Page 74 of Enemy Crush
“More imaginative than a tote bag,” he quipped.
“I’ll have to think about,” I said, looking forward to the challenge of coming up with something creative.
We didn’t run the whole route, stopping to give Hamish a break from his leash as he sniffed around. That’s when Miller took my hand.
“It’s sweaty,” I joked, so he let go, wipedmyhand on his shirt and held it again.
“Better?”
“Ha ha,” I said dryly, but I loved how funny he was. “Hey, do you have a potato crate?” The idea just popped into my head.
“What?”
“A potato crate? For my anything-but-a-backpack day. I could take my books in a potato crate. I could decorate it.”
“I don’t have one,” Miller said, “but I know where we could get one.”
“At the farm?”
“We’d have to go now.”
“I can borrow Mom’s car.”
“I can borrow Dad’s truck,” Miller said, “somehow I don’t think your Mom would want a potato crate in her car.”
“Good point,” I conceded.
We raced back home and while Miller grabbed his Dad’s key, I texted Mom that we had an errand to run. On the way to the farm, my phone pinged. I ignored it at first, sure it wasn’t important. But seconds later, there was another, then another.
“Sorry, thought my phone was on silent,” I said, pulling it out of my purse to check it. I gasped as I scrolled through the notifications. Someone had videoed Miller’s Hoco Proposal and I’d been tagged in it and now my old Brizendine Prep friends had seen it. The comments section turned toxic fast and not just aimed at me, but Miller too.
Celeste had written,“Omg, I’m so sorry Quinn, from designer to flannel, sucks to be you.”
And there were others:
Omg you actually wear flannel in public?
How adorably rustic.
Did you borrow the flannels from his dad or yours?
“What is it?” Miller asked.
“You really wanna know?” I asked, feeling worse for him than me. I’d accepted that Celeste and Naomi were no longer my friends, but I hated that they judged Miller when they didn’t even know him.
I read them out to Miller and he said, “I’m flattered they’ve got time to comment on our lives and why the heck are they so dang uptight about flannel shirts?”
We laughed about it and when we got to the farm, the Hamlins were more than happy to lend us a couple of crates (potatoes included) and okay with me painting them, which was another brilliant idea that came to me.
“Will you help me paint them? I’ll do one for you. We can be potato twins. Wear our Hamlin Farms tees and caps? And flannels of course.”
“Whoa, you’re really getting into the spirit of Homecoming now,” Miller mocked.
“Embracing my newrusticside,” I said. “What do you say? Twins or nah?”
“I’m up for it,” Miller said, “but I don’t know about helping paint it. I still don’t think your mom is a fan of me.”
“She’s mellowing,” I said, bright with optimism. “She even suggested I buy a new dress for the dance. A dress we can’t really afford.”
