Brody waited near the edge of the track where I started my laps. The wind fluffed up his bangs, and he sent me an adorable, sheepish smile. "Hi."
"Uhh, hey? You're running with me again?" He'd waited for me every day before practice, Mondays through Thursdays. I loved his company making the laps end faster, but he'd put a mountain of carbs and cheese into his stomach.
"Yeah, if that's okay?" he asked as our shoes patted on the track. "Coach said it's fine. My stomach is stuffed."
"You ate half the pan." Looking down at my feet, by the difference in our strides, my jog was a slow burn warm-up for his racehorse legs.
We remained silent until passing a quarter lap, where Brody coughed. "I've been thinking about your offer...to help me talk more openly."
Talk more openly with girls. He hadn't forgotten. Thankfully, we were jogging, so I could blame the heat rising in my face. "If you don't—"
His laugh cut me off. "No, I appreciate it. I'm so awkward, Paige."
Brody's honest admission stunned me silent. How was he so casual? My pulse sprinted. The question of how he believed he was awkward teased the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. Why Brody was shy didn't matter, only how he felt. The uneasiness dulling his eyes screamed volumes.
I sucked in a breath. We were doing this.
"So, how?"
"Umm." Starting with the 'What's your favorite color?' questions felt lame. "How about we just practice some conversations? Give me a fake name, pretend I'm a stranger, and the more we do, maybe the more comfortable it'll feel?"
Role-playing was probably as bad as my earlier texts. The longer he considered the suggestion, the more I wanted to snatch it back. The bumpy, cracked red clay track had never looked so interesting.
"But," he spoke a hint above a whisper. "I like your name."
Oh, gosh. An ache struck my heart, then it jumped off its steady tempo. I was burning up, making my sweat situation worse. This boy did not need help talking to girls. I needed help not melting into a blob of goo from how sweet he was. Cavity level of sweetness.
"For pretend." I thought for a few steps. "Stella."
"Stella?" His eyebrows shot up. "You're not a Stella."
He was teasing, so I pretended to frown. "I could pull off a Stella." Sticking my hand out, I greeted him with a sugary tone, "Hi, I'm Stella."
He stared at my extended fingers for a few strides. The corner of his mouth twitched. He was fighting not to smile and shook my hand. Our connection bounced, but his fingers warmly brushed my wrist.
Still pumping his hand, I whispered, "Say your name back."
"Right." He squeezed my hand. "Brody."
"Nice to meet you." I giggled. He was stiffer than a starched shirt.
"This is the worst part." He withdrew his hand, and my chest ached at the uncertainty in his voice. "After hi, what do I say?"
"Whatever you want. It's your conversation." Hopefully, I sounded encouraging.
"Yeah, but what are you expecting me to say? Am I supposed to compliment you? Every time I try to come up with something cool, funny, or charming, my mind wipes blank."
Wow. Brody's frustration mounted with each word, tugging at my heart. Did he go through this mental debate every time? No wonder he got tongue-tied.
I paused. What would a girl like Stella want to hear? Probably some silly compliment, which wasn't my preference. My heart folded over itself at the uneasy look in his eyes. If the truth flowed out of him as naturally as breathing, it was all he would ever need.
"Brody, Stella aside, you don't need to worry about what I or any girl thinks of you. If she doesn't like you for you, she's not worth any of your time."
Skepticism filled his eyes. "But, how do I know that?"
"Good question." I tracked the curve of the track around the next corner. "You don't, but if she's talking to you, she likes you. There are physical signs too, turning her body to face you—" Demonstrating while jogging was a bad idea, as one foot tripped over the other."—tipping her head back to look at you, chewing on her lip, playing with her hair, her eyes rounding. If you catch her looking at you, but she looks away, then looks back. Whether it's either as a friend or more you have to figure out, but it'll be obvious."
He gave me a side eye, so I stroked my ponytail like a petting zoo exhibit, bit my lip, and looked at him from under lowered lashes. "Brody, I'm glad you came over to talk to me. I was hoping you would."
"Girls don't express themselves that clearly."
"Then you're talking to the wrong girls," I teased. "Notice something. A small detail, if she has a book, piece of jewelry, ugly cat sweater, septum piercing, whatever catches your attention. Then just say it's nice or you like it."
