Page 70 of When Ben Loved Tim
She tries to see past me again. I glance over my shoulder and notice a girl approaching while looking uncertain. “Too late!” I inform her.
“No it’s not!” Krista says, getting to her feet. She tries to push past me.
I keep getting in the way, making it seem like an accident. “Oops! Sorry about that. You go left and I’ll go right. No,yourright, not mine.” We keep dancing like this until Krista snaps.
“Would you stop!” she cries.
“Is everything okay?” the teacher asks.
“Yeah,” I say, turning around. Everyone else has paired up already. Krista must have noticed too, because I hear her groan behind me. “We were just trying to figure out where to sit.” I pivot to face my new partner. “So… Your place or mine?”
* * * * *
Those words come to haunt me. I’m standing outside Krista’s house after school. I had no idea how involved the project would be. Now I understand why she was so averse to working with me. I figured it would be the sort of project we could get done during class. Had I known we’d need to spend this much time together, I would have steered clear. Still, Iamcurious. Tim has probably stood exactly where I am now, his finger pressing the same doorbell.
I size up the house while waiting for someone to answer. A butler maybe, because the place stinks of money. The yard is huge with lush landscaping, the abnormally tall windows of the steeple-roofed house gleaming in the dwindling sunlight. When the door swings open, Krista looks even smaller than usual against the backdrop of a massive entryway. She pokes her head out to look up and down the street, as if mortified by the possibility of someone seeing me. Which makes her a better match for Tim than I care to admit.
“Hi!” I say, finally drawing her attention.
“Hurry up and get inside,” she snaps.
I can’t help wondering if I’d be more likely to excuse her behavior if she was a hot Latino guy. Or if I was into girls, because she’s undeniably pretty, even when scowling. I catch a glimpse of a large living room deeper in the house and can hear a TV blaring with thebeep boom bangof a video game.
“Hurry up and kill him!” a juvenile voice yells. “Your energy bar is low!”
“I’m trying, I’m trying!” a squeaky voice shouts back.
“C’mon,” Krista says, stomping toward a curved staircase. “Let’s go to my room.”
“Why yes, I would like something to drink,” I say sarcastically while following her.
“What? Oh. I have my own fridge. You can have something from there.”
“Fancy, fancy,” I murmur under my breath.
I thought Tim’s parents were rich, but their house isn’t so different from mine. Sure the rooms are larger and more extravagantly decorated. And my dad certainly doesn’t have his own den or wet bar. But this house is in another league. I crane my neck to peer into each room we pass, knowing that Allison will want details later. That, and I’m shamelessly nosey.
When we finally reach her room, my eyes need to adjust to an onslaught of pink. The bedspread, curtains, rugs, lampshades, chairs, and even the wallpaper are all various shades of the color. With some lavender thrown in to break it up a bit. The entire room is ridiculously girly. And I kind of love it.
“We’ll have to work in here,” Krista says, walking over to a large white desk. “My step-brothers are way too annoying to get anything done downstairs.”
“Step-brothers?” I repeat. Perhaps because I expected perfect people in a perfect house to have perfect lives.
“Yes,” she says a little tersely. “My mom got remarried a few years ago.Again.” Krista squats next to a mini-fridge. “I’ve got water and unsweetened iced tea.”
“Oh. Uh… Water is fine. Hey, is that a private bathroom over there? Or just a really big closet?”
“Both,” Krista replies, handing me a bottle of water.
“Thanks.”
“Pull up a seat,” she commands before sitting at her desk.
I glance around and notice a chair in the corner that is basically a round cushion on a folding stand. The fabric is fuzzy. I can hardly wait to try it. I drag the chair over to her desk and sink into pink plushness.
“I hope you understand this stuff better than I do,” Krista says, pulling out her copy of the economics book.
“Let’s find out,” I reply.
