Page 29 of The Fake Out Flex

She moves out of the way as I hoist myself into her room. Standing so close to her makes me take in details I normally don't notice about her.

Like how nice she smells, sweet without being sickly sweet, and with a hint of vanilla.

Or the light freckles playfully scattered across the bridge of her nose.

Or the mesmerizing blend of colors in her eyes, swirls of green and brown that seem to shift and change with the light.

And whoa.

It suddenly hits me.

Optics, man.

I'm a senior. She's a sophomore. My best friend's sister, no less. And I've just snuck into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

I shuffle away, creating some physical distance between us, and take a moment to eye her room. I've never really given much thought to what her room would look like, but it's very her.

Framed posters of hockey players and album covers adorn the walls. A massive vase filled with yellow roses sits atop her desk. Against one wall there's a queen-sized bed, and on the other side of the room, there's a seating area with a plush two-seater sofa, a couple of bean bags, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall that's currently playing her dad's final game,

"Your room is so…"

"I know, I know. It's messy."

"I was going to say clean. Compared to Levi's."

And mine. But I leave that out.

"And it smells so…" I sniff the air.

She approaches me, a grin spreading across her face. "Not boy?"

"Yeah. That's exactly it. Not boy. You know, I heard that was going to be the name of the new Calvin Klein fragrance until they changed it at the last minute."

"Changed it to what?"

"Girl."

Her grin grows into a smile, and it's a really pretty smile.

Maybe a little too pretty for someone I've known since she was ten. I jam my hands into my pockets, feeling bad for noticing.

Because yeah, there's no denying it. Little Evie is growing up. She's almost sixteen. Cotillion is coming up soon. I wonder who she's going with.

Another thought I probably shouldn't be having, so I sidestep past her and wander over to the wall lined with framed posters. They're a mix of hockey players—the current crop mixed with a few from her dad's era—as well as…huh, well, what do you know?

I spin around to face her. "When Levi told me he got you into punk music, I thought he meant, like, Avril Lavigne."

She rolls her eyes, takes off the headphones from around her neck, and shoves them into my hands. "Listen to this."

I place the headphones over my ears, then rip them off almost immediately. "What on earth was that?"

"That was punk music." She lifts her chin, smiling proudly like she's just scored a victory over me.

"I think use of the term music is debatable. My ears hurt."

"Would you like to listen to some Avril instead?"

"Not funny."

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