Page 15 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
His eyes and his skin were impossibly the same shade of brown, and I could make out his slim, muscled physique through his close-fitted, hunter green v-neck sweater. “Is this seat taken?”What is this, some bad high school rom-com? Of course the seat isn’t taken.
He smirked, highlighting the indentation in his cheek. It also showed a hidden confidence that he otherwise kept under wraps and made me rethink my assessment that he was painfully shy and awkward. Maybe, he merely liked being alone. “No. It’s not.”
I gazed back at our table. Danny and Theory were giving me the thumbs up. “My name’s Phoenix. In case you were wondering. My friends call me Pheeny. My dad gave me the nickname…”Shut up,now.
His dimple taunted me. “I’ve never met anyone named Phoenix. Is there a story?”
I brought my hands from my lap to the table, then back to my lap. “My parents honeymooned in Phoenix.” It seemed easier than having to explain the true reason. The one Mr. Wicked inferred without having been told.
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”What now, Pheeny?He seemed content with allowing me to squirm. “Calculus.” I pointed to his textbook.
“Yeah, I’m a mathlete.”
“I’m more of a literary man myself.” I nodded until I forced myself to stop.
“Did your friends put you up to coming over here?”
“Is it that obvious? Not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” I quickly added. “I doubt I would’ve worked up the nerve without a push.”
“Well, I’ve been working on my courage to approach you as well. I can’t tell you the number of times I saidtomorrow.”
My shoulders relaxed. “You were nervous to approachme?” I’d been called handsome before. A pretty-boy to be exact. Theory had a habit of tugging on my curls just to see them “dance.” But I was very much an introvert and didn’t go out of my way to attract attention.
“You’re a local celebrity around here,” he whispered.
I rolled my head.Would I ever live my “coming out” down?“I’m sure the jocks and the rest of the popular kids think so.”
“Who cares what they think? It matters to the people that matter.”
“People like you?” The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and I wanted to scream. We were only getting started past that awkward stage of first introductions. All around us people moved in a hurry. Trays were dumped, bags were packed, and voices were raised. Someone bumped into the back of my chair. “Ah—”
“What are you doing this weekend?” Mason asked, standing and slipping his bag over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I said enthusiastically. Heat licked up my neck.
“How about we meet up on Saturday?” His arms wrapped around his math book.
I shook my head no while saying yes, and then nodded and said no.God...
The corner of his mouth turned up, and he asked for my number. I ran down the digits as he walked backward out of the cafeteria typing it into his phone. I was the only one left. I grabbed my bag and hurried along, feeling the tell-tale vibration in my pocket.
I made it through the rest of the day, somehow, and after meeting Danny and Theory in the school parking lot, we drove to my place while I filled them in on how my conversation with Mason went. The whole ordeal suddenly became overwhelming. And although I liked Mason well enough, it didn’t override the fact that I wasn’t into him inthatway. Maybe if we would’ve met before school began. But not now. “Maybe I should cancel.”
“Absolutely not,” Theory said. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“What if I make a fool of myself? I’ve never even had a phone conversation with a guy other than Danny, and you think I’m ready for adate?” I said to keep them from wondering why I really wanted to cancel.
We had settled in my bedroom. Danny stretched out on my bed, throwing and catching a small ball off my ceiling. Theory sat at my desk, and I took up residence on the floor with my back against the door.
Theory and Danny shared a look. “Pheeny, what are you waiting for? Granted, Danny and I are not the most social people either. Me because I hate the world and Danny because the world hates him—”
“Hey—” he interrupted but was cut off when the ball ricocheted off the ceiling to hit him in the face during his momentary distraction.
“But at least I went on a date—by the way, if my parents ask if I was here studying last night, say yes—and take part in clubs at school. And at least Dannytriesto get dates. You’re just obsessed with your books.” She indicated around my room at the objects in question stacked in every corner.
“You went on a date?” I asked, and she slunk in her seat like a turtle retreating into its shell. Why wouldn’t she want me to know that?