The second step, which unfortunately stepped around me, was a physical acknowledgment. However, if a boy tucked my hair behind my ear, stared in my eyes, and said, "I love these," while brushing his fingers over my piercings, I'd fold like a lawn chair.
Brody doing this popped into my mind. Oh gosh. I cupped my warm cheek.
"Could work," he mumbled with as much doubt in his eyes as his wavering voice.
"Try it. No judgment." My unflattering, boxy, great sweats and sweatshirt left little to compliment. Brody's inspection tingled my skin with goosebumps, tingling my skin with awareness. I blushed the longer he looked until I joked, "I know there's not much to look at–"
"I like your eyes, Paige." He looked directly into them.
His compliment fluttered my poor heart, and my whole body sighed. "Really?"
"Yeah." His smile relaxed the tension in his face, the lines wrinkling his forehead disappearing with his half-grin. "They're not blue or green but both. I've never seen their color, but they were the first thing I noticed on you."
He noticed? The idea of Brody seeing me sent a rush of tingles over my skin. I raised my eyebrows, hoping he would clarify with details. He sucked in a breath and pulled the corner of his mouth into his cheek. A tiny crescent dent appeared.
"Why?" I was dying to know what he was sorting through in his head.
"Because they're..." Brody swallowed. "Kind. They don't hide anything. Bright when you're happy like they catch the sun, and cloudy when you're treated unfairly. When they're sad, I see everything I want to change for you. And, when you look at me? There's no judgment, no motives. It's pure, unfiltered, and I just...I dunno. Want to protect it from all the shit you don't deserve."
I couldn't breathe. Within a school majority of brown eyes, mine were distinctive, but I expected superficiality. Brody wasn't looking at me, but seeing me as a person instead of a fucking disease. A thrill rushed through my veins. Could this boy be any cuter? Sure, he mumbled half his words and directed all of them to the ground but gave me the nicest compliment.
"You see all that?" I whispered.
"Uhh, yeah." He blushed and looked down. "It's comforting. I feel like I could tell you anything."
What a next-level compliment. Going by the explosion of flattery in me from being his compliment-recipient, Brody did not need my help. The physical compliment icing wasn't needed, and not just because it'd involve poking me in the eye.
A tiny frown creased his eyebrows. "Almost anything."
If my feet weren't moving, I would've melted into a track puddle. How awkward would it be to say he was as comfortable as my favorite pajamas? Because he was. "Thank you."
He cringed, wrinkling the side of his nose. "Too bad?"
"No. No." I grabbed his sleeve, curling my hand into a fist. He was not taking those words back. "Everything you said was nice and genuine. It was..."
He sucked in a breath, waiting for my next word. It had to be the right one to make him feel confident and let him know how much I appreciated not just his words but also him.
"...Perfect," I finished.
He exhaled and relaxed his shoulders, pulling his mouth into its cute half-grin. As it widened, I pressed my lips and looked away. The blush burning my face and my energized steps were only the start of my downfall.
This fake boyfriend would be the ruin of my poor heart.
Brody was precious. I hadn't ever thought the word fit a boy, but it fit him. Precious meaning special. Rare. Pure. Worthy of being cherished.
No matter how often I washed my face, I couldn't remove the warmth in my cheeks. Brody was something else. Would I create a monster by helping him open up? I was torn between wanting the entire world to know such a sweet, genuine soul existed and hiding him from every person who didn't deserve him.
Two flames, the brightest mix of equal blue and green, burned at me.
"Stop thinking crazy," I whispered. Brody wasn't mine. I couldn't protect myself, and staring at my reflection wouldn't get me to work faster.
I wet my hand towel and mopped myself clean. Too many showers under the school's hard water irritated my skin, so I patted the necessary areas under my arms, around my breasts, and between my thighs with the damp cloth.
After every wipe down and pat dry, I pulled my hair in a low ponytail and changed inside a stall. Today, my clothes sat piled on a bench, but my bladder tugged at me before I could retrieve them. I couldn't stop smiling, even when the cold toilet pricked my skin. I needed to stop because I was borderline obsessing like every girl here and cupped my warm cheeks.
