Chapter 2
Kiara
I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, remembering the first time Michael and I kissed. It was at the outdoor summer concert in Niwot behind the ice cream vendor. “I liked him.”
“Yeah, well I never did. Don’t trust someone you meet in the waiting room at your therapist’s office.”
I flip onto my stomach and sit up on my elbows. “It was speech therapy. And he just drove his brother for sessions.”
Tuck, who has never liked a guy I’ve dated, pulls out a pink skull-and-crossbones notebook from my desk drawer. He shakes his index finger at me. “Never trust a guy who tells you he loves you on the second date. Happened to me once. It was a total joke.”
“Why? Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”
“No. I believe in lust at first sight. And attraction. But not love. Michael told you he loved you just so he could get into your pants.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a guy, that’s how I know.” Tuck frowns. “You didn’t do it with him, did you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head to emphasize my answer. We fooled around, but I didn’t want to take it to the next level. I just, I don’t know . . . I wasn’t ready.
I haven’t seen or talked to Michael since school started two weeks ago.
Sure, we texted a few times, but he always said he was busy and would call when he got a minute.
He’s a senior in Longmont twenty minutes away and I go to school in Boulder, so I just thought he was busy with school stuff.
But now I know the reason we haven’t talked wasn’t because he was busy. It was because he wanted to break up.
Was it because of another girl?
Was it because I wasn’t pretty enough?
Was it because I wouldn’t have sex with him?
It can’t be because I stutter. I’ve been working on my speech all summer and haven’t stuttered once since June.
Every week I went to speech therapy, every day I practice speaking in front of a mirror, every minute I’m conscious of the words that come out of my mouth.
Before now I always had to worry when I spoke, waiting for that confused look people got and then that “Oh, I understand—she’s got a problem” revelation.
Then came the look of pity. And then the “she must be stupid” assumption.
Or, in the case of some of the girls in my school, my stuttering was the source of amusement.
But I don’t stutter anymore.
Tuck knows this is the year I’m determined to show my confident side—the side I’ve never shown the kids at school.
I’ve been shy and introverted my first three years of high school, because I’ve had an intense fear of people making fun of me stuttering.
From now on instead of Kiara Westford being remembered for being shy, they’re going to remember me as the one who wasn’t afraid to speak up.
I didn’t count on Michael breaking up with me. I thought we’d go to Homecoming together, and prom...
“Stop thinking about Michael,” Tuck orders.
“He was cute.”
“So is a hairy ferret, but I wouldn’t want to date one. You could do better than him. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Look at me,” I tell him. “Face reality, Tuck. I’m no Madison Stone.”
“Thank God for that. I hate Madison Stone.”
Madison raises the term “mean girls” to an entirely new level.
The girl is good at everything she tries and could be easily crowned the most popular girl in school.
Every girl wants to be friends with her so they can hang with the cool crowd.
Madison Stone creates the cool crowd. “Everyone likes her.”
“That’s because they’re afraid of her. Secretly everyone hates her.” Tuck starts scribbling words in my notebook, then hands it to me. “Here,” he says, then tosses me a pen.
I stare at the page. RULES OF ATTRACTION is written on top, and a big line is drawn down the center of the page.
“What is this?”
“In the left column write down all the great things about you.”
Is he kidding? “No.”
“Come on, start writing. Consider this a self-help exercise, and a way for you to realize that girls like Madison Stone aren’t even attractive. Finish the sentence I, Kiara Westford, am great because . . .”
I know Tuck isn’t going to let up, so I write something stupid and hand it back to him.
He reads my words and cringes. “I, Kiara, am great because . . . I know how to throw a football, change the oil in my car, and hike a four-teener. Ugh, guys don’t care about this stuff.
” He grabs the pen from me, sits on the edge of my bed, and starts writing furiously.
“Let’s get the basics down. You’ve got to measure attractiveness in three parts to get the full result. ”
“Who made up those rules?”
“Me. These are Tuck Reese’s Rules of Attraction. First, we start with personality. You’re smart, funny, and sarcastic,” he says, listing each one in the notebook.
“I’m not sure all of those are good things.”
“Trust me, they are. But wait, I’m not done.
You’re also a loyal friend, you love a challenge more than most guys I know, and you’re a great sister to Brandon.
” He looks up when he’s done writing. “The second part is your skills. You know about fixing cars, you’re athletic, and you know when to shut up. ”
“That last one isn’t a skill.”
“Honey, trust me. It’s a skill.”
“You forgot my special spinach and walnut salad.” I can’t cook, but that salad is an all-time favorite.
“You do make a killer salad,” he says, adding that to the list. “Okay, on to the last part—physical traits.” Tuck looks me up and down, assessing me.
