Page 78 of Enemy Crush
“Yeah, Quinn would like it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, “Like she’d get it? She won’t think I’m weird for giving her a bag of apples?”
Mason shook his head, probably not realizing how nerve-racking all of this was for me. “She’d highlighted that part in the book.”
“What does that mean?”
“She liked it. It was a part she wanted to remember.”
I blinked and shook my head, but nevertheless asked, “Do we have any apples? Can you remember? Should I buy some?” It occurred to me that I was actually considering this. Yeah, I was going to make Hamish play a dragon and give Quinn a bag of apples. And why? Because I was crazy about her and wanted to impress her.
The plan was to send Hamish down Quinn’s driveway just ahead of me. We were driving to the dance in her car. Hamish had been quite cooperative with the red wings that Mason had attached to his collar to give off dragon vibes, and training him to carry the bag had been easy enough after we removed some of the apples. The bag now contained two apples and Felix the Squishmallow. Mason was coming too, because he’d bring Hamish back home.
“There’s a lot of effort gone into this,” Dad said as he patted Hamish who was lapping up all the attention he was receiving.
“It was Mase’s idea,” I said quickly, checking myself in the mirror as I doubted myself for the twentieth time. Why hadn’t I just bought flowers? Flowers were good, solid, acceptable. This was just setting myself up for cringeworthy moment—a dragon dog carrying a bag of apples and a Squishmallow she probably already had.
But Mason had already guided Hamish out and had gotten quite far down the driveway as I followed behind, pondering all my life choices in that brief moment of time, my hair, my clothes, my deodorant, my ability to dance. Oh yeah, it was a wonder my shirt wasn’t soaked through with sweat.
I didn’t see if Mason knocked or rang the doorbell, but he’d scampered off and was peeping out from behind Quinn’s car, leaving Hamish obediently holding the gift bag in his mouth. I positioned myself at the edge of the driveway so I’d be able to see Quinn’s reaction when she opened the door.
Except Mrs. Devereaux opened the door.
I panicked.Why wasn’t it Quinn, surely she was expecting me?
Mrs. Devereaux’s scowl was obvious and she gasped as she put out a hand to shoo Hamish away, and that’s probably what made Mason leap out.
“It’s for Quinn,” he said, approaching Hamish in a protective way.
Right on cue, Quinn appeared in the doorway next to her mother. “Hamish? What’s this?” She bent down and patted Hamish. “Is this for me?”
Mason nodded as Mrs. Devereux asked, “Hamish? The dog’s name is Hamish?”
Quinn was scanning around, but Mason had said to stay back until she’d opened it.
“Yes, Mrs. Devereaux,” Mason said. “This is Hamish. We wanted to call him Rocket or Cooper, but Dad called him Hamish as a joke and it ended up being the only name he answered to.”
“Hamish is a fine name,” Mrs. Devereaux said, but keeping her distance.
Meanwhile Quinn had taken the gift bag and was peering in. A smile curled at her lips as she brought out the red apple, then the other.
I guess Mason couldn’t help himself. “He’s just like Valden, delivering the crystal to Mirabelle.”
Quinn reached into the bag again and pulled out the Squishmallow, wrapped in tissue paper. She carefully opened it, her eyes lighting up as she held Felix.
“Ooh, I don’t have a clip-on Felix,” she said, reading his name tag. “I’ve been looking at him.” She turned to her mother with a wry smile. “But I’ve been on a Squishmallow buying ban.”
I figured it was a good time to come out from my spot. “I hope you like him. He likes soccer and motorcycles,” I said.
Quinn smiled when she saw me. “My Prince Vindex.” My cheeks heated up at her comment, especially with her mom standing there. “It’s from the Silver Dragons book,” she explained, giving a brief plot synopsis to her mother, exactly how Mason had told me.
But Mrs. Devereaux didn’t seem to be listening, having noticeably stiffened as Hamish, who had been roaming around Quinn, now moved toward her.
“Hamish,” I commanded, urging him to sit. “He won’t hurt you, Mrs. D,” I said, immediately biting my lip that I’d called her that and not her full name, “he just gets a bit excited at new people.”
“He’s harmless, Mom,” Quinn said, also aware her mother had paled. “Hamish is a teddy bear.” She stooped down and stroked Hamish’s back, before looking up and asking, “Are you scared of dogs, Mom?”
With Hamish moving away from her skirt, Mrs. Devereaux took a step back. “Not scared,” she said but she shuddered all the same, “just cautious. I was bitten by one when I was younger.”
