s plenty of people who are alt and like the color pink.”
Gareth cocks his head. “Put your claws back in, Trouble. I wasn’t saying anything negative. I like it.”
Immediately, my head spins over his compliment. But the last thing I want is for this guy to know he has an effect on me, so I steel myself, placing my hands on my hips. “Do you always throw compliments around in stranger’s hallways or am I just lucky?”
He grins, and those pesky butterflies in my stomach come back to life. “Just lucky.”
“Great,” I groan, crossing my arms. “Well, now that we’ve established that you like my hair, why don’t you go back downstairs. I’m sure my brother’s wondering where you’re at.”
Arching a brow, Gareth crosses his arms, copying my own stance, but makes no move to leave. Instead, he asks, “How old are you?”
“Why does it matter?”
Since when did this turn into a question and answer session? Is it just me, or is his cologne strong? And smells really good.
“Well, Dylan said you’re his younger sister, but he didn’t say how much younger. I assumed you were ten or eleven.”
“I’m thirteen, almost fourteen,” I snap defensively.
“Eighth grade?” He pushes off the wall, towering over me again.
As discreetly as possible, I wipe my sweaty palms along the sides of my skirt and nod. “Wow, I bet you get straight A’s with how smart you are,” I quip.
There’s a silent pause as we both stand there assessing each other. Me, with my thundering heart, nervous energy I’m trying to suppress, and an outfit I wish I’d put a little more thought into this morning, and him with his cool as a cucumber demeanor and confidence he naturally oozes.
It’s annoying.
“Gareth! You good? Find the bathroom up there?” Dylan calls from the bottom of the stairs, not bothering to come up to check on his friend.
“Yeah, Gareth, why did you use the bathroom up here?” I press, just making that connection.
“Yeah, man, I’m good. Just trying to survive your sister.” His eyes flick to me. “Your brother said the one downstairs is being remodeled.”
Ugh, I nearly forgot about that. I never use the windowless half-bath—gives me the creeps.
“Good luck with that,” he yells again.
“See.” Gareth grins. “Lucky.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head and turn back toward my room, retreating to my sanctuary. “We’ll see how long Dylan keeps you around. He changes his best friend faster than he changes his socks.”
But I actually hope this one sticks around a while.
“You’re exactly how I expected you to be, Indy Archer. Exactly how I thought.” He laughs, then starts heading toward the stairs.
My eyebrows smash together as I whip my head around to face him again, hair falling into my face with the sudden motion. “Oh, yeah? How?”
“Pretty hot,” he says easily, then quickly adds, “but also kinda mean.”
I choke on the comeback lodged in my throat. “Wow. Okay?”
Then he winks—actually winks—and my brain turns off.
No thoughts, no nothing.
Just off.
It’s the first time a boy has ever made me speechless.
When I don’t respond, he says, “I’ll see you around,” then turns away like what he said two seconds ago didn’t turn me into the dumbest person on the planet.
Thankfully, I snap out of it pretty quick. “You won’t,” I scoff. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Dylan flies through best friends. Don’t get too attached to your new BFF.”
Stopping at the top of the stairs, he looks back at me and shrugs. “We’ll see. I’ve got a pretty good feeling about our friendship.”
Picking at my cuticle, I shrug nonchalantly. “You’re pretty optimistic.”
Gareth grins, confidence in full force. “I wasn’t just talking about Dylan.”
Then he disappears down the stairs like nothing happened. And I stand in my doorway for a few more seconds with my heart fluttering against my ribs, just in case he comes back.