Reasons I Fell for the Funny Fat Friend Part 4

"All right, see ya."

Click.

Easier than I thought. Even with the semi-weirdness.

The student union is always packed during lunch. I don't even know why we have a cafeteria since everyone eats out here anyway.

Sticking my earphones in and turning on my iPod, I get ready for the routine lunch hour: People watching.

Don't know why, but this is what I do. Most of the group I hang out with has B lunch. But lucky me, I get stuck with A.

The music drowns out most of the bull talk, so I try to guess what people say by their body language. The runnin' dialog in my head keeps me entertained.

Jasmine Walters saunters over to Josh, sticking her obviously stuffed chest in his line of sight. Let the commentary begin.

Hi Josh. Don't you just love how big my t.i.ts are today?

Yeah, what is it? Two ply?

Why yes! Thank you for noticing. It took me all morning to make sure it was crinkled enough to see.

Good job. Maybe tomorrow you can make them even.

That's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?

Shaking my head as I chuckle to myself, I turn my attention to other victims of my internal bas.h.i.+ng. I spend a few minutes dissecting the theater geeks. They all think they're popular because they're *Super outgoing!' But really, they're just loud. My music can't even blast their obnoxiousness into oblivion.

Right in the middle of my heckles, Quynn sidles past Brittney, who's doing a ridiculous pantomime. The definition of s.e.xy herself holds a bunch of papers and looks a little like she just came in from a windstorm.

I'm an idiot *cause I leap to my feet and do a Mission Impossible sprint toward her.

"Hey!" c.r.a.p, my voice shakes. I'm supposed to be cool around her. "You need help?"

"Yes!" She grabs the top half of her huge stack of papers and plops it into my arms. "Thank you Brody. I just need to get these to the front office."

"No prob!" Ugh. I sound just as bad as those theater geeks. Note to self: keep mouth shut till Hayley gives pointers.

My stomach twists. Great. Why does this keep happenin'? d.a.m.n nerves.

"Just set them here," Quynn says when we get to the main office. The lights are off, and since we're both buried under papers, they stay that way.

I set the stack down on the already messy desk and they topple to the ground.

"Whoops."

She giggles and balances her stack before bending over.

Don't smack her a.s.s, Brody.

I chuckle at the inside joke I have with Hayley as I lean down to help. "I think it's time they clean off this c.r.a.p."

She nudges my arm. "I will once finals are over. Two more months." She sighs. "I can't believe it."

Oh yeah, she's an office aide durin' this hour.

"Mmmhmm." Holy h.e.l.l. I'm brain dead.

"You going on a senior trip or anything? Last hoorah?"

I shrug. "Hadn't planned on it, but somethin' might come up."

The last of the papers get scooped up and set carefully on the desk. My knees pop as I stand.

"You know, I still have the tickets for Universal."

That's right. Gabe was supposed to take her for Spring Break.

"You still goin'?"

She twists the end of her ponytail. She does that when she's upset. And it's pathetic I know that. "No. Going would just remind me I was supposed to be there with G-Gabe."

Stupid brother. I wish I could wrap Quynn in my arms right now to comfort her, but my mind quickly comes up with an alternative.

"Sorry," I say and reach for her hand to stroke the back of it. She gives me a squeeze, and my brain shuts off.

"It's fine, really." Another squeeze then she lets go, her cheeks turning pink. "Um, so do you think your parents would want them?"

That would get them out of the house over Spring Break. Sounds like a good idea to me.

"Well, I guess if you're sure you don't want them-"

"Great!" She pulls out her purse behind the desk and digs through it, finally pulling out a couple of creased vacation packages. "Please save me from looking at these every ten seconds."

Why does she have to say stuff like that? It makes me want to smother her in my grasp and hold her till she's put back together. And the other part of me wants to go pummel my jacka.s.s brother.

"Thanks." That's all that leaks out my mouth.

"Thank you." She plops into the swivel chair. "Really. I'm glad you didn't put up a fight like you did with this." The bracelet I refused to give back to Mom tinkles as she tosses it back in her purse.

I lean against the desk, trying not to knock over any more papers. "That's different. My mom didn't p.i.s.s you off, did she?"

She pouts and doesn't answer. I grin. I got her there.

"She wants to see you, ya know."

Her forehead crinkles. "I know. I just... can't right now."

"He's never there. Gabe. So you won't run into him if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not."

I reach up to scratch the back of my neck. How can I tell her I want her to be around without sounding like a complete perv? The mom excuse could wear her down. It was worth a shot.

"She misses you." I miss you.

