How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (18 page)

“Oliver,” she said. Not happy, not sad, but tired and almost resigned. “What are you doing here?”

I held out her bag helplessly. “You left this backstage. I thought you might want it.”

She nodded but didn’t reach for it, so I set the bag next to her on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, she shifted slightly, and I heard the crinkle of plastic. “You brought me flowers,” she said quietly, and I realized she had the pink roses tucked in between her knees and her chest, the blossoms curling a little, wilted.

Don’t be ridiculous
.

“Yeah, I wanted . . .” I cleared my throat. “To congratulate you, you know?”

Ainsley laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Thanks.” She got to her feet, then stooped to pick up her bag and loop it over her shoulder. Finally, she met my eyes. “You’re a good guy, Oliver.”

He’s not my boyfriend
.

“Ainsley—”

“I . . .” She clenched her eyes shut. “I can’t talk right now, okay? Tonight’s been . . . a lot, and I really need to go home and go to bed.” She looked at me pleadingly. “Is that okay?”

He’s just my tutor
.

“Yeah. Sure . . . ’course it’s okay.” I nodded, backing away slowly. What was I thinking? “You need a ride?”

“My dad’s here.”

I nodded again. “Right. I guess I’ll see you at school, then.”

She smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. See you.” She headed back toward the auditorium, my pathetic pink roses dangling from her fingers, a few petals drifting to the floor as she walked. Instead of following her, I found the closest exit and made my way to the parking lot, the cool air doing little to relieve the heat in my cheeks.

I’d thought we were friends. I’d thought I had a chance with her.

Don’t be ridiculous
.

She had a boyfriend. And even if she didn’t . . .

He’s just my tutor
.

Right.

I didn’t make it to the parking lot.

In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. But I was so lost in my own thoughts, caught up in my own self-flagellation, that I didn’t notice the shadows ahead until they were already upon me.

I could see the parking lot beyond them—lights glowing down on the few remaining cars—but the secluded courtyard was dark, one overhead light broken, the other flickering and obviously on its last legs. They emerged from the shadows, and my step faltered.

“Ian,” I said. He was in the front, flanked by Nathan—of course—and another guy from the team, Jeremy Kendall. Jeremy surprised me a little bit. He didn’t seem to have it in for me like Nathan. He didn’t even seem to notice I was alive. He stood there, though, at Ian’s left shoulder, face cast in shadow.

“Hello,
Ollie
,” Ian said, the sneer evident in his voice, even if I couldn’t make it out too clearly in the darkness. I forced myself not to wince at the nickname. I hated it, but time had taught me that letting people
know
that would only ensure they’d use it again and again.

“What’s this all about?” I asked, eyes scanning desperately for a way around, a way through.

“Oh, I thought you and I needed to have a little talk,” he said, sauntering around me casually, like he had no worry that I’d get away.

“Talk about what?”

Nathan and Jeremy kept their places, blocking my way to the parking lot. Even in the midst of my fear, I felt a little amazed that Ian would think he’d need them for backup. Against me.
Has he seen me?
I snorted, half to myself.

“Something funny?” Ian asked, suddenly closer than I thought. And just as suddenly, I was mad. Because I knew Ian was there to hurt me. And I knew he was dragging it out to scare me. And that, to be frank, ticked me off.

So, in typical me fashion, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I was just wondering why you thought it would take three of you.”

Ian didn’t bat an eye. “I didn’t. But I wanted to go for pizza afterward, and Nathan’s buying.”

Nathan laughed, and my stomach sank.

“Nothing’s going on with Ainsley and me,” I said, a little desperately. “We’re just friends.”

This time it was Ian who laughed. “Seriously? Come on, you’re not
friends
. Ainsley could never be friends with someone like you.”

I actually didn’t know what to say about that, because deep down in places I didn’t like to look, I was afraid—terrified—it was true. I
knew
it was true.

“I know you’ve been trying to get between me and her,” he said, a sneer curling his lip. “Trying to sneak around—”

“I’m not—”

“Shut up!”

Nathan took a step forward. “Come on, Ian. Want me to take care of this?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

“Well, hurry up. I’m starving.” Nathan grinned at me. Jeremy stood by, stoic, silent, and intimidating.

Ian got in my face. “I tried to be nice to you. And you go behind my back and try to steal my girl?”

“I wasn’t! We’re just fr—” The words turned into a groan of pain as Ian punched me in the stomach. The air whooshed out of me, and I couldn’t take any more in, paralyzed for a moment by pain and lack of oxygen. I curled up into myself and fell to a knee.

“God, what a loser,” Nathan scoffed.

“I’m not an idiot,” Ian said in a low, deadly voice as he loomed over me. “I know what you were trying to do. I saw it. And it’s not going to happen.”

I saw the punch coming, but couldn’t even manage to brace myself for the blow. Ian’s fist connected with my left eye, pain exploding through my skull as I fell backward, sprawling on the concrete. I groaned, still clutching at my stomach.

“Don’t you get it? Ainsley feels
sorry
for you.” Ian’s words cut through the pain, searing like a brand. “You have no friends. You’re a freaking weirdo. Ainsley needs to keep up her GPA and you’re a means to an end. That’s all.” Ian crouched down, his voice almost pitying. “She needed you for your brain, and she’s too nice to leave it at that.

