Chapter 16
Sixteen
CHLOE
Ipark on the curb outside the red brick ranch and take a deep breath full of the five kinds of bacon I got from The Local Waffle. Some people smell lavender to relax, but apparently, I’m my own brand of weird.
I’m actually about to see the inside of Rhoads’s house.
Showing someone where you live is intimate, like letting them gaze at a piece of your heart.
I haven’t brought a boy home since Graham, and even then, I waited until we’d been exclusive for a full two months before letting him inside the front door.
Not that Rhoads is bringing me home. This isn’t the same thing. It’s not like I’m meeting his parents or anything.
My heart skips. It’s a weekend. What if his parents are home and I do meet them?
Before I left my house, I’d swiped on sunscreen and a bit of tinted chapstick and called it a day. I’m not trying to impress him or his parents. I’m just here to prep for our upcoming test, do some soccer training, taste test bacon, nothing more.
I glance down at my sweatpants and hoodie, a bit nauseated at the thought of meeting the parents of a boy I’m not even dating looking like I just left the locker room.
Maybe it’s good we aren’t dating. If I’m this worked up over the possibility now, I can’t imagine the train wreck I’d be if I actually was his girlfriend.
My car beeps as I lock it, and I adjust the hood of my Cardinal Ridge High soccer sweatshirt. I ring the doorbell and will myself to be normal.
A chorus of giggles bounces through the house, and footsteps stomp down the stairs. “Don’t crowd the door,” a young girl’s voice says, seeping through the cracks in the door frame. “We don’t want to scare him off.”
A click issues, and then the door swings in, revealing a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Dark brown bangs hang across her forehead, barely brushing her long lashes. “Oh. You’re not the pizza guy.”
“Uh, nope. Sorry,” I say.
Disappointment deflates the girl’s posture. She calls over her shoulder, “It’s not him.”
A Black girl with braces and a pale redhead peek out from behind the door. “Bummer,” says the Black girl. “What if they send someone else?”
The brunette stands a little taller. “I specifically requested the cute guy from the football team. Carla, my assistant dance coach, works there, and she took my call. She promised she’d send him.”
“Okay, cool. Hannah, you want to paint our nails while we wait?”
The redhead shrugs, and they both disappear into the house.
“I’m a friend of Rhoads,” I say, suddenly nervous I have the wrong house. “He does live here, right?”
“Yeah, he does,” the brunette with the bangs says. “He’s not home yet, but he should be back soon. Are you Chloe?”
“That’s me. You must be Rhoads’s sister. Danielle, right?”
The girl smiles. “Dani. Rhoads is the only one who still calls me Danielle. Anyway, you can come in, hang out with me and Maya and Hannah. He should be back any minute.”
“Sure. I must be early. I thought he said noon.” I step inside the small entryway.
Dani closes the door behind her. “He sometimes loses track of time when he’s with his best friend, Jenson. I couldn’t hang out in that guy’s room for five minutes without getting bored, but Rhoads spends a lot of time there. Want a soda or something?”
I almost say yes, then hear Anita yell at me in my mind.
I am still in season, after all. “No thanks, I’m good.
” I follow Dani through a narrow hallway.
Photos of Rhoads and Dani cover the walls in mismatched frames, chronicling school, Rhoads’s soccer, and Dani’s dance throughout the last few years.
Dani’s two friends sit at a large round table, a bunch of bottles of nail polish spread out in front of them.
“I want bright red,” Maya says. “Teen Tops Magazine said it’s seductive.”
“I’m going with a chic pink,” Hannah says. “Subtle and sparkly.”
I lean awkwardly against the counter.
“So, you’re friends with my brother, huh?” Dani asks.
“Yep. We’ve got an econ test coming up.” I lift my textbook for emphasis. See, I have a good reason for being here. Not that they need convincing. I, on the other hand, apparently do.
I set the takeout box on the counter and place my backpack and string bag on the floor at my feet.
The doorbell rings, saving me from my awkwardness. All three young girls shriek and jump up.
“That has to be the pizza,” Maya says, smoothing her flowered dress.
“How’s my hair?” Hannah asks me, her face turning the same deep shade of red as her stick straight locks.
“Looks great. But—”
Dani leads the girls to the door and opens it.
I can’t hear the delivery person, but I do hear flirtatious laughter from all three girls.
Ah, everything makes sense now. I smirk to myself.
Charlotte, Anita, and I did the same thing a few years ago: ordering pizza just to see if the cute delivery guy would come to our houses.
Though Dani creates her own luck.
“Chloe, can you bring the money?” Dani calls. “I left it on the table.”
I spot the cash and grab it, making my way back through Rhoads’s childhood pictures to the door. “Here you go.”
“Chloe?” the delivery guy asks.
I squint at him and swallow hard. “Graham?”
“Guilty.” He tips his orange Super Pies baseball cap up so I can see his face.
I mask my discomfort at seeing him, yet again, by laughing. Why is he suddenly everywhere? “Nice outfit.”
“I would tell you to shut it, but there are ladies present.” He winks, and the girls giggle behind me. “So, it’s fifteen even for the pizza.”
I hand him the twenty.
“Keep the change,” Dani calls, batting her eyelashes.
“You girls have fun plans today?” Graham asks.
“We’re just hanging out. Pizza, manicures, boy talk. You know. Girl stuff,” Dani says, before I can tell him I’m not actually hanging out with middle schoolers.
He nods. “Sounds fun. Enjoy the pizza.” He tips his hat back down. “See you at school, Chloe.”
When he starts the Jeep’s engine, I shut the door. The entryway erupts with “ohmygod” and “he’s so hot.”
I carry the pizza back into the kitchen, the girls trailing me like ducklings following their mother.
