“Josh could help you,” she said shooting him a sly look. “He’s good with story problems.” The way she said “story problems” made them sound like something vaguely suggestive.
I glared at Elise, then casually said, “I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out.”
Elise smiled knowingly. “I think Cassidy needs your help, Josh. Tell him you need him, Cassidy.”
“I can do them on my own,” I insisted, my voice higher than it should be.
Josh gave me a peculiar look.
I opened my backpack and sifted through it, pretending to search for something so I didn’t have to look at him.
When Josh branched off from us, I gave Elise a death glare. “You’re great at keeping secrets. I’m sure he didn’t suspect a thing.”
I knew then that I would have to tell him what I’d done—and soon.
I worried all day that Josh would ask Elise what her innuendo meant and that she would tell him what I’d said. Then not only would he think I was some delusional stalker, but Elise would find out I was a liar.
This could end badly in so many ways.
Elise didn’t ride home with us that afternoon, which meant I had the perfect opportunity to explain what I’d done to Josh. I couldn’t force myself to bring it up, though, until he had pulled up to my house. There just aren’t a lot of good ways to tell a guy that you and he are secretly an item. What if he was angry?
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked.
“Sure. What about?”
I didn’t answer, just bit my lip.
Josh looked at me more closely, then turned off the car. He sighed. “What’s Elise done now?”
“Nothing. It’s what I’ve done.”
He waited for me to continue.
I shifted on my seat uncomfortably. “Well, it happened like this.” I took a deep breath and launched in. “I was having this talk with Elise about parents and what a pain they can be, and I accidentally told her about the times you came over to my house, and then of course she wanted to know why you came over, and I couldn’t think of anything . . .” I glanced at Josh to see how he was taking this.
His expression was blank.
“I mean, it was one of those situations where your mind doesn’t work. So I told her you came over because you . . . you know . . . liked me.”
He pressed his lips together, like he was trying to stop himself from smiling.
“I told her we wanted to keep it a secret, so I don’t think she’ll say anything to anybody, but I had to tell you before she mentioned it to you.”
He abandoned his attempts and smiled broadly.
I guess I should have been glad he wasn’t angry, but all his mirth was beginning to grate on me. It was as if the very idea that he could like me was laughable to him.
I fingered my backpack strap nervously. “I’ll understand if you’d like to break off this mad, impulsive affair we’ve shared.”
He kept smiling, but stayed quiet.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
“Yes. How did I get into a conversation about your parents being a pain?”
“Oh, that. Well . . . uh . . .” I hadn’t prepared this part of my speech and didn’t know what to say. “My parents still think of me as a thirteen-year-old, so when you came over . . .” I stopped. I had talked myself into a corner. When you came over—what? When you came over my parents jumped to the conclusion that you were smitten with me, even though I’m an unsophisticated sophomore in whom you obviously don’t have the slightest degree of interest?
But I didn’t have to say anything else. He knew what had happened. He nodded. “Now I know why your dad grits his teeth when he sees me.”
“I’m sorry. Really. I’ll do whatever you want to about it, but if it’s all the same to you, can we maybe not end this right away? I don’t want to tell Elise we broke up when I just told her yesterday we were going out. I don’t want it to seem like a fling.”
“Of course not. No flings for us.” He smirked at me. “Darling.”
“Thanks,” I said, and got out of the car.
* * *
For the rest of the week, I don’t know who had more fun tormenting me: Elise, who kept up her hardly-veiled comments, or Josh, who would every once in awhile send me smoldering looks that always made me blush.
On Friday instead of meeting at the school like the chess club usually did, we were all going to go to Bob’s house to work on the annual fundraiser. This year we were hand painting ceramic chess pieces blue and gray, the PHS school colors. The student body had ordered more than we expected, so Bob had called in some favors to get more people to help us paint. Josh was on that list because Bob had helped him on his computer program.
I’d planned on riding home with Josh and Elise and then driving over to Bob’s house. But while I walked to the parking lot, Bob caught up with me. “I can give you a ride, if you want.”
“All right,” I said. “Just let me tell Josh.”
We walked over to Josh’s car. He was sitting inside working on homework, but he looked up and opened the window when Bob and I walked up.
“I’m taking Cassidy with me,” Bob said.
“You don’t have to,” Josh said. “She always rides with me. I don’t mind taking her.”
“Neither do I.” Bob took out his cell phone and texted for a few seconds. “But since you have the room, I’m telling Jenny and Cameron you can take them.”
Josh smiled stiffly at him. “Okay. I’ll wait for them.”
I followed Bob to his car. He opened the door for me. Josh had never opened a door for me. I wondered if he was watching, but I didn’t look.
Bob and I made small talk on the way to his house. He asked what I’d been doing. I asked if he’d decided on a college yet.
“I’m considering Stanford,” he said. “It’s a top school, it’s got good weather, and it’s not too far away. The only drawback is that the tuition is astronomical.”
Maybe it was a loaded question, but I couldn’t help myself. “How’s their entomology department?”
“Pretty good.” That was his entire assessment.
I smiled. He had obviously taken Josh’s list of taboos seriously.
When we got to his house, I helped Bob set up the paints and boxes of chess pieces. While he filled up glasses of water, something on the counter caught my attention. It was a wooden tray covered by glass. Inside, pinned and labeled, were rows of butterflies. They were all different colors and sizes.
Bob saw me looking at them. “That’s part of my collection. I worked on it last night.”
“They’re pretty. Did you catch them all?”
“Most of them.”
“I’ve never looked at a butterfly close up. They’re so intricate.” Some of their wings shimmered like they’d been cut out of silk.
He came and stood behind me, then pointed at one. “That’s the monarch. They can migrate as much as 2,000 miles. Each winter they fly to warmer climates in orange and black swarms. I’ve seen pictures of them covering the trees in Mexico. It’s fantastic. Someday I’ll go see it myself.” He moved the box to reveal another tray underneath. This one had a bright turquoise butterfly in it. I’d never seen anything like it and wouldn’t have believed it was real if I hadn’t been staring at it. “This is a Narathura micale amphis, or the common oak blue.”
“If it’s common, how come I’ve never seen one before?”
“They live in Australia. One of my Dad’s friends works at the entomology department at Washington State University and got it for me. Spectacular, huh?”
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, suddenly wishing I could touch it. “It makes me feel sad it’s dead.”
“Don’t worry. Entomologists only capture butterflies who are about to die of old age anyway. Then they give them lethal injections. It’s all quite humane.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “No.”