Chapter Three The Princess and the Weeds #2
Each group is given a weed puller, two pairs of thick garden gloves, and a big paper bag to put the weeds in.
Lainey shows us how to use the weed puller, tells us which weeds to pull, and sends us off.
With four groups, I don’t imagine this will take very long.
But when my partner motions for me to follow him, I see that the park curves a bit, then goes back all the way to the LeClair Industries grounds.
It’s huge. There are some trees, and an old playground in the distance, but most of the park is grass that’s badly in need of mowing. That, and weeds. So. Many. Weeds.
“Wow, this place is way bigger than it seems,” I say.
The guy raises one brow at me again, smirking, and the sun catches the silver rings in his brow, making them glimmer. He has such an emotive face. It would be a challenge to photograph. Not that I want to take pictures of him or anything. Ugh, my brain.
“Have you never been to Gordon Park before?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Are you one of those never cross the bridge types?”
I frown. What does that even mean? “Um… I just moved here,” I say. “Temporarily.”
He chuckles again. Somehow this guy makes me feel younger and way more clueless than I am.
Actually, scratch that. I am pretty clueless, in Cherrybridge at least. I can make my way from Scarborough Town Centre to Union Station in Toronto with my eyes closed, but I’m lost here in so many ways. I swallow the lump in my throat.
Noah tosses two gloves at me, but I miss them and they fall to the ground. “I’ll pull the weeds out; you bag them. Try to keep up, Princess.”
I pick up the gloves and the paper bag. Why does he keep calling me Princess? He knows my name.
Noah starts weeding. Basically the weed puller is this long pole with little spikes at the end.
After poking a weed with the spikes, he puts his foot on a little foot stand and tilts the pole, which makes the weed come out at the root.
Then he plunges a little lever near the handle that releases the weed, and I pick it up and put it into the bag.
Despite the guy’s scrawniness and his badly fitting clothes, Noah is kind of built.
I can see his forearm muscles flexing as he spears the weeds.
Up close, I have to admit that he is kind of nice to look at, if you’re into that “bad boy” look.
He seems older than me and has a huge spiderweb tattoo on his forearm.
His longish dark hair is shiny, and he keeps flicking his head to get it out of his eyes.
His skin is clear with a bit of black stubble, and his jeans are black and worn, especially at the hems, like he’s had them forever.
I remember what he said was important to him: his guitar and his band shirts. Is he wearing a band shirt now? I can’t make out the purple writing on it. The shirt is so big, it’s hanging off his square shoulders.
“You could take a picture and zoom in, if you want to study me that hard,” Noah says suddenly. Crap. I quickly turn my head to focus on the weeds.
“I wasn’t studying you,” I say as I put a weed into the bag with a little more force than I intended.
Again there’s laughter in his eyes. “Yeah, you were.”
“I was… I was trying to make out what your shirt says. Temple of God? Is that a religious thing?”
“Temple of the Dog. It’s an old grunge band.” I must look confused, because he rolls his eyes. “Why did I think a princess would know grunge?” He drops the weed from his pole at my feet.
I pick it up. “I know grunge. And why do you keep calling me princess? I’m not royalty.”
“You got dropped off by your wealthy daddy in a Porsche, you have the newest AirPods model, and those shoes don’t look worn in at all.
You’re definitely the princess in this group.
” His eyes flick down to my shoes and travel up before landing on my collarbone, making me blush.
“I like your necklace, though. That eye is sick.”
My hand goes to my evil-eye necklace. The large black beads totally don’t match my pink sweater, but Nani said I should keep wearing it. “It’s a talisman,” I say. “It’s to protect me from—”
“From people like me?” He smiles kind of sultrily, lips barely upturning at the corners. His smoldering dark eyes are mesmerizing. I realize that Noah isn’t just kind of nice to look at. He’s incredibly hot.
Ugh. What’s wrong with me! Getting hit with the curse unearthed a boy-crazy streak in me. Nani is right. My who I should date meter is totally off if it’s telling me this tattooed bad boy is hot.
He takes a step closer to me. He smells like grass and laundry detergent, and my heart beats heavily in my ears.
“I don’t have an issue with princesses, especially pretty ones,” he purrs, his eyes on mine with laser focus.
“In fact, if you’re looking to rebel against your royal family, I can be of service.
” He pulls back and gives me a smile that literally makes my knees weak.
Great. And the hot bad boy is a total flirt. I’m in way over my head.
I take a breath. Fight the curse, I tell myself. Mind over matter.
I force a fake smile. “If you think royalty would hate you, then why would you think I’d be interested? I’m just here to get my service hours, not date stoners.”
Noah blinks, his smile dropping. “Fair enough. I won’t ask you again.” He turns and plunges his weed puller into another weed. “And I’m not a stoner.”
Huh. That was easy. Now I feel kind of bad. Did I insult him? “And you know my name, so you can stop calling me ‘Princess.’ ”
“Touché, Noorani.” He stands up straight suddenly and holds out the weed puller. His expression is friendly. “Want to keep things interesting and switch roles?”
I shrug and take the weed puller from him.
There’s something… intriguing about Noah Jacobs.
The fact that Kennedy gave him my earbuds the moment he asked.
The fact that he respectfully backed off when I told him I wasn’t interested in him.
And that he’s quite efficiently doing the work that Lainey told us to do.
I kind of want to ask him if he’s here for community service like me?
Or how old is he? Also, what does he mean by never cross the bridge types of people? And does he really think I’m pretty?
But I don’t ask, because I’m not supposed to be even talking to a guy, especially one with an expressive face and strong arms. I’m going to have to pretend I’m not already completely fascinated by Noah Jacobs.
Should be as easy as enduring Cherrybridge this summer.