“Did you see him? He looked soooo good,” Maya says, fake fainting into a chair. “Orange doesn’t work on everyone, but he totally pulls it off.”
“He called us ladies. And he winked!” screeches Hannah. “God, he’s dreamy.”
“I can’t believe you know him,” Dani says to me. She opens the pizza box and takes a slice. “Are you friends?”
“Umm…” How to explain my and Graham’s relationship? If these girls are anything like my friends and I were in middle school, a whole day could be spent analyzing every detail. Keep it simple. “Umm, sure.” Not exactly the truth, but I don’t want to get into our complicated history.
“Did you ever date?” Maya asks. I should have known I wouldn’t get off that easily. Maya places a piece of pepperoni pizza on a paper plate and stares up at me expectantly.
I could lie, but I’m terrible at it. So I don’t even try. “We did. For a little while.”
“Why’d you break up?” Hannah asks. She blinks up at me with large, innocent brown eyes.
God, where is Rhoads? I am not prepared to give a dissertation on my romantic history. “It just didn’t work out.”
“What about my brother?” Dani asks. “He could use a girlfriend.” She takes a bite of pizza, the cheese stretching.
Uh oh. Backed into a corner. I rack my brain for a way to change the subject. “Umm, we’re just—”
“What about me, what?” Rhoads asks. “Chloe?” His face turns from confusion to realization. He checks the clock. “I’m late, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“She’s been hanging out with us,” Dani says. “Pizza, manicures, boy talk. You know, girl stuff.”
“Boy talk, huh? You’re too young to date,” Rhoads says to Dani.
Dani deadpans. “Not too young to look.”
The three younger girls all burst out laughing,
Rhoads notices the pizza. “Ohhhh, I see. Harassing delivery guys again?” He flicks his gaze to me. “I’m surprised at you, Baker. Conspiring with these hooligans.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a maverick.”
“Chloe dated Graham, the pizza guy,” Hannah screeches. “She’s my hero.”
Rhoads’s jaw ticks, but before he can say anything, Maya interjects. “We were just about to paint our nails. Do you want a manicure, Chloe?”
“Next time,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “We’ve got a big test coming up.”
“Let’s use the den.” Rhoads waves me down the hall. “Hopefully the decibel level will be lower in there. And is that bacon I smell? Bring it with.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. The den, I can handle. At least I won’t be thinking about Rhoads in his pajamas.
On our way into the cozy room, a glistening orb on a shelf catches my eye. Three small bikes lean against the inside of the rounded glass. A snow globe. So unlike the ones I’ve seen in stores. But I don’t have time to check it out because Rhoads is already setting up.
We each settle into a cushioned chair at the executive-sized desk in the corner of the room and flip open our textbooks to a practice test. “Maybe we can each do the test and once we score them, we’ll see what we need to study more?” I suggest.
“Sounds good.” Rhoads scoots his chair in. “But I’m not going to be able to resist the call of bacon for long.”
I turn my attention to my book, but I can’t focus.
My senses keep zeroing in on the scent of his shampoo, like orange slices at halftime.
The even tempo of his concentrated breathing and the way his chest rises and falls in time with my own.
I am hyperaware of how close his arm is to mine, his right barely an inch from my left as his left hand scribbles on a lined sheet of paper.
“Hey, no cheating,” Rhoads says, bumping me with his shoulder.
I flush. “I wasn’t cheating. I was just admiring your handwriting. It’s…tidy.” I rearrange my face into a teasing smile.
“Well, eyes on your own paper, Baker. Cheaters never prosper.” He points to my notebook where I’ve answered only the first two questions. Oops.
I stick out my tongue at him. He does the same, and I force myself to focus anywhere but his mouth. Pressing my lips together, I half-turn and make a big show of covering my paper with my arm.
Rhoads grabs an empty manila folder from a drawer and sets it up between us. “Like in elementary school,” he says.
I roll my eyes and turn back to my textbook.
I get through a few questions before the back of my neck prickles, heat rising up my spine.
It feels like being watched. I turn my head just enough to see the folder.
And peeking above it, Rhoads’s rich brown eyes, his dark hair sweeping across his forehead. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying to cheat.” He laughs. “I have no idea what the answer to number four is.”
I flick the folder so it falls toward him, covering his notebook. “Looks like your plan backfired, Simpson.”
He pauses, regarding me. “Jury is still out on that.”
We manage to get through the chapter without too many distractions, taking turns summarizing the main concepts and defining the jargon.
“I believe it’s time for a bacon break,” I say. “And then soccer.”
“Finally! I thought you were going to make me study all day. So, tell me about this bacon.”
I open the box with a flourish. “I present the bacon sampler from The Local Waffle. Greg and Lou have been running it together since before they were married. There’s traditional crispy, peppercorn-crusted, maple, chipotle maple, and brown sugar cinnamon.”
Rhoads’s eyes widen. He grabs a piece of chipotle maple and rips it in half, offering me a piece. “To teamwork,” he says. We cheers, then each take a bite.
I watch his reaction as if I had made the bacon myself. He relaxes, his eyes closed as he savors it.
Finally, he looks at me straight in the eye.
“So?” I ask, reaching for a piece of crispy to push away the nerves.
“That is hands-down the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” He tastes the peppercorn-crusted kind, then points the half-eaten piece at me. “You’ve got to be careful bringing food like this around. That’s so good, it could make someone fall in love.”
I inhale so sharply that it hurts.
Rhoads’s eyes sparkle with that mischief I’ve come to look for. “Guess it’s a good thing Greg and Lou are already married, or admirers would swarm them.” We polish off the rest of the sampler, then he stands and holds out a hand to me. “Alright, Baker. Time to show me your moves.”