How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (21 page)

After a nearly sleepless night, I rolled out of bed a half hour late, skipping a shower in the hopes of making it to school on time. I felt sluggish and gross, guzzling my coffee in the parking lot since I knew I’d be forced to pour it out if I was caught with it inside. I didn’t see Ainsley until it was almost too late. She seemed to be looking for something, and when her eyes zeroed in on me, I knew what.

I whirled around to head in the opposite direction, nearly mowing down Viney.

“Whoa, dude!” he said, dodging to the side to avoid my sloshing coffee. “You’re going in the wrong direction.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “No, I’m really not.”

He followed my gaze. “Seriously?”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I said. “I’m exhausted, and I need to get to class.”
 

Viney’s eyebrows shot up as I dragged him through a side door into the school. “She really looks like she wants to talk to you. Kind of wimpy of you, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you.” I ducked around a corner and down a less-populated hallway. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I know it’s crappy. And I will talk to her. But not right now. Later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know!
Later
later.” I breathed a sigh of relief as my trig class came into view—first time for everything—and told Viney I’d see him later. With any luck, I’d be able to catch a few Zs in class and by lunch time I’d be ready to face the music. Or by free period. By the end of the day, for sure.

Maybe.

Okay, maybe not.

What
actually
happened was I slipped down the hallways like a shadow, ducking into empty doorways and classrooms to avoid Ainsley. I ate lunch in the library—microfiche area, nobody ever went down there—and headed to the computer lab during free period. To my surprise, just as I settled in and logged on, Ainsley appeared in the doorway, a victorious and determined look on her face. She was blocking the door, and in a panic, I glanced toward the windows.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, sitting down at the monitor next to me. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” My innocent tone was belied by the crack in my voice. Stupid voice.

“You know what.”

“Here?”

Ainsley glanced pointedly around the empty room. Mr. Johnson sat reclined, feet up on his desk and mouth open in a quiet snore.

“I think here is fine,” she said.

I took a deep breath. There was no putting it off any longer. “Really, Ainsley, this isn’t necessary. I’m good.”

“You’re good?” She looked confused.

“Sure. It’s cool.” I felt like I needed to reassure her. It wasn’t her fault, really. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to do better in school, and if I weren’t so pathetically in love with her, I’d probably be able to help her out.

Holy crap. I was in love with her. Not good.

“What’s cool?” she asked slowly.

I was finding it hard to breathe. This was not how I’d expected the day to go at all.

“I get it, you know?” I said, wanting to be anywhere than where I was at that moment. With someone else’s girlfriend. Who I was in love with. Who was in love with somebody else. Who felt
sorry
for me.

“Get what?” she asked quietly. Was she embarrassed that I knew? I felt kind of bad about that, but I needed to get out. I needed to get away.

“I get that people like you and people like me aren’t friends,” I said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about the SATs.”

“People like me?”

I fumbled through my backpack and extracted a piece of paper. “Any of them would be a good tutor. You’ll do great. I promise. They’ll be better than me.” I handed her the paper, and she looked at it, a little dazed.

“Tutor?”

He’s just my tutor
.

“Yeah. I told you I wouldn’t leave you hanging, even if I can’t do it myself anymore.” I needed to get
out
. My heart pounded, and tears pricked at my eyes, and I couldn’t
breathe
.
Couldn’t think.

I barely heard Ainsley say, “I’m sorry.”

I cleared my throat, grabbing at my backpack. “No need. Like I said, it’s the way it is, right? Look, I’ve gotta go. Forgot I have to meet Viney.”

“Uh . . . Oliver—”

“I’ll see you around, okay?” I had to get
out
.

I raced to the door and down the hall, my eyes darting about frantically, searching for a refuge, a safe haven. Before I knew what I was doing I’d crashed through the front doors and was running through the parking lot, fumbling for my keys. I got in my truck, and without even stopping to think, I peeled out of the parking lot with no idea of where I was heading. I drove, turning aimlessly, my breaths growing harsher with each minute. Eventually, I found myself gasping, my vision blurred, and I pulled over on the side of the road and screeched to a halt.

I was in love. With Ainsley. How did I not see that coming?

Let me tell you something. All the movies got it wrong. Being in love isn’t soft tingles and warmth and breaking out into song. It’s . . . panic and pain and fear and nausea.

It sucks.

What was I going to do?

I needed help. I needed advice.

I ran through my rather short list of the people I could go to in such a situation. Viney was at school, and I didn’t see myself returning there anytime soon. Not to mention that, as great as Viney was, he was even less experienced in this kind of thing than I was. Both my parents were at work. That left . . .

I took a shuddering breath and started the truck, flipping a U-turn to head toward the senior center.

Hank would know what to do. He’d know how I could stop this . . . this
insanity
. How I could get over Ainsley. Because I needed that. Desperately.

I sped through town and forced myself to slow when I spotted the familiar squat building on the horizon. I tried to calm my racing heart, taking measured steps through the entrance. Smiled at the familiar faces. Nodded at the hellos. All the while itching to break into a run. To run away—anywhere, actually, as long as I could escape this horrible feeling.

