Chapter 21 – Brinley
brINLEY
N ine years, nine months ago
Cabinets slam downstairs in the kitchen. Boyish laughter drifts into my bedroom, even through my headphones. My stomach clenches, and I turn up the volume on my music to drown them out.
I used to love how often Luke’s friends came over.
They added excitement and color to the boring nights at our house, while Dad played chess on his computer and Mom turned on TMC to watch her favorite old movies.
I could usually sneak down and pretend to read a book while I watched whatever they were getting up to.
Yeah, sometimes they made fun of me, but they usually just ignored me and it was more fun than sitting upstairs, alone by myself.
At least, that’s why I hung out with them at first.
Then I started to notice Beau.
Even thinking his name makes my entire head blush, my ears prickling painfully.
Another laugh pierces through the music on my headphones, and my ears prickle.
I just know they’re laughing about me. That’s probably the whole stupid reason they hang out here, even though most of James’s friends are right, with way cooler houses. They come here to torture me.
Or they’ve already forgotten me. After I ran out of Never Have I Ever, none of them thought about me ever again—especially him.
I smother my face against a pillow. I want to scream, or cry, or bang my head repeatedly against the wall. If I could bleach my memory of everything that happened that night, I would.
I can’t believe how stupid I was, playing their stupid game. I hate that I can’t stop replaying that terrible moment on a loop, over and over again. A little too much vodka, and I stupidly looked at him. Everyone saw it, and I hate that I gave them that.
It’s still early in the afternoon. I should sneak downstairs and go out to see a movie or something. Anything to get me out of the house and away from the ghosts of their laughter. That’s what I would do, if the idea of bumping into them on my way out the door didn’t give me actual hives.
My phone buzzes on the bed. I pick up the phone, and for the first time all night I actually smile when I see the video Eden sent me. Her phone camera is pointed at an adorable chestnut-colored horse as she scratches its neck.
“That’s my sweetie baby honey bunch. Show Brinley what a perfect little cutie you are,” Eden croons before directing the camera back at her face. “I think I might be a little too obsessed with my new horse.”
Grinning, I’m about to type a response when a notification pops up.
Beau
Are you still hiding from us?
My heart stops.
Beau is texting me.
Just me.
This has never happened. Ever. I only even have his number from the time my parents made Luke and Beau drag Eden and me along to Canada’s Wonderland with them.
We started a group text in case we needed to meet up before we promptly split up, the guys going right to the roller coasters while Eden and I went off to the water park.
I’ve thought about texting Beau a zillion times. I’ve opened my messages with him, typed “hi,” and quickly deleted it more often than I’d like to admit. I never dared to fantasize that he’d ever text me .
I read it again. Are you still hiding from us? He’s making fun of me, right? Telling me that he hasn’t forgotten my secret or the humiliating way it came out.
But if he was making fun of me, why would he text me alone, without the other guys?
I have to answer it. Ignoring it might be the safest option, but if there’s the tiniest chance he’s reaching out to me because he’s curious about my feelings, I won’t be able to live with myself brushing it off.
It takes me a good five minutes to compose my answering message.
Brinley
I’m hiding from how loud you are. I can’t focus on my book with you all screaming.
There. It’s not fawning or pathetic and girly. If he’s reading my text out loud to the other guys, there’s nothing embarrassing.
Beau
Wow. I’m surprised we’re enough to stop you from reading.
I’m surprised a hurricane would stop you, the way you stick your nose in books.
I blink. Has Beau noticed that? Has he noticed…me? I can picture him saying the same thing with a warm smile. The smile he always gives the other boys but rarely unleashes on me.
Thinking of that smile makes me type an answer quickly, before I overthink it.
Brinley
A hurricane would stop me if it got the pages wet.
Beau
I’m not convinced. I saw you walk into a wall once when you were reading.
My face heats. That can’t be possible. I mean, it’s something I’ve done a few times in my life, but never in front of Beau. At least, I don’t think so.
Brinley
No, you didn’t.
Beau
Don’t be embarrassed. It was cute :)
I read it once, twice, a dozen times. The word makes me feel like I’m floating.
“Cute.” No guy has ever called me that, unless I count my father.
Unless Beau doesn’t mean “cute” that way.
Maybe he means “cute” the way you talk about an orphaned baby deer.
But that smiley face is definitely flirty… right?