Ordinarily, no one used the locker room at this time, but the door opened, and multiple footsteps approached.
"Espe hasn't finished my Algebra homework yet. I had to beg Martinez for an extension," a voice whined. Had to be Layla's.
Espe what? I must have heard wrong and flushed the toilet. Whatever Espe did with her friends was her business, although I wasn't surprised if they used her.
As I expected, Cassidy and Layla faced the stall. Wearing cheerleading practice clothes, they arched their backs to inspect their reflections. With their asses popped, they tugged at their skin-tight leggings. Their uniforms were better than the team they cheered for. Perks of your mother controlling the PTA fundraisers.
"Gross." Cassidy's eyes roamed over my covered appearance. She flicked the end of her ponytail over her shoulder and elicited the same reaction from Layla. "No wonder no one wants to see you change in PE, Patches."
I tightened my cheeks and tucked them against my teeth. "Try something original. Or, better, don't say anything."
I froze at my response, which I wasn't sorry for saying. Her eyes narrowed, but I brushed past them and washed my hands. The hissing sound cut through the thick silence until I shut it off. I frowned when a quieter water splash continued.
"Listen." Layla glared with a low warning. "We're not sure what sympathy bribe you've worked out with Brody, but nobody buys it."
"It?" I echoed and patted my cheeks. While I wanted to keep my resistance, her accusation cut my smile in half. "Don't call my...boyfriend an it."
I internally cringed. The b-word was still unfamiliar to say, but I squeezed my legs and lifted my chin. If I could fake a boyfriend, maybe I could fake bravery.
"Please." Layla rolled her eyes. "On no planet would a boy like Brody actually like you."
Her eyes burned a scrutinous path from my forehead to my hips. I fought the urge to squirm as if she inspected me standing here naked. Two-on-one, their hands on their jutted-out hips, was a losing battle.
"Better not see you at any more parties. Otherwise, I'll show Brody what a good time looks like," she said with an overly sweet smile.
Her delusion was stratospheric. Cosmic. Brody would enjoy Layla running him over with her car than whatever she had in mind.
"I also doubt Pierce would appreciate that," I mumbled. Discomfort grew in my stomach as an uglier emotion rooted. My fingers twitched with the desire to rip out both girls' long, blonde locks. Brody wasn't some object to toy with.
"Please. Pierce does whatever I tell him to do." Cassidy dissolved into loud giggles, holding her nose. "Next time, take a shower."
They turned and banged the door shut. With a slow breath, I sighed and frowned at the humid air and soft splatters from the shower areas.
"Hello?" I called, but only the water spray answered.
My steady heart rate quickened as I walked to the showers, where I gasped at my work clothes wadded up under the shower stream. All of them, including my socks, underwear, and shoes.
Unbelievable the lengths some people went to. I turned off the shower, wrung out my clothes until the dripping streams stopped, and placed the wet pile inside the plastic bag I reserved for my stinky clothes. I'd have to go to work smelly and in sweaty shoes. Not ideal, but better than a drowned rat.
The sunset illuminated the hills behind the school with gold, pink, and purple. I tucked my chin and rushed to my car. My four-year-old car was a stretch for my parents' finances, but they shared our other car. It also allowed me to pick up Morgan from where she stood on the middle school's front curb.
"You're late." She scowled and released her crossed arms. A thick, black duffel bag and her purple backpack sat between her feet.
"Sorry." I opened the trunk for her to throw her stuff in. She did, huffing with each bounced step to the passenger's seat.
She wrinkled her nose before clipping her seatbelt. "Why do you stink? And your face is all flushed."
Not sparing her a glance, I backed out of my spot for the bakery. "I, umm, had a wardrobe malfunction."
Her eyes burned a hole in the side of my face. Technically, I hadn't lied, but she glared as if I had. By the damp strings hanging over her shoulder, she'd showered.
"How was practice?"
"Fine." She puffed out a breath that fluttered her bangs. "Melanie thinks she'll take my spot."
I raised my eyebrows. "And?"
The most dramatic huff filled the airspace. "And I haven't played for two years to let that happen."
"Right."
Middle school drama. Weren't there two outside hitters in volleyball? I suppressed my question to avoid a 'duh' correction and pulled out of the middle school lot. "I'm sure you'll do great."
