dork?
“We row on the river, actually,” Josh said. “The coxswain is the person who sits in the front and calls the rhythm.”
“Don’t forget, I steer, too!” Tori noted proudly. Then she turned to me. “I admit it. I like being able to shout orders at eight guys. They have no choice but to do my bidding.”
She cackled, before adding, “The coxswain is usually a girl, because you’re not supposed to weigh too much.”
Then I swore she gave me one of those body-scanning looks, her eyes traveling from my neck to my ankles and back again. My curvy five feet six inches were radically different from her tiny, muscular bod. Involuntarily I crossed my arms over my chest.
The awkward silence that ensued seemed to be all Tori needed to assure herself that I was no threat to her. I could almost see the to-do list forming in her head.
1. Wait until Josh ditches the dishrag who doesn’t even know rudimentary terms like “coxswain” and “crew.”
2. Bring Josh his favorite drink (that I just happen to know, being his coxswain and all).
3. Pretend to trip so he can help me to my feet and take note that I’m as light as a feather and I smell like watermelon body wash.
4. Let the spit-swapping ensue!
Clearly she was confident enough about my drippiness to leave me alone with her crush.
“Ooh, I see Hazel and Callan,” she said, waving wildly at twogirls. When they saw Tori with Josh (and apparently overlooked me entirely), they giggled and flashed her a thumbs-up. Subtle!
“See you later, Joshie,” Tori said before turning to me. “And nice to meet you . . .”
She looked at me, then back at Josh, waiting for an introduction.
Josh turned even redder. Only then did I realize he’d never asked me my name! And I’d never volunteered it.
“Chelsea,” I said, unable to meet Josh’s eyes. “Chelsea Silver. I’m here for the summer from LA.”
“Awesome! I love LA,” Tori said brightly. “See you around, Chelsea.”
She practically skipped off to her friends, and when she reached them, they collapsed into a fit of giggles.
She couldn’t have been more obvious about her intentions for Josh if she’d licked his face.
I snuck a sulky glance at him. I expected him to be gazing after Tori. How could he not? She was one of those bright-eyed, bubbly, anybody’s-version-of-pretty types who commanded attention.
But instead Josh was looking straight at me. And there seemed to be a new light in his eyes.
“So . . . Chelsea Silver,” he said.
“So . . . Joshie,” I said. “Is that what your friends call you?”
“No!” Josh said, rolling his eyes. “And neither does Tori. I don’t know where that came from.”
Hello? I thought. From her completely obvious crush on you.
I wondered if mine was just as obvious.
“Oh, hey!” Josh said as if he were just remembering something. “Can you hold on a minute?”
“Uh—”
I didn’t have time to respond before he darted toward the refreshments table.
Okay, I thought, insecurity washing over me. I guess he’s just really hungry. Boys are like that, right?
That was the thing about living in a house full of women (and one not-exactly-macho accountant). Boys were a complete mystery to me. My main impression from my friends with brothers and/or boyfriends was that boys were always hungry. And in those rare, satiated moments when they weren’t dreaming about food, they were obsessed with sex.
Which was a step up from middle-school boys, I guess. They’d seemed to devote most of their energy to coming up with new fart or burp jokes.
So when Josh dashed, I didn’t know if “Hold on a minute” meant, “I’ll be right back” or “Nice talking to you. Off to mingle with other cute girls now. Don’t wait up!”
He was taking a long time at the refreshment table, which was pretty much a disaster by then. He poked around the wet napkins, crushed chips, half-empty soft drink bottles, and discarded paper plates.
I scanned the
“We row on the river, actually,” Josh said. “The coxswain is the person who sits in the front and calls the rhythm.”
“Don’t forget, I steer, too!” Tori noted proudly. Then she turned to me. “I admit it. I like being able to shout orders at eight guys. They have no choice but to do my bidding.”
She cackled, before adding, “The coxswain is usually a girl, because you’re not supposed to weigh too much.”
Then I swore she gave me one of those body-scanning looks, her eyes traveling from my neck to my ankles and back again. My curvy five feet six inches were radically different from her tiny, muscular bod. Involuntarily I crossed my arms over my chest.
The awkward silence that ensued seemed to be all Tori needed to assure herself that I was no threat to her. I could almost see the to-do list forming in her head.
1. Wait until Josh ditches the dishrag who doesn’t even know rudimentary terms like “coxswain” and “crew.”
2. Bring Josh his favorite drink (that I just happen to know, being his coxswain and all).
3. Pretend to trip so he can help me to my feet and take note that I’m as light as a feather and I smell like watermelon body wash.
4. Let the spit-swapping ensue!
Clearly she was confident enough about my drippiness to leave me alone with her crush.
“Ooh, I see Hazel and Callan,” she said, waving wildly at twogirls. When they saw Tori with Josh (and apparently overlooked me entirely), they giggled and flashed her a thumbs-up. Subtle!
“See you later, Joshie,” Tori said before turning to me. “And nice to meet you . . .”
She looked at me, then back at Josh, waiting for an introduction.
Josh turned even redder. Only then did I realize he’d never asked me my name! And I’d never volunteered it.
“Chelsea,” I said, unable to meet Josh’s eyes. “Chelsea Silver. I’m here for the summer from LA.”
“Awesome! I love LA,” Tori said brightly. “See you around, Chelsea.”
She practically skipped off to her friends, and when she reached them, they collapsed into a fit of giggles.
She couldn’t have been more obvious about her intentions for Josh if she’d licked his face.
I snuck a sulky glance at him. I expected him to be gazing after Tori. How could he not? She was one of those bright-eyed, bubbly, anybody’s-version-of-pretty types who commanded attention.
But instead Josh was looking straight at me. And there seemed to be a new light in his eyes.
“So . . . Chelsea Silver,” he said.
“So . . . Joshie,” I said. “Is that what your friends call you?”
“No!” Josh said, rolling his eyes. “And neither does Tori. I don’t know where that came from.”
Hello? I thought. From her completely obvious crush on you.
I wondered if mine was just as obvious.
“Oh, hey!” Josh said as if he were just remembering something. “Can you hold on a minute?”
“Uh—”
I didn’t have time to respond before he darted toward the refreshments table.
Okay, I thought, insecurity washing over me. I guess he’s just really hungry. Boys are like that, right?
That was the thing about living in a house full of women (and one not-exactly-macho accountant). Boys were a complete mystery to me. My main impression from my friends with brothers and/or boyfriends was that boys were always hungry. And in those rare, satiated moments when they weren’t dreaming about food, they were obsessed with sex.
Which was a step up from middle-school boys, I guess. They’d seemed to devote most of their energy to coming up with new fart or burp jokes.
So when Josh dashed, I didn’t know if “Hold on a minute” meant, “I’ll be right back” or “Nice talking to you. Off to mingle with other cute girls now. Don’t wait up!”
He was taking a long time at the refreshment table, which was pretty much a disaster by then. He poked around the wet napkins, crushed chips, half-empty soft drink bottles, and discarded paper plates.
I scanned the
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