While my thumbs are frozen over the reply button, Beau sends another text.
Beau
Look, we’re gonna leave soon, so you’ll get your peace and quiet.
But if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at Mocha Mart?
My mind whirls. This can’t be real, can it? There’s no way Beau would ever seriously want to hang out with me. A flirty text with your friend’s younger sister for attention makes sense. But there’s no way Beau would seriously want to hang out with me…would he?
Brinley
Who do you mean by “we?”
Beau
You and me…hopefully?
Unless that’s too weird.
I type my reply with shaking hands.
Brinley
No. It’s not too weird.
Beau
Wanna meet at 8?
Scrolling back up, I reread all our texts. Three times. Four times. If there’s a trap hiding in his words, I can’t find it. Maybe Never Have I Ever didn’t ruin my life completely. Maybe it just planted a seed in Beau’s head that took a few months to grow, and now, he finally sees me as an equal.
The front door slams. Just like Beau said, the guys are leaving. If I want to see him, I don’t have to wait for him to come back—if I’m brave enough to take what I want.
Brinley
I’ll be there.
Beau
I can’t help it. I clutch my phone to my chest and jump up and down. This is really happening. Beau is taking me on my first date—at least, I hope that’s what he thinks it is. And oh god, if it’s really a date, then I have to look cute.
I have no idea how to look cute.
Rushing to the bathroom, I yank open the medicine cabinet to find my contacts. I got them at the optometrist last year, hoping that I could finally abandon the thick glasses I’ve worn since I was six. After thirty minutes of poking myself in the eye, I gave up.
I’m not giving up today.
I force my left fingers to hold open my eyelids, which seem to be sliding toward each other like magnets. I try to slowly ease the contact toward my eye, like Indiana Jones swapping out the idol.
It ends with me poking myself in the eye again.
Putting in contacts involves a lot of poking.
Almost an hour later, my eyes are red and watering, but they have little plastic discs in front of them. For once, I can see my reflection clearly without glasses. I look…well, if not good, I look better.
I tackle my hair next, borrowing Mom’s straightener to make it long and soft, smoothing out all the frizzy parts.
I burn myself a few times on the hot iron, but compared to putting in contacts, doing my hair is a walk in the park.
It takes a while, because my hair is thick and long, but I get it looking presentable.
All that’s left to do is pick an outfit.
But when I open my closet door, I cringe.
Everything in my wardrobe feels too young or too dorky.
I can’t wear any of my graphic tees, even my favorite one that says “It’s Not Hoarding If It’s Books.
” They all make me look too young. All my jeans seem to be too baggy in the butt or have holes in the wrong place.
I have a dress Mom bought me to go to my cousin’s wedding last year, but it’s definitely not the kind of thing you wear to a coffee date.
Brinley
What the hell do I wear to coffee with a guy?
Eden
What guy???
Brinley
I’ll tell you later, when I know whether it was just a friend thing.
Eden
Well, I have no idea, since I’ve been asked out zero times.
A girl in my school said you should NEVER wear a plaid shirt on a date if that’s helpful.
Brinley
I’ll take anything at this point.
Eden
If I were you, I’d wear a skirt. Maybe with a sweater?
I sigh, relieved to have some kind of direction.
I have exactly one skirt in my wardrobe, a black denim one.
After trying on a few different sweaters and sending pics to Eden, we settle on a dark blue one that fits a little tighter than my usual clothes.
My hair looks nice, and some lip gloss and mascara makes me look cute without trying too hard.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I actually look almost pretty .
I smile at my reflection, trying to look at myself through Beau’s eyes. Do I look grown up enough? How do I even start pretending to be sophisticated?
I practice a closed-mouth smile. That’s good, better than my usual toothy grin.
“Hi, Beau,” I say to my reflection. “Thanks for inviting me out.”
That’s good. Friendly, but not overeager. Anyway, it’s already 7:45, so it’ll have to be good enough.
Thankfully, the coffeeshop is only a fifteen-minute walk from our house, and I don’t have to suffer through the indignity of begging my parents for a ride.
It’s a cool summer night, and my feet feel like they’re barely touching the ground.
I wonder if Beau is as excited as I am. Maybe he’ll be nervous, too.
Maybe he’ll say he’s been thinking about me since the game.
Maybe tonight is the beginning of everything.