How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (2 page)

I had a list for that. Actually, I had lists for just about everything, from
How to Make the Perfect Cup of Hot Chocolate
to
The Elements of the Perfect First Kiss.

Not that I’d had a use for that one yet. But like I said, I had faith.

I knew what people said about me. Geek. Freak. Nerd. The words stung, sure. It wasn’t like I didn’t have feelings, after all. But I also knew what so many of my classmates couldn’t seem to wrap their minds around. High school was four years of torture before life truly began. I understood that college was where I would one day shine, where I would find myself, and high school was simply a stepping stone to get me where I wanted to go.

MIT. The Land of Opportunity.

So I ignored the insults as much as I could and kept mostly to myself, with the exception of Viney, of course. I kept my head down and my eyes on the prize.

Except . . .

Except when it came to Ainsley Bishop. When it came to Ainsley, all my carefully constructed walls came tumbling right down in a rush of pounding heartbeats and teenage hormones. Although I recognized it for what it was, I was helpless to resist.

So, as I stood outside the doors to the school auditorium, knowing she was just on the other side, I gave in to that side of myself—the hapless, hormonal, teenage boy—and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

I could do this.

I took a deep breath and yanked open the door, wincing at the loud creak that echoed down the hallway. The auditorium was dimly lit, most of the club gathered on the stage at the front. I spotted Ainsley immediately where she sat on the edge of the stage, long, jean-clad legs swinging idly, her dark hair gleaming red under the stage lights. My stomach churned, as it often did when I was in Ainsley’s presence, so I swallowed nervously and made my way to the sound booth in the back of the auditorium where Ms. Sherman was already talking with Viney. He stood with his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his army jacket, and when he spotted me, his expression of disinterest twisted into a distinct “save me” look.

“There you are, Oliver,” Ms. Sherman said, milky-blue eyes peering over her cat-eye glasses. “I was just going over the light board with Viney, here. He said you’re already familiar with it?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked, a frequent occurrence, and I cleared my throat. “Yes. The Solara 5678-X. A little outdated, but more than sufficient for our needs.” I’d spent the past few days on various forums, researching all of the drama department’s sound and lighting equipment. Thoroughness was always important, in my opinion.

Ms. Sherman blinked slowly. “Yes, well. I’m glad you approve.” She rubbed her hands together. “There won’t be much to do while we’re blocking, so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it all out. Feel free to try new things, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She smiled at us both before heading down the aisle to the stage.

Viney shrugged out of his jacket and collapsed into a chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the booth. “So what’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

Viney gave me a disbelieving look. “You
always
have a plan.”

He was right. And Viney had always played a part.

Born Vincenzo Palmari, he’d earned the nickname in third grade when, on a dare, he’d eaten three packages of Red Vines in less than fifteen minutes. He’d kept it down long enough to collect his prize—an impressive stack of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards—before he staggered off to throw up the whole mess in the bushes next to the playground. He’d never touched the candy again, but the name stuck, and Viney didn’t seem to mind. And since I was the only one who stayed with him through the experience, bringing him a bottle of water to wash out his mouth and backing up his story to the nurse that he was most likely coming down with the flu—and that his red-stained lips were due to a special all-natural cough syrup that his mother made utilizing pomegranate juice and a special blend of herbs she grew in the kitchen window. (Seriously, it’s pretty amazing how if you keep talking, a nurse will pretty much believe anything to get you out of her office.) Anyway, we’d been best friends ever since.

Viney knew all my secrets. He’d seen my lists. He was the only one who knew about Ainsley.

My eyes drifted to the front of the auditorium where she was standing center stage, getting some instructions from Ms. Sherman. Even after all these years, since she’d walked into Mr. Hyssop’s class in fifth grade, all sunshine and light in a bright yellow sundress, she still took my breath away. Fortunately, however, I’d managed to gain control of my bodily responses and was able to keep from sighing dreamily and propping my chin on my fist whenever she passed into my line of vision.

“You’re staring, Ol,” Viney said.

I frowned. Perhaps I wasn’t as subtle as I’d hoped. “Am not.”

“You totally are.” Viney laughed. “Dude, you’ve been carrying this torch for, I don’t know, forever. I don’t understand why you do this to yourself.”

I shrugged. “Because she’s worth it.” I took the List Notebook out of my backpack and flipped to the page in the back, hesitating only for a moment before handing it to Viney. “These are in no particular order,” I added with a firm nod.

Viney looked down at the title, his eyebrows shooting up. “Aiming high as usual, I see,” he murmured, his eyes drifting down the page. “ ‘Join the drama club. Establish rapport. Make her feel secure and important. Be complimentary but not’—what the hell does
obsequious
mean?”

“Servile. Submissive. Groveling,” I replied, plucking the Notebook out of Viney’s hands to slide it back into my backpack. “The point is, I
do
have a plan.”

“To make Ainsley fall in love with you.”

“It’s a long-term plan.”

Viney laughed. “And the drama club’s at the top of the list.”

I toyed with the levels on the lighting board, testing them out and taking a few notes as I definitely did
not
steal glances at Ainsley. Maybe. “I need to establish common ground,” I said. “Show interest in
her
interests. Plus, it’s good for my college applications. Win-win.”

“But the
drama club
?”

I sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t have many options, Vine. Look at her other activities. Student Council elections are over, not that I could win anyway. Drill Team was out of the question—”

Viney snorted. “You don’t have the legs for those little skirts anyway.”

“Shut up,” I said without missing a beat. “That leaves the drama club.”

“And just like that, she’s going to fall in love with you.”

I paused and took a breath, a twinge of doubt prodding at my stomach. Perhaps I hadn’t thought this through quite enough. I shoved my hair back from my forehead—
need to add a haircut to the To Do list
—and ran my tongue nervously over my braces. “Not
just
like that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, dude,” Viney said quickly. “She’d be lucky to have you. I mean, you’re totally awesome. Completely loveable. I mean for a girl. Or even a guy who’s . . . not me.” He winced. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt,” I said, not entirely convinced it was true. “I’m looking at this practically.” And I was. “I know it’s not a sure thing. I’m not stupid. But we’re juniors, Vine. I’m running out of time. If I’m going to make my move, I need to do it soon.”

Viney narrowed his eyes, obviously considering my words, and then he smacked me on the shoulder. “You know I’ve got your back, right?”

I grinned. “You always do.”

“You know it.” Something caught Viney’s attention, and his smile fell. “You realize you’re forgetting one very important thing, don’t you?”

“What’s that?” I followed Viney’s gaze to the auditorium doors in time to see Ian Buckley stride into the room, all sun-bleached hair and tanned skin, with broad shoulders and biceps perfectly wrapped up in a letterman’s jacket. “Oh. Ian.”

“Yes. Ian.” Viney leaned against the console next to me. “Good-looking, popular jock. How do you compete with that?”

“Looks and popularity aren’t everything.”

“Right. He’s also rich and has a great car.”

“His family owns a dealership. Hardly a great personal achievement.” Still, I chewed on my thumbnail as Ainsley waved to Ian, a bright smile on her face. Ian was a bit of a challenge. More than a bit, actually. Not insurmountable, though. He wasn’t perfect either, and definitely not perfect for Ainsley, even though she had yet to see it.

“He thinks pi was named after, you know,
pie
,” I told Viney.

It took a minute for him to get it. “Seriously? Apple or blueberry?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not kidding. I heard him talking to Nathan. He said that’s why it’s used to find the circumference of a circle. Because a pie is a circle.” I mean the logic wasn’t
entirely
flawed, but still. Pie.
Really?

Viney’s mouth twisted as he watched Ian clowning around with Nathan in the front row of seats. “So he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He’s still Ainsley’s boyfriend.”

“On-again-off-again.”

Viney grimaced as she bent down to kiss him. “Looks like it’s ‘on-again’ to me.”

I sighed heavily. The truth hurts. “I know. She’ll see the light, though. It’ll just take some convincing.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I was.

Viney eyed me sideways. “You’re going to bad-mouth her boyfriend?”

“Of course not.” Not only would that be unethical, it would also be ineffective. I’d seen enough romantic comedies to figure
that
out
.
Not that I liked romantic comedies. I did have a mom, though, and every now and then she got the pick on Movie Night, so my dad and I had to endure it all with side eyes and quiet huffs. (She got annoyed if we huffed too loud.) I figured it was good research fodder, anyway, although there were definitely as many items for a not-to-do list as for a to-do one in one of those movies.

So, yeah, bad-mouthing the current boyfriend would definitely fall on that not-to-do list. Ian wasn’t a bad guy anyway, not really. Just not right for Ainsley. Not like, well,
me
.

“I simply mean to show her that she has options,” I said.

Ainsley burst out laughing as Ian swept her off the stage and swung her through the air before wrapping her up in a tight hug.

“Good luck with that,” Viney muttered.

Drama club was simultaneously the best and worst two hours of my day. The best, obviously, because I was granted unlimited opportunities to stare at Ainsley—and it was perfectly normal and not at all creepy, because that was, like, my
job
. To watch the stage. Non-creepily. I was also far enough away that nobody could tell the difference. And Ian and Nathan had left not long after they arrived to head to football practice, so that was a bonus.

The worst because . . . well, because the drama club’s newest project was a showcase of three student-written and -directed short plays. Plays that were pretty much horrible.

Okay, so no “pretty much” about it, actually. Definitely, unconditionally, absolutely horrible.

Even Ainsley’s.

Yes, she had written one of the plays. A romantic comedy—at least I thought it was
intended
to be a romantic comedy—but the truth was, it wasn’t all that funny. Or romantic either, come to think of it. It was about a girl who decided to try out for the football team to get the attention of the quarterback.

No, the irony wasn’t lost on me.

The girl was beautiful but ditzy, the guy too good to be true, and it was only when he finally caught a glimpse of her at the school dance (after one of those clichéd makeover sessions with hair curlers and makeup and really high high heels) that he decided she was worth his time. I got the impression that perhaps Ian had a bit of influence on the plot.

Okay, maybe a lot.

It was only a read-through with the first stages of rough blocking, but it was enough. Even Viney, who was hardly a theater aficionado, turned to me with a grimace after a particularly awful line.

“ ‘You intercepted my heart on the twenty-yard line’? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It could have been worse.”

“How?” Viney asked with a quiet laugh as he fiddled with the light board.