"Whatever. I might not play after this season."
I wasn't surprised. Morgan changed her interests as frequently as her underwear. "What are you thinking of doing instead?"
"Musical theatre."
I raised my eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yep." She spoke with certainty as if she had any experience in acting, dancing, or singing, which she had none. "Don't look at me like that. I'll start with tap lessons. Or, Xavi can teach me."
Xavi preferred plucking his eyebrows out one hair at a time, but I clamped my mouth. The bakery's shopping center came into view, and I waited until turning through the light to offer an opinion. "Think about it for more than five minutes, okay?"
She was out of my car before I parked. "Whatever."
The bakery's dated appearance and usual comfort smells, dominated by fresh bread for the dinner crowd, greeted us with the door chime. Morgan disappeared into the back, and Mom's smile behind the counter faded as her eyes dragged over me. I didn't get two steps in before her hand grabbed my wrist.
"What's the problem with your clothes?"
I didn't look at her. "I'm glad you think wearing normal clothes is a problem."
"There's nothing normal about your clothes." She pulled me into Dad's office and shut the door with a click. "Especially when your sister tells me you had a 'malfunction' and don't ask because you're in a 'pissy mood' about it."
I frowned at her air quotes and accepted the spare clothes she handed me. She crossed her arms and stood her ground. So much for changing privacy. "Didn't realize I was in one."
"Are kids at school bothering you again?" Her gaze sharpened into defensive Mama Bear mode. She was the scariest one in town. If she wasn't so embarrassing, I would've appreciated how quickly she flipped that switch. "If you need—"
"It's nothing." I groaned at my sweaty underclothes as the clammy dampness outlining my breasts hit air exposure. Washing at a sink never removed that. "Someone spilled stuff on me in Home Ec."
Technically, not a full lie. Mrs. Calvin moved on to lunch and dinner items. Jane smacked into Brody at the pantry, and he knocked over a jar of spaghetti sauce. His poor face turned darker red than the sauce, which splattered everywhere, including my shoes. Cleaning it up took longer than cooking his meal.
By Mom's frown, she didn't believe me. Slipping the T-shirt overhead, I sighed at the short sleeves. Better than my sweat-soaked jogging clothes.
"Hurry up," Mom called over her shoulder. "Someone's coming to see you tonight."
"Who?" I asked when the front door chime sounded.
Another female voice intermixed with Mom's in loud greetings. Its warmth, volume, and bubbliness increased as I rejoined her, pulling at the short sleeves. A tall, thin, familiar woman with blonde hair in a shoulder-length bob stood at the counter. Her pink scrubs with a tooth outline on the left shoulder was the dentist's office stamp.
Her deep blue eyes sparkled as she gasped. "Here she is!"
She was the same woman at Brody's game. How did she know me? Before I asked, she rushed around the counter and choked the air out of my lungs. Without the suffocation factor, her hug was a sigh of relief.
"Paige!"
I cringed at the pinch of her fingers around my elbows. Her level of excitement overwhelmed the hesitation from her grabbing my skin. "It's so nice to meet you. Oh, let me look at you. Your eyes! Oh, he was always a sucker for blue, but yours are aqua! And, this hair, so pink!"
What was happening here? Mom's humorless smile was no help. My heart dropped below my stomach when the woman held me at arm's length with a gasp. "Umm...yes?"
Who was she, and why was she treating me like a long-lost relative? Why was she still holding my elbows? The dry layers itched under her fingers' pressure. The scaly texture should've bothered her, but it didn't. Why didn't it?
"Oh, but you're so thin." She squeezed my elbows. "Tiny. Do you eat enough? I have some granola bars in my purse. They might be dust by now, but you could—"
"I'm fine," I squeaked in a tiny voice. Was I? Sure, just an out-of-body experience. Between Brody-floaties, Layla's idiocy, and now...I wasn't sure what was going on.
"I'm so sorry," she gushed. Another arm squeeze. "Where are my manners? I'm just so excited to meet you."
I forced a tight smile. "...Really?"
"Yes." Hervoice was excitement on steroids, and her ocean-blue eyes flashed brilliantly."It's not every day I meet my son's girlfriend!"