Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Patrick
“What happened to your arm?” Sara’s dad asks as he widens the door to let me inside. “Get into a gang fight?”
Okay, maybe coming to Sara’s straight from my hospital visit wasn’t the best idea—especially with my arm in a noticeable sling—but I hate where our conversation left off.
Also? I don’t like picturing her walking to the festival alone.
I mean, I know Joe and Oliver can walk over with her, but still.
She didn’t explicitly say that was the plan, so why should I assume?
Her dad raises his eyebrows, waiting for my answer. He’s always been a bit intimidating with his thick moustache and stern stare.
“Uh—” I flounder. “Sure?”
“Patrick?”
Sara pokes her head out of her room and—wow. She’s done her makeup differently, in a way that makes her round amber eyes pop, and there’s a warm shimmer dusting her cheeks. It’s not too much, but I can’t help but blink at her in awe. She looks great.
She glides down the hall until she’s next to her dad. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m coming to the festival with you, what do you think?”
As I try to step into her apartment, her dad blocks my path. “Hold on, young man. Tell me more about this gang fight.”
“He’s kidding, Dad,” Sara says, tugging my good arm and pulling me down the hall and into her bedroom. “Of course he’s not in a gang.”
“Hey! No funny business in there,” he shouts after us.
Sara all but shoves me into her room, rolling her eyes as she closes the door to a narrow crack. “Ew, Dad. I’m just finishing my makeup!”
Ew? Should I be offended?
As she shuts her door, I look around. I’ve been in Sara’s room hundreds of times, but today there’s a stronger scent of something sweet—like peaches and vanilla undertones.
Like her. She’s made her bed, lavender comforter neatly tucked in, and I sit on the edge of it as she moves to the mirror hung on the wall behind her dresser.
Her makeup is all spread out like it’s on a beauty counter.
She reaches for a soft-looking pom-pom that reminds me of a fluffy cloud. “How’s your arm?”
“Broken, but it’s fine.”
In the end, the hospital X-ray proved I had broken my arm, and the doctor said I did a number on my wrist and shoulder, which was dislocated.
It hurt like hell when they reset it, so much so that my eyes had teared in pain.
Now my arm’s in a cast, and I have to decrease mobility in my shoulder for a few weeks, which is why I’m in a sling.
They also gave me medication to dull the pain, and that kicked in on the walk over here.
She unclasps a compact and dabs the pom-pom thing on a pink hue. “Oh geez. Are you sure you should go tonight? I mean, aren’t you in a lot of pain?”
I’m momentarily mesmerized by the subtle color the blush creates across her cheekbones.
“Uh.” I snap out of my trance. “No, not really.”
“But shouldn’t you rest?”
I adjust the bill on my backward cap. “Resting is overrated. I thought the festival would be more fun than staying home.”
“Oh, well, I’m not even sure I’ll have time to hang out, Patrick.
” She’s swiping mascara over her eyelashes now, and I have no idea how she does it without blinking or getting it everywhere.
That’s true talent. “I’m going to be working the festival with the rest of Newspaper Club, probably interviewing a ton of students. ”
I snort. “Yeah, right. You probably think you’re going on a date with Joseph Yang.”
The tips of her ears tinge pink, the same color as her blush.
“And that’s why you’re getting ready like you’re attending a ball,” I add.
“Okay, yes, there’s that too.” She combs her fingers through the short ends of her hair.
It looks wavier than usual. She must have styled it differently.
“But I’m really excited to have my first Newspaper Club assignment.
I’ve been looking forward to it for a while.
Seeing my words in print—how cool is that? ”
I grab her heart-shaped pillow with my good arm and pull it into my chest. “Fine, fine. As long as you focus on that instead of Goody Two-Shoes Joe.”
She whirls on me, hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you like Joe? He’s, like, the nicest guy.” She smooths her hands over her butter-yellow skirt, the one with tiny daisies all over. “Earlier you said you were happy for me.”
“Nothing,” I insist, eyes on her pillow. “I’m just worried about something Rose said earlier about you two, which I think she might be right about—”
Sara frowns. “You’re listening to Rose now? Patrick, are you hearing yourself?”
“No, listen.” My eyes jump to hers. “She had a good point. She said—”
All of a sudden, she slaps a hand to her forehead. “Wait—that’s it!”
Huh?
“My prediction,” she clarifies, setting down the pom-pom. “I remember it now. Lulu’s final tarot prediction was that someone would try and steal my man. That’s totally gonna be Rose tonight when I try and get my first kiss from Joe!”
First kiss? From Joe? How did we even get here?
And why does it feel like my stomach is twisting into knots?
