never-ending loop of torture. Do you want to do the Shaw-Off? Or go watch some informative-but-entertaining TED talks?”
I stuff the chips into my mouth and chew slowly. Mel and Seth are working on the album today and will probably be wrapped up in it all afternoon, and I don’t really feel like tagging along. Since Mr. Flaherty has finally arranged the schedule to give me a few days off in a row, I have nothing going on for the next two days until Dad and Lila’s party.
“Uh, I don’t have any plans.”
“So, do you want to hang out?”
I wonder for a moment if Mel is totally wrong about Killian liking me. He stands there, his arms at his sides, his eyes trained on me. If he wanted to be more than friends, wouldn’t he be more nervous about asking me out?
That’s when I realize I’m nervous—my palms are sweating, and I’m having a hard time meeting Killian’s gaze. What the hell is going on?
“Sure,” I say, cringing at the fake-casualness of my voice.
Killian nods and gives a beat-up red canoe a friendly pat. “Cool,” he says, and climbs onto the bus, motioning for the people lined up by the waiting area to go ahead and start boarding. I help carry a few coolers, suddenly self-conscious about the sweat stains under my armpits, and my frayed shorts.
I slide into my usual seat directly behind Killian, avoiding his eyes in the rearview mirror, and send a panicked text to Mel. Of course, the day Killian asks me out and I stupidly say yes would be the day she isn’t here to talk me down from my hysteria.
go, vee!!! but do not kiss him yet. you’re only on e!
actually, i’m on f now ;-)
But it doesn’t matter, I tell myself, because there’s no way Killian will try to kiss me. We’re just going to hang out, like friends do. And, besides, I’m pretty sure no one ever used their common interest in George Bernard Shaw quotes as a pickup line.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elmo the Dog
Puppy kisses
l million/l0
(all dogs automatically get l million for everything)
Four o’clock comes faster than it ever has before, and then Killian and I are grabbing our backpacks out of the life jacket shed and walking to his Jeep.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hoping that wherever it is, it involves food. The only thing that makes me hungrier than working at the Float & Boat is running.
“It’s a surprise.” He hops up into the Jeep and leans out the top, arms dangling over the roll cage. “Does that work?”
I only hesitate for a second. “Okay,” I agree, tossing my bag into the back. “But just a heads-up that I’m starving and will probably get grumpy soon if I’m not fed.”
My joke is rewarded with a glimpse of his gapped front teeth as he drops back into his seat. “Got it. Let’s go.”
I open the passenger-side door and get into the car like a civilized person. I buckle my seat belt, trying to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking, and only belatedly notice there’s a blue plastic tarp covering the dashboard and steering wheel, anchored by a complex system of ties and heavy rocks holding down the edges.
“Sorry,” Killian says, leaning over to untie the corner in the passenger-side footwell, his chest brushing my knee. “I usually cover all this up before I go into work in case it rains, and to stop any idiots from messing with it.”
I’m about to ask why anyone would mess with his car when he pulls the tarp away. I gasp. Written all over the dashboard in gold and silver metallic marker are . . . words. Phrases, really.
Today I don’t feel like doing anything
Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes
MMMBop
I run my hand over the dashboard and turn to Killian, who is watching me closely. “These are song lyrics.”
“Good observation.” He grins and starts the car.
I read more.
Can’t stop ’cause we’re so high
Imagine there’s no heaven
Shake it off
“What are they for?”
He shrugs. “I was listening to the radio one day a year or so ago, and I heard a song I
I stuff the chips into my mouth and chew slowly. Mel and Seth are working on the album today and will probably be wrapped up in it all afternoon, and I don’t really feel like tagging along. Since Mr. Flaherty has finally arranged the schedule to give me a few days off in a row, I have nothing going on for the next two days until Dad and Lila’s party.
“Uh, I don’t have any plans.”
“So, do you want to hang out?”
I wonder for a moment if Mel is totally wrong about Killian liking me. He stands there, his arms at his sides, his eyes trained on me. If he wanted to be more than friends, wouldn’t he be more nervous about asking me out?
That’s when I realize I’m nervous—my palms are sweating, and I’m having a hard time meeting Killian’s gaze. What the hell is going on?
“Sure,” I say, cringing at the fake-casualness of my voice.
Killian nods and gives a beat-up red canoe a friendly pat. “Cool,” he says, and climbs onto the bus, motioning for the people lined up by the waiting area to go ahead and start boarding. I help carry a few coolers, suddenly self-conscious about the sweat stains under my armpits, and my frayed shorts.
I slide into my usual seat directly behind Killian, avoiding his eyes in the rearview mirror, and send a panicked text to Mel. Of course, the day Killian asks me out and I stupidly say yes would be the day she isn’t here to talk me down from my hysteria.
go, vee!!! but do not kiss him yet. you’re only on e!
actually, i’m on f now ;-)
But it doesn’t matter, I tell myself, because there’s no way Killian will try to kiss me. We’re just going to hang out, like friends do. And, besides, I’m pretty sure no one ever used their common interest in George Bernard Shaw quotes as a pickup line.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elmo the Dog
Puppy kisses
l million/l0
(all dogs automatically get l million for everything)
Four o’clock comes faster than it ever has before, and then Killian and I are grabbing our backpacks out of the life jacket shed and walking to his Jeep.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hoping that wherever it is, it involves food. The only thing that makes me hungrier than working at the Float & Boat is running.
“It’s a surprise.” He hops up into the Jeep and leans out the top, arms dangling over the roll cage. “Does that work?”
I only hesitate for a second. “Okay,” I agree, tossing my bag into the back. “But just a heads-up that I’m starving and will probably get grumpy soon if I’m not fed.”
My joke is rewarded with a glimpse of his gapped front teeth as he drops back into his seat. “Got it. Let’s go.”
I open the passenger-side door and get into the car like a civilized person. I buckle my seat belt, trying to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking, and only belatedly notice there’s a blue plastic tarp covering the dashboard and steering wheel, anchored by a complex system of ties and heavy rocks holding down the edges.
“Sorry,” Killian says, leaning over to untie the corner in the passenger-side footwell, his chest brushing my knee. “I usually cover all this up before I go into work in case it rains, and to stop any idiots from messing with it.”
I’m about to ask why anyone would mess with his car when he pulls the tarp away. I gasp. Written all over the dashboard in gold and silver metallic marker are . . . words. Phrases, really.
Today I don’t feel like doing anything
Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes
MMMBop
I run my hand over the dashboard and turn to Killian, who is watching me closely. “These are song lyrics.”
“Good observation.” He grins and starts the car.
I read more.
Can’t stop ’cause we’re so high
Imagine there’s no heaven
Shake it off
“What are they for?”
He shrugs. “I was listening to the radio one day a year or so ago, and I heard a song I
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