A half smile. Okay... getting closer.

"She wants you to come over for dinner." I want you to come over.

A full smile and a huff. Maybe one more to break her.

The warning bell rings signaling the end of lunch and the start of fourth period. d.a.m.n it.

"I'll think about it, Brody."

I straighten my stance and walk toward the door. "Guess I'll talk to you tomorrow... in ASL, you know."

"Oh! That reminds me." She crosses the room, an arm's length away. Her apple scent fills my nostrils, and I gotta swallow the growing spit in my mouth. "Ms. Stevens said she needed to see you. I was supposed to tell you yesterday, but I forgot."

"Er, okay."

Quynn smiles and blinks. I shake my head trying to free myself from her spell. Before I can mumble anymore incoherencies, I head to cla.s.s.

Reason 5: You know how to make a guy feel pretty good about himself.

Turns out I'm about to fail out of sign language. That's fan-s.h.i.+t-tastic. Ms. Stevens gave me a bunch of extra c.r.a.p to work on and told me to pay more attention to my signin' partner *cause she knows what she's doin'. Guess Hayley's not only my *hook-up' guru... she's now my tutor.

Maybe she'll teach me how to sign *shove it up your a.s.s'.

"Hey Mom?" I shout from the front door. I toss my backpack in but keep my body outside. "I'm going to the library for a bit. That okay?"

"Yes. Have fun. And take your cell!"

"I got it."

Shutting the door, I pull out my phone to make sure it's on silent. I think that's etiquette for the library.

I've got a text from Hayley. My stomach snarls at me, but I chalk it up to lack of food rather than seein' her name on my phone. Why the h.e.l.l would that make my gut clench?

Heya. I'm not home yet. Had to wlk cuz my mom 4got 2 get me. But I'll txt u when I get there.

That's not cool. Mom doesn't ever want to pick me up so I just take her car. She doesn't care-most of the time.

I click *reply' and type as quick as I can, which honestly isn't very fast.

Where r u? I'll come getcha.

Not two seconds later, her text vibrates in my hand. She's good at everythin' I swear.

Just left school. Don't worry abt it. I don't live far.

I shake my head. I'll b there in a sec.

Yeah, she lives a couple blocks away, but it's freakin' cold. Not raining, but cold. And she wasn't wearing a jacket today. At least not that I noticed. Not that I was noticin' her or anything.

I'm not normally a speeder. Took one ticket and a week long groundin' to get me out of that habit. But for some odd reason, thirty miles an hour isn't goin' to cut it, and I barrel toward the school at forty.

Crazy girl thinkin' she can walk in this stuff and it's no big deal. I get to the school in record time, but I can't find Hayley anywhere. What route would she take home?

Curving through neighborhoods-faster than I should, but oh well-I finally spot her s.h.i.+vering her a.s.s off. She's huddled over a book, her stuffed bag pulling half her body down, so she looks lopsided.

She's smiling though. Cute.

Gah, there's that word again. Knock it off, Brody.

"Hey," I say out my window as I pull up. "Get in."

A wave of relief washes over her face, and my heart does a funky thud-a-thump when she plops into the pa.s.senger seat. She smells like mint chocolate brownies and my mouth waters. That's never happened with anyone but Quynn. Weird.

"Okay, I-I know I s-said it wasn't a big deal, b-but oh my gosh, t-thank you." Her teeth chatter.

"Here," I say leaning over and pressing the seat warmer. I'm nearly on top of her before I remember her *no touch' personality. Her sharp intake of breath is all the signal I need to leap back into my seat.

What's wrong with me?

"Eh..." c.r.a.p, idiot moment-again.

She smiles and straps her seatbelt on with s.h.i.+vering fingers, then sticks them under her b.u.t.t. "Ah," she sighs, "perfect. Thank you."

She's so good at that. Makin' things less awkward, but my stomach still feels bunched up. Probably *cause of what we'll be doing today.

I turn on the radio and c.o.c.k my eyebrow at her. "What's your poison?"

She s.h.i.+vers and shakes her head. "I don't care. Whatever you want to listen to."

I'm not goin' to mess with it. I draw my hand away from the radio and toward the s.h.i.+fter, trying to look cool as I put the car in drive, flexing my muscles a little more than I would have if I was by myself.

"Holy mother of a trash load."

A large bark of a laugh explodes from my gut. "What?"

"Look at your arms!" She head nods toward them. "You're not like on any sports teams and you're totally muscular."

I try not to look too c.o.c.ky. Or too flushed either. "Thanks, but I was talkin' about the mother trash load."