Page 67 of Enemy Crush
Chapter 22
QUINN
It was weird going back to school on Monday, and I don’t know if it was by habit or obligation, but I dressed in a skirt and a cute sweater and pulled my hair into a bun. I kept my makeup minimal, a coat of mascara and strawberry lip gloss.
“You look lovely,” Mom said as I came into the kitchen.
I flashed her a smile, though the smile hadn’t left my face all weekend, not since the walk with Miller. Afterward, we’d sat on the porch, Mason as well, and played ball with Hamish.
“All ready for school?” Mom asked, handing me my lunch bag. I peeked inside at the sandwich, Oreos, and carrot sticks, and sighed.
“Yeah,” I said, a little nervous at having to ride the bus, but at least Mason would be there. It was impossible to know if the rumors would’ve hit yet, but I was bracing myself for some sort of backlash. Of course Miller would ride his motorbike, but I was excited to see him at school later, knowing he’d have my back. “I’ll see you at the salon after school.”
“Take a jacket,” Mom said as I headed to the front door. “It’s going to rain later.”
I pulled my rain jacket off the coat stand, folded it into my tote bag and wandered down the driveway, a couple of minutes ahead of schedule. My skirt and sweater combo seemed too preppy after two weeks in jeans and t-shirts and my scalp felt tight with my hair pulled into a bun.
Nearing the lane, my pace picked up when I could see both Miller and Mason hanging around their gate. I smiled to see them both wearing flannel shirts, Miller’s a black and white one I hadn’t seen before, and Mason’s blue and green.
“Hey,” Miller said, coming to meet me, just one word setting the butterflies on a wild rampage through my stomach.
“Where’s your motorbike?” I asked, calling over to Mason, “Hi, Mase.”
“I thought I’d ride the bus,” Miller said with a smirk and we fell into step, Mason a stride behind.
“Thought you hated the bus,” I said.
“I do,” Miller said with a wide grin. “Didn’t you get the Hoco memo about PJ and Flannel Day?”
“Oh that,” I said, “I didn’t really think kids did that.”
“Oh, they do,” he said, peeling his flannel off, revealing his familiar red and black flannel beneath.
“Double flannel?” I joked.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be prepared,” he said, helping me put it on over my sweater, “don’t want you looking like the odd one out.” He fixed the collar and murmured, “I was hoping you’d wear the pink skirt.”
“You’re color co-ordinating me now?”
“Someone’s got to,” he said with an easy laugh. He gave me back my tote bag and reached for the Squishmallow attached to it. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Austin...the, the...Avocado,” I spluttered, acutely aware that he was riding the bus for me, to be with me, near me.
“An avocado?”
“Yeah, one of our first conversations was about avocado toast. There’s actually a Squishmallow that is an avocado toast, but I don’t have him.” I squeezed Austin.
Miller laughed our loud. “Okay, so you’re saying you thought I was a jerk, right?”
I tossed my head with attitude. “Maybe. You did slam avocado toast.”
“Well, what about the time you declared you didn’t want to be our delivery girl.”
“Huh? When? I never said that,” I protested.
“When you dropped off a parcel that got misdelivered to your house. You were like,” he mimicked a high pitched female voice, “I don’t have time to be your delivery girl.”
“I never said that.” I shoved him in the side. “I think you’re making it up.”