I sit up straighter. “What are you talking about?”
She comes and sits next to me on her bed, and that’s when I notice a pretty peach shimmer on her eyelids.
“Lulu made a prediction with her tarot cards. She said someone new had started showing an interest in me,” she explains.
“Which is Joe! And then her second prediction was to stay away from the new kid. I’m sure that means Oliver—I can sense he’s nothing but trouble.
But her last prediction? Someone is going to steal my man.
And!” Her eyes widen. “She also said I’m getting my first kiss tonight, and what if all this means Rose is going to mess it up? ”
No hate to Lulu, but I’m not sure I buy into her mystical predictions. I thought she did it to make a quick buck off students—which I have to respect—but for her to lead Sara on like this? Nobody can predict when you’ll get your first kiss or who might steal your man. It’s a bunch of bologna.
“Are you kidding me?”
But it’s as if she doesn’t hear me. “I have to stay away from Rose,” she declares. “No exceptions.”
“Sara, you’re ridiculous. And what are you talking about—your first kiss with Joe? How is that even going to happen? You barely know him.”
Sara crosses her arms, defensive now. “You don’t know anything, Patrick. Besides, we’re friends now.”
With my good hand, I slap a palm to my forehead, exasperated. “Oh my gosh, Sara.”
She studies me for so long, I start to feel like I’m bacteria under a microscope. “I know what this is.”
My heart drops to my toes. I look at her sidelong, wondering if she can sense my jealousy. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Even though I hate to admit it, I’m jealous of Joe. I mean, when have I ever had the urge to show off in gym class, of all places?
Her mouth twists into a sneaky smirk. “You don’t think I have the guts.”
Oh no. Not this.
I spring to my feet. “No way, I’m not playing this betting game anymore.”
She yanks my good arm and tugs me back down onto the bed. “Come on! I thought it was your favorite game.”
“Well, it becomes less exciting when I keep winning every time.”
She drops her hand from my arm, but there’s a fire in her eyes. “You’re not winning this one. I have a really good feeling about tonight.”
“Sara, you say that every time. So, no. I’m not agreeing to this.”
And then I get up again, moving before she can stop me, and head for her door.
“Whatever, who’s chicken now?” she calls after me. “I’m still getting my first kiss tonight anyway, no matter what.”
This makes me pause. I hang my head. Why did I have to bet her to kiss Subwayboy in the first place? Now she won’t let it go until she does win. So I’ve got to say something that makes her back down from this bet. Give her something she’d never in a million years agree to.
Slowly, I turn around and face her. “You really want to do this?”
She lifts her chin in determination. That’s enough of an answer.
“Fine, if you don’t get your first kiss by the end of the festival tonight,” I say, “you’ll have to quit Newspaper Club.”
I expect her to backtrack right away. Actually, Patrick, we better not bet tonight! Let fate work its magic instead! Because if she loves writing so much, why would she agree if there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’ll have to give it up? She wouldn’t. End of story.
Instead, her eyes widen in surprise. Then she’s on her feet, grabbing her purse and thick wool cardigan from her closet before spinning back around.
“Okay, deal,” she says merrily, as though I’ve offered her a bucket of chocolate candy. She’s already heading for the door. “Ah, this is so exciting! Let’s go!”
My heart just about stops. She’s serious? No—she wasn’t supposed to agree!
“Wait! I thought you love Newspaper Club?”
“Right,” she agrees. “So it’s just more motivation to not fail since I do love it.”
I slide between her and the door, blocking her exit. “Exactly, so don’t throw it away for a stupid bet.”
She looks me up and down, hands on her hips. “It’s not stupid. I just told you—I need motivation to help me go through with it.”
Now it makes sense. Assuming Sara would back down from a high-stakes bet was the wrong move. Instead, I’ve inadvertently added more fuel to her fire. She can’t lose tonight because, now, the thing she loves most is on the line.
“Fine.” I offer her a hand, and she shakes it. “Your loss.”
“Unless I win.” She steps around me and throws open her door. “And remember, don’t listen to Rose. And stay away from Subwayboy. Oh—and!” She cups her face and grins. “Kiss Joseph Yang!”
I reel back, making a face like I’ve just tasted bad fish. “Do I have to?”
“Me! I kiss Joe, not you.” She laughs as she skip out of her room. “Now let’s go already! Vicky’s already on her way. And the Yangs are waiting for us outside.”
I’m following behind her, but stop in my tracks when the last thing she said registers in my brain. “The Yangs? As in—plural?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” She tosses a sly smile over her shoulder. “Oliver and Joe are brothers.”