Chapter 13 Kai #2
“Really? And what about in your friend group?”
“Doesn’t count. She’s one of the guys. That’s guys being guys.”
“Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Look.” I puff out my chest on instinct. “If you think I’ll tell you it’s okay to keep bullying my best friend, then you really are a lost cause.”
“Of course, I don’t think it’s okay,” she wails. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Then tell me you’ll stop.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.”
Her face falls, and she heaves her next breath. “But I… I… I can point Cammy towards other girls. I can try to save Jamie.”
“You think I’m okay with the bullying continuing?”
“Can’t you see it’s a start? An olive branch?”
I cross my arms, taking her in. I can’t accept this. I can’t tell her this plan is okay.
But it does save Jamie.
“I can’t say it’ll work,” she whispers. “If Cammy suspects me, she might double down on Jamie.”
“Yeah, she is unhinged.”
“But it might work out. If I put my foot in it, she’ll go nuclear on me. That’ll definitely save Jamie.”
“You can’t put yourself in the firing line.”
She shrugs. “I’m always in the firing line.”
For a moment, we silently hold the stare.
Her brown doe eyes, framed by long lashes and shimmering purple eyeshadow, lock me in a trance.
Under this lighting, her tanned complexion is somewhere between golden and olive.
Her maroon lipstick makes me want to surrender to every word that comes from her mouth.
She really is beautiful.
The thought makes me shiver.
“Whoa. You okay?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “Mm. Umm, yeah. Totally.”
“Look, just forget everything I said,” Tabitha says in a calmer tone, waving her hand. “I don’t mean to make excuses for myself. I just want to end the arguing while we’re stuck working together.”
“Agreed. It’s exhausting.”
She smiles. “Is this actually a truce?”
“Did you really mean you’ll lay off Jamie?”
She nods but doesn’t speak.
My guard lowers, accepting it as enough.
She shakes out her shoulders. “Oh my gosh. I don’t know what that was, but it felt good.”
“Huh?”
She giggles to herself. Wow, that was a really cute sound. “It was a relief.”
“Oh.” Dang it, I feel heat prickling my cheeks. Man, how do I stop that?
She hugs herself, smiling. “Phew. That felt good.”
“So, do we exchange numbers?” I ask.
She hesitates, biting her bottom lip. Somehow, the maroon makes it even more pouty. It’s like lined, or something, with a darker color. These lips have no right to look so good.
“You know, just for the experiment,” I ramble. “I don’t, like, want to call you or anything. But I guess we need to get some work done, or whatever.”
Her eyes trace me from my head to toe, and then back up again. The time she takes gives me goosebumps, and I question how much I enjoy the strange feeling. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.
“I doubt either of us will want to text, even for assignment-related stuff,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and handing it over to me. I take it, type in my number, and save it under my name.
“Here.” I pluck out my phone and let it scan my face. “Give me your number. Something tells me I’ll be taking the lead on this assignment.”
She takes my phone, and there’s something mischievous in her expression. “Something tells me, Kai, that you enjoy taking the lead.”
She hands the phone back, and I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I was watching you with your friends during the assembly. You always seem to be the ringleader of your group.”
Something jitters in my stomach. “You were watching me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says with a giggle. Yep, really cute sound. “You were just in my line-of-sight.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure.”
Tabitha smirks. “What, do you want me lusting after you or something?”
I deadpan at her. “And why would I want that?”
She twirls a chocolaty curl around her finger and shrugs. “You seem like a guy with a pretty big ego.” She nods and turns on her heel. “Catch ya later, Kai.”
My mouth is running dry. “Yeah, bye.”
Tabitha saunters away, and I can’t help noticing how her hips swing, or just how tight her black jeans are.
I shake my head. Whoa. What the heck just happened?
When I get back to the table, Mom forces me to inhale three more dumplings, and then Dad pays the bill. I don’t let my gaze circulate the room for Tabitha and her family. It doesn’t matter, anyway. This place is so big it separates into two dining spaces, and Tabitha walked into the other one.
Once I’m home and in my bedroom, the same thought knocks around inside my head.
She really is beautiful.
My lip upturns as I shove the thought down.
No.
No, I’m not doing this. I’m not falling for this trap.
Yeah, okay, she got vulnerable. She told me a story about how her friends give her a hard time. But that’s all it is, right? A story.
But there were tears.
Nope. Stop it. Not falling for it. Not giving in.
My fingers itch against the phone. There’s a nagging voice in the back of my head, urging me to text Tabitha. That can’t be my voice. My voice wouldn’t be that idiotic. But the itch persists. I replay her walking away, over and over again.
Text her.
No.
Text her.
How about, hell no.
Text her.
I remember the hopeless sadness on her face, groan, and open a new text screen.
My thumb hovers over the keypad. I lower the phone. This is dumb. My jaw rocks, and I imagine her in those black jeans again. I lift my phone higher and stare at the blank screen. I add her as a recipient, and start typing.
"Just checking you didn’t give me a phony number."
I lower the phone with a sigh. As my chest constricts, I drop the phone and massage my creased forehead. That was so dumb. Why did I do that? Just because she looked sexy tonight, I’m supposed to forget I don’t like her?
