I’m unsure whether to be offended or not by what he said. After the crummy night I’m having, I decide to go with the latter.
“Look, what happened, happened,” I say. “At this point, I just want to let it go and go home.”
His pierced brow teases upward. “Retiring from your partying days already?”
I give an obvious glance at his shirt I’m wearing. “I think it might be time to read the signs and accept that I don’t belong here.”
He meticulously studies me, and again his intense eyes make it complicated to hold still. “Why did you come tonight, Zhara? I know we’re not friends and I don’t know you very well, but we went to school together for years, and I’ve never once thought you looked like the kind of girl who’d suddenly decide they wanted to spend the weekends getting stupid ass drunk.”
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear and fix my eyes on the tile floor. “I didn’t come here to get stupid… ass drunk. I just…” I stop myself, too embarrassed to admit the truth aloud.
“Just what?” he presses me in such a determined way that I wonder if he’ll ever give up until I answer him.
Maybe I could just tell him, like how I told him stuff while we were standing in the living room. He doesn’t know me well enough to judge me too harshly. And even if he did, I don’t know him well enough to have to care.
“I don’t know… I guess I just wanted to see what this,” I motion at the door, “Was all about.” I give a half shrug. “I’ve spent my entire life working toward getting into a good college because that’s what everyone expects me to do.”
“But it’s not what you want to do?”
I shake my head then shrug, confused. “I honestly don’t know what I want to do anymore.”
“I think a lot of people don’t,” he says with a shrug. “I sure as hell don’t.”
“Yeah, but a lot of people try new stuff and attempt to figure out what they want. I just stick to schoolwork and whatever else is comfortable because that’s what I’ve done my whole life.”
“But doesn’t it work for you? I mean, you get straight A’s and shit so you have to like it a little, right?”
Frustration festers inside me. “That’s the thing. Everyone thinks I love school and being good. And yeah, I’m good at studying and turning in papers on time, but I don’t love doing it and I don’t love being good every single waking hour of every single day.” I blow out a breath and let my head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I just want to stop worrying about everything and have some fun. All of my friends have these crazy summer plans, and all I’m doing is taking summer college prep courses and packing up my room. But that’s not what I really want to do.”
“What do you want to do then?”
“I don’t know. But coming to this party… That was me trying to find out. I thought maybe if I tried a bunch of new things that I’d find something I liked doing. But I’m starting to second guess my decision.”
“Of course you are,” he says matter of factly. “You’ve been here for less than an hour and you’ve already got a drink spilled on you, you lost your shirt, and now you’re talking about your life in the bathroom with the asshole who treated you like shit when you tried to come into his house. Seriously, you should’ve kicked him in the balls for being such a dick.”
I lift my head to see his expression. “You think I should’ve kicked you in the… balls?”
“Maybe.” His eyes sparkle with amusement and he almost doesn’t look as intimidating as he usually does. “That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On how hard you can kick.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ve never kicked anyone before.”
His gaze dips down to my long, somewhat gangly legs. “I’m guessing not that hard.”
I reach out and playfully shove him. “Hey, my legs may be skinny but they’re strong enough to hold up another person on the pyramid.”
He chuckles and the haunted look in his eyes momentarily dissipates. But the look swiftly vanishes as he frowns. “Right. You’re a cheerleader,” he says as if just remembering a disturbing fact about me.
“Not all cheerleaders are the same,” I tell him, remembering what he said to Taylor when we were trying to get into his house. “And you shouldn’t judge us like that.”
“I’m not judging anyone,” he insists even though he clearly was. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how involved I want to get with this.”
My brows knit. “Get involved with what?”
He rubs his jawline, studying me instead of answering.
I shift my weight and scratch my arm, nervous and humming with restless energy. Why is he looking at me like that? Like he can’t decide whether he likes me or loathes me?
“Okay, here’s the deal.” He seems in pain, as if he’s just decided to hand over his life to me. “I’m going to help you, but only if we do things my way.”
Wait. Huh? Did I miss something? “Help me with what?”
He backs for the door, stuffing his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. “With your mission.”
Mission? What an odd word choice.
“What mission?” Is he drunk or something? “I never said anything about a mission or about needing your help with anything.” Did I?
“So what if you didn’t say it. It’s pretty clear you’re going through some sort of life changing crisis—or whatever you want to call it—and that you want to become a different person. But you have no fucking clue what you’re doing.”
I feel so exposed right now. Not only did he see through my shield, but he smashed it completely apart. And after only five minutes of talking to me. Am I that transparent? If so, then why hasn’t anyone else ever said this to me?
“Okay, maybe you’re right,” I say. “Maybe I am going through some life changing crisis. But how are you going to help me?”
His eyes light up like he has the most brilliant idea ever and secretly I kind of hope he does. “By making a list.”
My elation plummets. “A list? That’s your brilliant plan?”
“It is a brilliant fucking plan, but only if you do one thing.”
“And what’s that?” I ask warily.
He grins wickedly. “Let me make the list.”
I swiftly shake my head. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
He feigns hurt, pressing his hand against his chest. “Why not? Don’t you trust me?”
I shrug, offering him an apologetic look. “Sorry, but up until today, I think we’ve exchanged maybe ten words with each other.”
“I guess I see your point.” He removes his hand from the door handle and crosses his arms. “All right, go ahead and ask me stuff.”
“About what?”
“About me. That way you can get to know me.”
I blink at him. Is he for real?
“I’m being serious,” he says, noting my skepticism.
I rack my mind for something I wanted to know about him, but my mind spaces out on me. “Um, where did you move to when you moved away from Honeyton?”
“Chicago,” he answers breezily. “Only because my dad got transferred there and we had to.”