I moan, wondering when this humiliation will end. “I feel like I’m a cow about to be auctioned.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve got flawless skin and a perky nose to match your tits. If I wasn’t gay I might be tempted to—”
“Eww.” I slap his hand away from the paper. “Tuck, can you please not say or write that word?”
He shakes his long hair out of his eyes. “What, tits?”
“Ugh. Yes, that one. Just say boobs or breasts, please. The ‘t’ word just sounds so . . . vulgar.”
Tuck snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay, perky . . . breasts.” He laughs, totally amused.
“I’m sorry, Kiara, that just sounds like something you’re gonna barbeque for lunch or order off a menu.
” He pretends my notebook is a menu as he recites in a fake English accent, “Yes, waiter, I’d like the barbequed perky breasts with a side of coleslaw. ”
I throw Mojo, my big blue teddy bear, at Tuck’s head. “Just call ’em privates and move on.”
Mojo bounces right off him and lands on the floor.
My best friend doesn’t miss a beat. “Perky tits, scratch. Perky breasts, scratch.” He makes a big deal of crossing both those out.
“Replace with . . . perky privates,” he says, writing each word down as he says it.
“Long legs, and long eyelashes.” He eyes my hands and wrinkles his nose.
“No offense, but you could use a manicure.”
“Is that it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Can you think of anything else?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, so now that we know how fabulous you are, we need to make a list of what kind of guy you want. We’ll write this on the right side of the page. Let’s start with personality. You want a guy who is . . . fill in the blank.”
“I want a guy who’s confident. Really confident.”
“Good,” he says, writing it down.
“I want a guy who’s nice to me.”
Tuck continues writing. “Nice guy.”
“I’d like a guy who’s smart,” I add.
“Street smarts or book smarts?”
“Both?” I question, not knowing if it’s the right or wrong answer.
He pats me on the head like I’m a little kid.
“Good. Let’s move on to skills.” He shushes me, stopping me from contributing.
Fine by me. “I’ll write this part down for you.
You want a guy who has the same skills as you have, and then some.
Someone who likes sports, someone who can at least appreciate your interest in fixing up that stupid old car of yours, and—”
“Shoot.” I jump off my bed. “I almost forgot. I need to go into town and pick up something from the auto-body shop.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s fuzzy dice to hang on your rearview mirror.”
“It’s not fuzzy dice. It’s a radio. A vintage one.”
“Oh, goodie! A vintage one, to match your vintage car!” Tuck says sarcastically, then claps a bunch of times in fake excitement.
I roll my eyes at him. “Wanna come with?”
“No.” He closes my notebook and shoves it back in my desk. “The last thing I want to do is hang around and listen to you talk about cars with people who actually care.”
After I drop off Tuck at his house, it takes me fifteen minutes to get to McConnell’s Auto Body.
I pull my car into the shop and find Alex, one of the mechanics, bent over the engine of a VW Beetle.
Alex was one of my dad’s students. Last year, after a study session, my dad found out that Alex works on cars.
He told Alex about the 1972 Monte Carlo I’ve been restoring, and Alex has been helping me get parts for it ever since.
“Hey, Kiara.” He wipes his hands on a shop cloth, and asks me to wait while he gets my radio.
“Here it is,” he says, opening the box. He pulls out the radio and removes it from the bubble wrap.
Wires are sticking out of the back like spindly legs, but it’s just perfect.
I know I shouldn’t be so excited about a radio, but the dash wouldn’t be complete without it.
The one that came with my car never worked and the front plastic was cracked, so Alex has been looking online to find me an authentic replacement.
“I didn’t get a chance to test it, though,” he says as he wiggles each wire to make sure the connections are solid. “I had to pick up my brother at the airport, so I couldn’t come in early.”
“Is he visiting from Mexico?” I ask.
“He’s not visitin’. He’ll be a senior at Flatiron startin’ tomorrow,” he says as he fills out an invoice. “You go there, right?”
I nod.
He puts the radio back in the box. “Do you need help installin’ it?”
I didn’t think so before I saw it up close, but now I’m not so sure. “Maybe,” I tell him. “Last time I soldered wires, I messed them up.”
“Then don’t pay for it now,” he says. “If you’ve got time tomorrow after school, stop by and I’ll put it in. That’ll give me time to test the thing.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
He looks up from the invoice and taps his pen on the counter. “I know this is gonna sound loco, but can you help show my brother around school? He doesn’t know anyone.”
“We have a peer outreach program at school,” I say, proud that I can help. “I can meet you in the principal’s office in the morning and sign up to be his peer guide.” The old Kiara would have been too shy and would never have offered, but not the new Kiara.
“I’ve got to warn you . . .”
“About what?”
“My brother can be tough to deal with.”
My lips turn into a wide grin, because as Tuck pointed out... “I love a good challenge.”