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potential love interest
For each day, I find something to be grateful for.
Yesterday, I was grateful that my grandmother stopped by to give me cookies. The day before, I was grateful to see the C on my biology paper even though I wanted to scream myself for not getting a C+.
Today, I'm grateful for Facebook.
"There are like, thirty-five Justine Reynolds here," I mumble. "How am I suppose to go through every one of them?"
Liv and I are spending our plan-free weekends at my house, since we're both couch potatoes who enjoy binging on Netflix rather than going outside in the sun. We thought might as well put ourselves into good use.
"Lemme check," Liv says.
I scoot my chair away to give her some space, rolling it with me.
She glares at me. "You're going to make me stand? I'm a guest."
"You are a female guest," I quip. "You will stand with dignity and honour. You will show society that women are stronger and give a taste of female empowerment! Go feminism!"
Liv rolls my eyes at my dramatics. It's a recurring trend right now, especially with our generation. I don't know how it started getting popular, but hey, I'm not complaining.
"University of Penn... married with three kids..." Liv squints on the computer screen. "Aha! Dalton High School." She clicks one of the profiles, skims the bio, and confirms it's our Justine. "You know what, this is actually really fun. Feels like Kim Possible and I'm your sidekick."
"I always thought you resembled a mole rat."
She smacks my shoulder hard.
I laugh as I skitter back to the desk and regard the screen, taking the mouse from her. Justine's profile picture looks like a modelling shoot, which probably is. I skim her likes — The Vampire Diaries, Ariana Grande, Nicholas Sparks, Urban Outfitters.
I can't say I'm surprised.
Liv clicks her tongue. "She screams white girl."
"We're all white girls here, Olivia," I reason.
"Don't you have a bit of Spanish blood?"
"Don't tell Gonzalez that." I groan. "Another thing to associate me with."
"Noted." Liv squints. "Oh, look. Is that her brother?"
I hover the mouse over to where she's pointing. Under the Family section are three profiles: Iris Goodwin and Yolanda Ramone as her sisters, and Jude Reynolds as her brother.
Whereas the two girls look nothing alike to Justine, the third name has a strong resemblance.
"Yeah," I say, distracted.
I click into his profile.
Jude Reynolds looks like the opposite of his sister. I mean, they are twins, yes — so of course they look very much alike physically. Golden hair and signature green eyes. They're both awfully good-looking.
But here's the difference between the two: with Justine, she catches your attention instantly, whether it's her cute smile or lovable grin or the occasional sultry pose. She's damn charming without trying, and it's not hard to want to be friends with her.
But with Jude, you get the exact opposite.
He looks abrasive. Like he's trying hard to smile but his jaw is hardened, eyebrows scrunched, fit muscles ready for a fight. And while Justine's eyes are glittering gems, his are hard, sapphire stones.
He looks dangerous.
I whistle. "Damn, son."
Liv nods as if she approves. "Nice genes." Nice? That's a freakin' understatement. She snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Hey, focus."
"Right," I clear my throat. "Bye, Jude." I exit the tab.
"Addie!" Penelope shrieks from the other side of my bedroom door. "There's someone on the phone for you!"
I swivel in my chair, bolting for the door before Penelope has a chance to barge in. My eight-year-old little sister has a habit of bulldozing through my room without asking for permission, so you can see why I'm a little agitated when she waltzes in like she's the boss.
I love my little sister, but really. Little sisters can be spawns from hell.
I turn the handle the same time as her. The door slides open a crack and I see a girl with shoulder-length, light brown hair. A mini-version of me — only prettier, with her hazel eyes.
"Who is it?" I ask, eyeing the phone.
"A boyyy," she sings.
I close the door and put the phone in my ear. "Hello?"
"Hi."
Oh my Goodness. "How did you get my house number?"
Liv must've heard my sudden hostile tone, because she snaps her head at me, raising her eyebrows.
"A little bird told me," Trey replies in that smooth voice. "And by little bird, I mean one of your friends who gladly offered."
Not many people know my house number; only my personal one. I turn to Liv, who's eyes are suddenly wide. Wait. She did not —
"I'm sorry!" she blurts out. "I couldn't just say no."
"Liv, it's two letters. N and O."
She flushes. "Sorry, okay? He's Trey Gonzalez. He can be pretty..."
"Intimidating?" Trey interjects through the phone, listening in our conversation. "Intelligent? Handsome? Eloquent? Or just genuinely pretty?"