“But you . . . you thought it was more, didn’t you?” I saw Ian shake his head through my swelling eye. “You thought she actually
liked
you? Sorry, dude, but that’s kind of pathetic.”

Nathan snorted.

“Someone’s coming,” Jeremy whispered. “We need to get out of here. If coach finds out—”

“Coach isn’t going to find out a thing.” Nathan poked at me with the toe of his shoe. “Is he,
Ollie
? Because that would be bad for everyone involved. Especially you.”

Ian grabbed his arm. “Come on. Let’s go. I think he got the message.”

They left me there, and after a few minutes I managed to sit up. My cheek throbbed, but my stomach felt okay and I could at least breathe. I got to my feet just as the click of high heels alerted me to Ms. Sherman’s approach.

“Oliver? Is that you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” I sidled up to her, careful to keep my face averted. “Just heading home.” I gestured toward my truck, but her eyes remained focused on my face.

“Are you hurt?”

The utter disgrace of being beaten without even fighting back, combined with the humiliation of everything Ian had said about Ainsley curdled in my stomach. I just wanted to get out of there. I wanted to crawl into bed and forget about Ainsley and Ian and stupid lists and unrealistic goals and wishes and shame. So I forced a casual shrug.

“Oh, this?” I waved toward my face. “That’s what I get for walking around in the dark. Ran straight into the corner of the building, can you believe it?” Ms. Sherman opened her mouth to reply, but I wouldn’t let her. “I’ve got to get home and get some ice on this. So I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You sure you’re all right to drive?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I smiled, the motion sending a stinging ache up my face, which I ignored. “Night, Ms. Sherman.” I hurried away, her “Good night, Oliver,” barely registering over the pounding of my heart and the echo of Ian’s words . . . Ainsley’s words . . . in my head.

She feels sorry for you
.

Freaking weirdo.

Pathetic
.

He’s just my tutor
.

I fumbled for my keys and pulled out of the parking lot, grateful that the streets were almost empty. I rolled down the window and forced myself to breathe evenly, take my time instead of flooring it all the way home. The lights were on downstairs when I got there, and I took another deep breath to brace myself for what was coming. My mom was in the kitchen when I walked in, cleaning out the refrigerator.

“That you, Oliver?” she called, her head buried in the fridge. “How was the play?” She emerged holding two Tupperware containers. Her eyes widened when she saw my face, and she dropped the plastic bowls and hurried over to me.

“What happened?” she asked, cradling my face gingerly.

“It’s nothing. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I figured it would be better to keep the lies consistent. “Ran into a wall, if you can believe it.” I huffed out a laugh, and my mom’s eyes narrowed.

“Must have been some wall,” she muttered, pulling me over to the kitchen table. “Sit down. Let me get you some ice.”

I let her fuss at me for as long as I could stand it, swallowing painkillers as she prodded at my cheek to make sure nothing was broken. My stomach churned wildly, and I wanted to be alone so I could fall apart in peace.

“I’m really tired,” I said finally, and I didn’t have to fake the fatigue in my voice. “I’m going to go to bed, okay?”

Mom looked at me carefully and reached out to brush my hair away from my face a little. “You’re not going to tell me what really happened, are you?”

I sighed heavily. “I’m fine, Mom. I just want to sleep. Please?”

She crossed to me and kissed me on the forehead. “We’re not done talking about this, but okay. Good night.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Night, Mom.”

When I finally made it to my room and locked the door, I spread out on my bed on top of the covers. I groped in the darkness for my iPod and cranked it up, hoping the music would drown out the voices echoing in my head.

I fell asleep to the heavy beat of drums and wails of love lost and found. And if my pillow was a little damp, it was due to the ice pack melting on my face, not because I let a few errant tears slip out unbidden.

No one could prove otherwise.

11.
Give Her Space

Sure, you want to spend time with her, but sometimes she’ll need to be alone. Don’t smother her.

The next morning I felt better. Well, not really better, per se, but not worse. Kind of numb, actually. My face was still sore, a sickly bruise mottling my cheekbone and up my temple. I prodded it lightly with a fingertip and was filled with a kind of grim determination. The pain was a reminder, a lesson learned. I’d let myself be distracted from my goals by my ridiculous Ainsley plan, but it was time to get back on track. Between school, work at the Center, and my extracurriculars, I had plenty on my plate. I didn’t need a girl. A girl would only divert me from my goals. And chasing after a girl who didn’t want me was even worse. I had to agree with Ian on that one—it was pathetic.

I dumped all my Ainsley gifts into a big garbage bag. I’d return them after school once I’d dug out all the receipts. I was about to head out the door when I stopped, a tingling resolve pulsing through me. I dropped my backpack on my desk chair and dug in it for my List Notebook. I flipped through the pages idly, looking at all the things I’d hoped to do and the things I’d accomplished. It was ridiculous, really. An obsessive ego-stroke. A way to pat myself on the back for all of the things I should have been doing anyway. I stopped on Ainsley’s page, my eyes drifting down the column of red check marks.

It was stupid. I had to face the facts. My List Notebook was stupid.

Without another thought, I headed down the stairs and out the door, dropping my notebook in the trash can by the garage on the way to my truck. I refused to look at the can as I backed out of my driveway. I felt hollow, a bit. Like something was missing.

Or maybe it was just a response to all that time I’d been wasting making lists and checking items off like a control-freaky weirdo.