Page 52 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Twenty

“You okay?” Sam asks as soon as I yank the car door open.

I crawl into the backseat, resisting the urge to scream, drive, drive, drive. I click my seatbelt in place and chance a peek at the front of the shelter as Sam pulls away. No one is chasing after me. No one is yelling obscenities at me. Dylan wasn’t even concerned enough to come look for me.

“Yeah, I’m—” I sigh. Why hide my feelings from my two best friends? “No, I’m not.”

“Dylan?” Bek asks. As usual, she’s staring out the passenger window looking like she’s lost in her own thoughts and not even paying attention.

“Yeah. No.” I growl and slam my eyes closed. “Kind of, I guess.”

“He’s sweet. You should—”

I cut her off. “No, Bek. It has nothing to do with him being sweet. Please, stop saying that.”

My friends share a look across the front seat but say nothing.

My body trembles with anger or frustration or maybe fear. That’s the most forceful I’ve ever spoken to them. Or to anyone, for that matter. I clench my fists, waiting for Bek to snap back at me, but my friend stays silent. Finally, Sam speaks.

“We are here for you when you’re ready to talk about it, Ava.”

My mouth quivers and I stare out my window too, so that I don’t have to make eye contact with Sam in the rearview mirror. “Thanks.”

“How about we hang in my room tonight?” Sam asks. “We can order pizza and binge that new series with the haunted house.”

A tear tumbles down my cheek at the grace Sam is showing me. I really do have the world’s best friends. “That’d be great,” I whisper.

“No anchovies,” Bek says. “I’m allergic.”

I can’t help but meet Sam’s gaze in the mirror over that remark. As I suspected, her eyes are crazy and wide. I chuckle, and the laughter feels like a balm on my soul.

Though we so often spend the night, it has been a while since we hung out at Sam’s together. I hang my bag on my hook in the closet, its existence once again reminding me how lucky I am to have this place and these people. Bek has her own hook next to mine. It seems like her Hello Kitty messenger bag is always hanging from it. Bek spends more time at Sam’s house than I do. Not because they are any closer than I am with either of them, but because I volunteer. I actually suspect Bek and I are closer friends than Bek and Sam. To me, Sam and Bek act more like sisters. Bek tends to drive Sam crazy. I think back to the expression on Sam’s face when Bek reminded her not to order anchovies and chuckle. I touch Bek’s hook lovingly and rejoin my friends.

Sam has already ordered the pizza and is scrolling through the selections on the streaming app, looking for the haunted house show. Bek is curled up under a blanket on her favorite bubble chair giving commentary on the shows we aren’t even considering as they scroll by. I climb onto the bed beside Sam. My muscles ache like I worked physically hard today, but I suspect it’s from all the emotions I’ve been processing.

Sam pauses. “We’ve always wanted to watch this show. Should we watch it instead?”

I tense when I see which show she’s talking about. I don’t want to watch it, but I shrug a shoulder instead, letting my friends decide. Grabbing the pillow from behind me, I hug it in my lap.

“Sure,” Bek says.

Sam hits the enter button to start the show, and a ball of heat courses through me.

“Wait!” I blurt. “I don’t want to watch it.”

Sam hits the pause button and stares at me thoughtfully. Bek sits up straight and leans forward so she can see me, too.

My pulse races. The pounding is all I can hear. I gulp down the cursed fear that bubbles inside me. “It’s about a dysfunctional family. I just don’t think I can handle it.”

Sam grins and pats me on the knee. “Okay. Haunted house it is.”

Bek smiles knowingly before settling back into her bubble.

My pulse still hammers, but it’s as much from exhilaration as fear. I spoke my mind. I voiced an opinion other than the one my friends shared. And nobody yelled or screamed. In my heart, I know I’m safe with my friends. Heck, I could argue for slavery, and they would probably still love me. Okay, maybe not anything that horrible, but I know my friends are my safe zone. Why haven’t I been taking advantage of that all along?

It takes the whole opening credits for my heart rate to return to normal, but soon afterward, it’s rapid again with anticipation of the show. And we laugh nervously each time we startle or squeal from the scary storyline.

When I rise from my slumber in the morning, I embrace my foggy mind and lay with my eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep. Instinctually, I know it’s time to get up and get ready for a day at the shelter, but I dread it. I don’t want to face Dylan. He might ignore me and go about his tasks, but he could choose to confront me instead. I’m not sure which would be worse. I consider pretending to be sick again. The idea of spending the day with my friends is tempting. It’s just a volunteer gig.

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