I blink at my bedroom wall and gulp.
Did I really just describe Tabitha Jones as sexy?
I blink again, and all I see are black jeans.
Gulp.
Those chocolate curls.
I wipe the clamminess from my brow.
Those dang long lashes.
I slouch in defeat.
Those full, pouty lips.
Man, I’m a goner. I’m so screwed.
Holding my breath, I look down at my sent message.
No read receipt.
No reply.
What did I expect to get out of sending that?
I check the time. 11:47 p.m.. Ugh, it’s so late. I jab my thumb between my eyebrows and rub a hard circle between them. Why did I text her so late? What’s she gonna think?
My thumb turns into my entire hand, slapping my forehead.
“Stupid, Kai,” I berate myself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Every twist of my stomach is an agony I deserve. I contemplate deleting the message, in hopes she hasn’t seen it, and then three dots appear.
“Whoa,” I breathe. “She’s replying.”
I get off my bed, feeling both agitated and energized. My hands are getting clammy, and I dump my phone on my bed as I pace the carpet.
Tabitha is replying at almost midnight. I plant my hands on my hips as I continue to pace. It’s not unheard of. It’s not unusual for someone to be up this late on a Friday night.
I stretch my neck from side to side, enjoying the cracking sound. Well, she’s the ditz, right? The knots in my stomach twist their way up to my tightened chest. Yeah, girls like her are always on their phones.
I steal a look at my phone on the bed. The reply still hasn’t come through. My text probably came through as she was replying to a friend, and she tapped on it by mistake.
I check the clock again.
Or she’s up this late, texting with a guy.
I gulp and swipe the sweat bead off my neck.
She’s really pretty. She most likely has a boyfriend.
I slap my forehead again. Why am I worried about her having a boyfriend? I’m not interested in her. I don’t want some guy getting the wrong impression, and I have to beat him up over a misunderstanding.
I blow out a hard breath and shake it off. I glance back at the phone. Still no reply.
I groan. “Come on, what is up?”
I pace toward my bed, and as soon as I lean over to grab my phone, a new text chimes in.
"Well, that wouldn’t have gotten me very far, would it?" she texts.
I catch myself smiling at the text and swiftly stop it. I lift the phone and wander over to my desk. I read her reply again as I lean against my desk chair. There’s a twinge in my neck, and when I rub my palm against it, a reply strikes me.
"Maybe you just really, really wanted me to take the lead."
After thirty seconds of no reply, no dots, I frown at my text message.
What am I doing? Am I flirting?
I suck in a breath and look at my desk. My chemistry textbook sits with the rest of my junk. I reach for it, considering if I’m texting with Tabitha, it should be about this boring class.
When my fingers grasp the edge of the textbook, a new reply pops up. "You got me. I mean, why would I want to take the lead on that boring assignment?"
I regard the text for a moment, and then my fingers have a mind of their own. "You think I’m some kind of nerd who wants to do this assignment?"
She texts back, "I mean, you seem obsessed with it."
"No, I don’t want to fail. And being stuck with you makes an F a reality."
"I could say the same about you."
I rub two knuckles against the space above my ribs. "But we have a truce, right? We’ll get this work done so we don’t have to repeat it over the summer."
"Eww! A summer spent with you! Oh, we sooooo have a truce!"
It shouldn’t make me laugh, but it does.
I know make-up classes over the summer wouldn’t be exactly like regular classes. But it’s the thought of losing my freedom from school. I’m not letting this girl destroy my first summer with a license.
Another message from Tabitha pops into the chain. "But, like, don’t expect me to be studying right now. OMG, it’s Friday freaking night! I’m not opening my chem book!"
I’m surprised she texted again without another reply to prompt her. I stare at the two messages, less eager to reply. It’s a weird feeling. Now that she wants to talk, it gives me less incentive.
She does want to talk, right? Why else would she double message?
As I continue to contemplate, three little dots appear. Whoa, a third message?
I wait it out, and sure enough, it comes.
"OMG, Kai, you really are a little nerd. Don’t tell me you stopped texting so you could read your chem book?"
I smirk at the emojis, which follow the text. She must be bored if she’s texting me.
I comb my fingers through my hair, remembering what she said about her friends. They target her. If that were my relationship with my friends, I’d find someone new to text with too.
"You wish," I text. "But no, I’m not doing the whole assignment for you. Like you said, it is Friday night. No, actually it’s Saturday, which really means I should call it."
I pull off my T-shirt and flop into bed, leaving my phone on the nightstand. I turn off the lamp and rub my dry eyes. I don’t really care if she texts back. I’m going to sleep.
I lift my head and glance at the nightstand. She didn’t text back, right?
I swallow the thought and roll over. The only reason I’m wondering about her replying is because I don’t want her to reply. That’s all it is. I mean, why would I want to talk to her? I hate her.
The words sink into a pit in my stomach, reminding me of her devastation when I told her that.
Man, I don’t hate her. But I really freaking hate what she does.
She’s a bully.
She’s bullied.
I look over my shoulder. Nothing’s illuminated on the nightstand.
But I might’ve missed it.
I reach across and lift my phone.
No reply.
I drop the phone and roll back over.
Why did I want a reply?
I shouldn’t want a reply.