I found Hank in his room, sitting in the chair by the window. The chessboard was set up, but he was looking out onto the front lawn, lost in thought.

“You expecting someone?” I asked, stepping hesitantly into the room. He turned to me, and I shot a thumb over my shoulder. “I could come back later if you’re busy.”

Please don’t be busy
.
 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Oliver. Come on in,” he said, waving me over to my usual seat. “I had a feeling you might be stopping by.” He plucked two pawns off the board and held out his closed fists. I tapped the right one—white—and he replaced the pieces so we could start the game.

We played in silence for a while, as I tried to gather my thoughts. Hank, however, got tired of waiting.

“No offense, son, but you look like hell.”

I barked out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. That’s about how I feel, honestly.”

“What happened with Ainsley?” At my sharp look, he added, “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, Oliver. Only two things can tie a man up in knots like that  . . . your mother or your girl. And in this particular case, I’m betting girl.”

“She’s not my girl.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “And I think we’ve reached the crux of the problem.” He moved a pawn to capture my bishop, and I winced.

“Not really fair playing you when you’re in this state,” he admitted. “So . . .” He looked at me expectantly.

I touched my rook, then changed my mind and moved my knight, more an effort to avoid meeting his eyes than anything else. “I need to know how to fall out of love.”

Hank let out a short bark of laughter. “You don’t.”

I sighed, more of an exasperated groan, really, the game forgotten. “There has to be a way. You . . .” My eyes flicked to the silver frame and the picture of Hank’s first love. “You made it all this time without Angie,” I said quietly. “How? You had to get over her somehow.”

Hank puffed out his cheeks, blowing out a breath as he leaned back in his chair and idly rolled a pawn between his thumb and forefinger. “I never got over her. I went on with my life because I had no choice. But there’s no way to fall out of love, Oliver. You can get past the pain, move on, but there’s nothing easy about it.”

My throat felt tight. “But I don’t want it,” I whispered.

“Little late for that, son. Even I can see that.” Hank eyed me carefully. “Why are you so upset? Most people are happy to be in love.”

“Maybe when they’re loved back.”

“Ah.” Hank nodded, his lips curled into a soft frown. “Are you so sure you aren’t?”

I laughed, but it lacked humor. A laugh of disdain, ridiculousness.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I inhaled slowly. “How do you get through it?”

He reached across the little table and put his hand on my shoulder. “One day at a time, son. One miserable, lonely day at a time.”

I grunted, swiping at my eyes.

Perfect.

I didn’t go back to school but hung out at the Center for another hour or so. Hank and I raided the kitchen and swiped some raw cookie dough out of the freezer. We sat on the little patio behind the building, breaking off chunks and gnawing on the frozen dough.

Yeah. I felt like a teenage girl who’d gotten her heart broken. I didn’t care. Cookie dough was awesome.

“You sure you should be eating this?” I asked Hank, turning the roll to examine the nutritional contents on the package. He snatched it out of my hands and broke off a huge piece.

“Life’s too short to worry about fat grams,” he muttered. “I’m eighty years old. If it hasn’t killed me yet, it’s not gonna.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think your doctor might disagree.”

“My doctor has no passion for life,” he said.

“So now you’re equating cookie dough with passion?”

Hank leaned in. “Let me tell you something. Everything has consequences. Everything. Some good, some not so good. But if all you do is spend your life worrying about the consequences, you’ll miss out on everything that makes it worth living.”

He thrust the roll of dough back into my hands, and I broke off another piece, the thick sweetness coating my tongue as I contemplated his words.

I finally headed home around three o’clock, surprised to see both my parents’ cars in the driveway. It was rare for one of them to be home before six, let alone both. I braced myself for something bad—it had to be something bad, didn’t it? Look at my life lately—and came to a shocked standstill when I spotted them both in the kitchen.

They didn’t spot me, as evident by the rather passionate make-out session happening against the refrigerator.

Gross
.

I might have said that out loud, if the way they jumped apart was any indication.

“Oliver, you’re early!” My mom ran a trembling hand through her hair as I looked pointedly at the kitchen clock.

“Actually, I’m right on time.” I didn’t mention the whole skipping the end of school thing. Details.

“Oh, well . . .” She shot a nervous glance toward my dad.

He just smiled. “How was school?”

“Fine,” I lied. They were too caught up in . . . whatever . . . to notice. “How was making out in the kitchen?”

Dad flushed bright red—something I’d never seen before—and rubbed the back of his neck, a small smile growing as he glanced at my mom.

“Good,” he said.

“Okay, yeah. I do not need this right now.”

“Son, we are two grown adults—”

Ew
.

But also, I had to admit, kind of, well, nice.

“Please!” I held up my hands, ready to beg if I had to. “Please do not finish that sentence. I’m happy that you”—I pointed back and forth between them and the tainted fridge. I might never eat again—“whatever. You’re my parents. I definitely don’t need to know . . . to see . . .” I wanted to go to my room, but I needed to get past them to do that. My life. Ugh.