What even is eloquent? "Please stop," I groan, sending a glare to Liv, who slumps her shoulders in guilt. "You got my number. Now what?"
"Now, we need to form a plan."
"What?" I let out, raising my eyebrows even if he can't see me. "Now you want to form a plan? As if a certain someone didn't decide to be impulsive? I'm here trying to make sure your image isn't as fake as it is!"
Yes, Trey did propose to the School Board about how the theatre department needs some flourishing. After his grand speech. Of course, they agreed with him. Who wouldn't agree with the straight-A student?
"I was merely taking a golden opportunity," he reasons, like he's in a formal White House meeting with the President. "Yes, what I did was impulsive, but now I have her attention."
"Clearly."
"And now that we're on the same page...?"
Clearly he doesn't catch my sarcasm.
"If you want to know the next step, here it is," I say to him, giving a dramatic pause. "Nothing. Nada. You need to take it slow, Trey. If you keep trying to impress her everyday, you're going to end up just like the other guys."
A crackle buzzes through the phone.
"Fine," he concedes.
***
"Don't screw this up."
"Since when do I screw up?" Trey asks disbelievingly.
I give him a bright, fake smile. "Since you decided to ask for my help."
It would be easier if Justine was in our grade or if we were in hers — that way, at least one of us would share some classes with her. But since she's a senior and we're both juniors, it's taken a little more work than it should be.
But because of TJ's help, Trey and I manage to be the best stalkers of the planet.
We're in the library, but I'm on one aisle and Trey's on the other. I can't have people knowing about our friendship. Our first meeting in the hallway was innocent enough. A second or third time is not a coincidence. And the last thing I need is for people to assume that we're together when our end goal is to hook Trey up with the most popular girl in school.
You never know with teenagers these days.
Here I am, playing cupid.
The library door opens, but that's not what catches our attention. It's the whispers and the heads turning. The golden hair and green eyes are not easily misplaced. It's Justine Reynolds.
Our Justine.
Perfect timing.
"Remember the goal," I whisper, never taking my eyes off of her. "She knows you exist, but as what, that's the important question. To some, you're a random smart guy. Others, a heartbreaker." I pause to add dramatic effect. "To her? A potential love interest."
He raises an eyebrow. "Did you practice that in your sleep?"
"Just go!"
Trey goes over there with books in hand, walking to her direction. She doesn't notice him yet, because her back is turned and she has her earphones on. Trey stops next to her and drops his books, pretending to return them as well. That's when she looks up.
She lingers, her eyes on his brown ones, probably remembering him from the cafeteria stunt. Trey, do something before she looks away!
Maybe he hears me, because he smiles that charismatic smile. "Miss Robinson's class?"
Justine blinks. "You're in her class?"
"No, but I've helped her substitute a couple of times."
I can't tell if she's impressed or not. "You're Trey."
"And you're Justine." He holds out a hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise." She doesn't accept the hand, though, as one would expect. I don't think I'm breathing. "That was one big speech you made the other day."
Trey grins. "Impressed?"
"Maybe." She gives him an obvious once-over, like she's completely superior to him. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the theatre type. Didn't think you'd have time for it with all your academic decathlons."
He's surprised. "You've done your research."
"And you've done yours."
Something doesn't feel right.
Trey chuckles lowly, either ignoring the change in subject or responding it just as smoothly. "You can't fault a guy for liking theatre. I've always thought it an interesting art."
"I agree." The spark of interest is still in her eyes, but it's different — like it's redirected somewhere else. "But then again, that's what every guy says to me."
Trey's smile falters.
"Is that so?"
"Sure is." The librarian says a few things to her, and she holds up a finger, leaving Trey silent for a while. When she looks at him again, she cocks her head, the move more predatory than inviting.
And suddenly I don't see Justine Reynolds the Golden Goddess anymore.
"You think you're the first one to suddenly profess their love of theatre to me? Or of any other thing that I happen to be interested in? But you." To my utter horror and surprise, Justine laughs. Not the good kind. "You're certainly the first guy to go to new heights all just to catch my attention."
Trey gapes at her.
I gape at her.
"It's really not that difficult, Trey. I know what comes next. Or at least what others think what's next. So let me be the one to tell you first before you embarrass yourself."
She leans in, and even though Trey has a few inches on her, she looks like she's a million leagues above him. She smiles.
"It's not going to happen."
And she struts away.
A/N: There's some foreshadowing in this. Can you guess? Hint: character reveal!