Chapter 4 #2
The first flutter in my chest happened the day after he’d gotten back from two months away as a summer camp counselor.
He’d come over to watch a movie, something we’d done together hundreds of times.
Only, I couldn’t stop staring at him: his broad shoulders, his ruddy, shaggy hair grown out from the at-home buzz cuts he usually wore.
Suddenly, I was very aware of how close we sat on the sofa.
Of how his chest moved when he breathed and how the sun had darkened the freckles over his nose.
Of how our thighs brushed against each other.
I’d done what any girl who developed a tiny, ridiculous, pointless crush on their best friend would do—I’d told him he needed to lay off the Axe body spray and bolted to Hattie-May’s recliner.
After that things relaxed back to normal. Whatever insanity that had possessed me had given up.
Or so I’d thought.
Last month in biology lab, Casey’s hand accidentally touched mine, and I couldn’t help but notice the dusting of russet-colored hairs along his wrist and the way he kept his nails neat and trimmed.
There was something about his slender fingers.
The silver ring he always wore, the one with the engraved cross that his mama had given him before she left, had been too big for him, until now.
What was wrong with me? It was a hand. A freaking hand.
The same hand I used to grab for games of red rover, the same hand that used to expertly turn the other end of the jump rope while my sister took her turn jumping as we chanted, Rotting willow, Roots so deep, Searching for some rotting meat.
If we die, that is fine, rotting willow’s roots will dine…
It was the same hand that had given countless high fives and scooped dirt for mud pies and helped pull me into the branches of our favorite climbing tree in the woods behind my house.
Only… it wasn’t the same hand, because this time, when his pinky brushed against mine, I’d wanted to lace our fingers together and never let go.
But also the idea of touching him so freely terrified me. How had I spent my entire childhood doing it? When he caught me staring, I’d panicked, wrinkled my nose, and told him his ring looked dirty and God, could he wash his hands every once in a while?
Then came that stupid game and that freaking kiss. And to make things even more confusing, the homecoming invitation.
As friends.
I’d said yes because I wanted to go. God, I wanted to go.
Maybe he’d asked me because he felt sorry about how I’d embarrassed myself.
Maybe I was his pity project, and I hated that.
But I didn’t hate it as much as the idea that if I gave him the opportunity, he’d realize he’d made a mistake and take it all back.
If I could keep that from happening—if I could avoid him until the dance—I could salvage us. I’d find the perfect dress, and he would notice me in it the way a man notices a woman. Then we could be okay. Better than okay.
Which was why he absolutely could not see me right now. I was sweaty, and my hair frizzed like a mushroom from the recent hack job I’d given myself in an attempt to look sleek and mature.
Even after Ruth’s girlfriend Bunny had evened out the back, the haircut was still a mess.
I was still a mess.
I glanced around the store, jogging through the aisles, tossing things into the cart. A bag of rice, a loaf of bread, some butter. I paused near a Jenga tower of tomato soup to read a label when there was hot breath on my neck, and someone spoke in my ear. “I thought that was you.”
I jumped, spinning around. A camera snapped in my face. My arms flew upward, and it was as if it happened in slow motion. All the cans, every single one, crashed to the ground.
Casey stood across from me, his hazel eyes wide, a disposable camera dangling from his fingers. Mentally, I scrambled for the correct reaction, but my thoughts bounced from what the hell to oh shit oh no oh shit.
I glanced from his shocked face to the cans rolling around the floor to the camera clutched in his hand.
“Oh my God, Milly!” Casey said. “I didn’t… I was just joking with you. I mean I guess I should’ve… Are you okay?”
I wanted to play it cool. Say something like, Jesus, chill. It’s soup, not grenades. But it seemed I’d forgotten how to talk.
When I didn’t speak up, Casey shook his head, raising his voice in mock alarm. “Okay. The soup is fine. Everyone, the soup is okay!”
I forced an awkward laugh and stepped right onto a rolling can.
I rocked off balance, tipping back before he grabbed my arm to steady me.
My cheeks flushed, and suddenly I was hyperaware of my sweaty shirt and my frizzy hair and oh my God I felt like an idiot, even though I hadn’t been the one who’d startled another person into a tower of soup.
And okay. Why was there even a tower of soup in the first place? There was no way the folks of Puddle Creek bought that much soup. Nobody on earth bought that much soup.
And what’s with the camera?
“That went well,” Casey said, tucking the camera into his apron pocket.
I looked down to where the fingers of his other hand curled around my forearm, realizing I’d yet to say anything.
“Um,” I mumbled. My stomach flipped, and not in that heebie-jeebies way. This was like being filled with a million moths, all flapping their wings toward the porch light. Casey’s gaze followed my own, then we both looked up at the same moment, our eyes locking.
“Casey,” I began. Say something cool. “What the hell? Why do you have a disposable camera?”
“Sorry. I thought it would be funny.” He dropped his grip.
“It’s for this project I’m doing in art class.
I’m taking pictures with different types of cameras.
” He pushed his floppy auburn hair away from his forehead and blew out a breath.
“God. I’m stupid. But in my defense, I had no idea that you’d…
you know. Freak out.” He pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh.
I couldn’t help it. His laughter had always been contagious, a gasping chuckle that sounded like it belonged to someone’s grandpa, not a seventeen-year-old.
Soon, my shoulders shook with laughter, as I tripped toward full-on hysteria.
God, it felt good. For a moment I thought, We’re back.
This is us. The real us. Until his manager walked by, a scowl on his lined face.
Casey’s posture snapped into a straight line, and I covered my mouth with my palm.
Casey spoke in a deep customer service voice.
“As long as you’re okay, ma’am, I’ll get this cleaned up. ”