How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (23 page)

“Hi,” Ainsley replied. “I, uh, was hoping we could talk.” Her cheeks were pink, eyes only meeting mine for a second before she glanced quickly at my mom and then down at the countertop.

“Umm. Sure, yeah. If you want.” I surreptitiously wiped my sweaty hands off on my jeans. “I left my calculator in my room.”

Ainsley looked a little startled. Then her face got even redder and she nodded. “Oh, yeah. The calculator.” She hopped down off the stool. “That would be great. Thanks.” She shifted on her feet a little, like she wasn’t sure where to go.

She didn’t know where to go.
 

“Oh!” I felt my own face heat as I waved toward the stairs. “Come on. We can talk upstairs.”

Ainsley nodded and passed in front of me to head up the steps.

“Leave the door open, please!” my mom called out, making my humiliation complete. I showed Ainsley to my room and hurried past her to fumble through the mess on my desk. I held out a calculator.

“It’s kind of old,” I said, my hand shaking a little, “and the clear key sticks but—”

“It’s fine.” Ainsley took the calculator and stared at it for a moment before placing it back on the desk. “I heard about Hank. I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Are you okay?” She took a step toward me, her hands fluttering at her sides like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” I said. “I miss him. But, yeah.”

She nodded sadly, and we stood in awkward silence for a long moment. “So—” I said.

“I actually—” she said at the same time. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, a smile pulling at my lips. “What were you going to say?”

She twisted her fingers together in front of her. “I wanted to talk to you about something. But maybe this isn’t a good time.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’m fine. Really.” The sun filtered through the window and gleamed red on her hair. She was so beautiful. I looked away. “What is it?”

“Viney told me what happened.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“He told me what Ian did. What he said to you.” She frowned slightly. “Viney also told me you believed him.”

Was it hot? It felt hot. I glanced over at my thermostat, wondering if Sherlock had turned it up to torment me.

“It’s fine,” I said weakly.

Ainsley waited until I looked at her before she asked, “What’s fine?”

“I would have helped you anyway. You didn’t have to pretend to be my friend.” I looked away out the window. I felt trapped. Wished she would take the calculator and go.
Why is she still here anyway?

Ainsley was silent for a long moment, and when I finally turned back to her, she was glaring at me.

“I can’t believe you,” she said, obviously furious. “Is that what you really think of me? That I’d pretend to be your friend just to get something from you?”

I felt a wash of embarrassment. “Well, no. Not intentionally, I guess—”

“So you think I
accidentally
used you?”

I couldn’t understand what was happening. “I, uh, I guess not?”

“You guess not,” she muttered, crossing the room to smack me in the arm. Hard.

“Ouch.”

“Shut up,” she spat, reaching up to poke me in the chest. “For a genius, you can be a real idiot, Oliver.”

“Hey!”

“First of all,” she said, emphasizing her words with more pokes. “I wasn’t pretending. I am your friend. Or I want to be. Second”—another poke—“you really hurt my feelings when you cut me off like you did.”

I felt nauseous, the realization that perhaps I’d misread the situation twisting my stomach in knots. “I’m . . . uh. I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” She poked me again. “I thought
you
didn’t want to be friends with
me
.”

“What?” I laughed at the absurdity.

“ ‘People like you aren’t friends with people like me,’ ” she said, mimicking me in what I thought was a pretty unflattering way. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Um, that I was letting you off the hook?”
 

She smacked me in the chest again with an exasperated groan but grinned at me sideways before turning her attention to the cuffs of her shirt. “Third, I broke up with Ian.”

“You what?” Something curled in my chest. Something warm and fizzy that I was pretty sure was hope.

“After what he did to you? What else could I do?” she asked. “But it wasn’t only that. I mean, hitting you is pretty unforgiveable, but it was more than that. I think it was just the catalyst I needed to see what I had to do.

“Ian is . . . he’s a good guy, despite recent evidence to the contrary,” she added with a wry smile. “But we’re going in different directions. I’ve recently realized we want different things. I’m not ready to become someone’s
wife
, let alone someone’s
mother.
” She shuddered. “Maybe someday, but not now. And not with Ian.”

Stunned, I turned to sit on the edge of the bed. After a moment, Ainsley sat next to me, her lime-green tennis shoes bright against the dark carpet. For an instant, that bright green color made my mind flash back to our paint fight in the school parking lot. I’d thought things were going so well then. I’d hoped—

Well, it didn’t matter what I’d hoped.

“You said I was just your tutor,” I said quietly.

“What?”

“When you were talking to Ian that night.” I hazarded a glance her way. “You told him I was just your tutor.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “That’s because I know Ian. I knew he was jealous of you, and I didn’t want him to make things difficult for you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Ian was jealous . . . of
me
?” I choked out. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re incredibly smart, and you can do whatever you want, obviously,” she said, like it was something I should have already known. “You’re going to make something of yourself—something amazing—and he realizes that. Ian’s future lies in his family’s car lot, and he talks about it like it’s great, but the truth is, he doesn’t have a lot of other options. You do.”

It took a minute for her words to sink in. “Oh.”

Ainsley snorted slightly. “Yeah.
Oh.
” She bumped me with her elbow. “You’re an idiot.”

“You said that.”

“I felt it needed to be repeated. For emphasis.”

My lips lifted in a half-smile. “Okay.” I glanced at her sideways. “Sorry. For, you know, the whole being an idiot thing.”

“It’s okay.” She tapped her fingers on her knees for a second, chewing on her lip like she was thinking. “So we’re okay, then?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She stood up, fiddling with her hair, her cheeks pink. She glanced at me and opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, then shook her head. I was about to ask her what was wrong, but she took a deep breath.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? You coming back to school?”

I smiled, finally feeling a little relief from the nausea and confusion of the weekend, the grief and loneliness of the past few days. We were friends. That was . . . that was good.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” She nodded and headed toward the door. “Don’t forget to study your vocab,” I added.

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate vocab.”

“Who doesn’t?” When she rolled her eyes, I laughed. “I’ll quiz you on it during free period.”

Her eyes widened. “So you’re still going to tutor me for the SATs?”

I shrugged and looked away, feeling my neck heat. “I’m . . . not as busy as I thought. I can probably spare some time if you want. I mean, if you haven’t already got somebody—”

“I don’t have anybody else,” Ainsley said quickly, her face reddening. “I mean. I hadn’t really had a chance to call anyone. And I was kind of hoping you’d change your mind, anyway. So . . .” She flashed a quick glance my way before focusing on the toes of her shoes. She heaved a breath and smiled. “So . . . good.”

“Yeah. Good. Okay.”

“Okay.” She laughed a little, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I should . . .” She gestured toward the door, then shook her head slightly. “Bye, Oliver.”

Remembering my manners, I shot to my feet as she reached for the doorknob. “I’ll walk you out.” In my haste, I stumbled over, well, nothing really, typical me—and banged my shin on the corner of my bed. I bit down to hold back a pretty unmanly whimper.

“Are you okay?” Ainsley took a step toward me, but I waved her off.

“I’m fine.” I smiled and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.
 

“Oliver, it’s okay. I can find my way out.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes and her whole face was kind of red. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I sat back down and waved weakly. “Bye,” I said as she walked out, shutting the door behind her.

So . . .

Okay, then. Embarrassing, clumsy shin-banging aside, that really had gone pretty well. We were friends. I could do friends. I mean, it was better than nothing, right? And over time I was sure I’d deal with the whole being-in-love-with-her thing. People did it all the time.

Besides, I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d rather have Ainsley as a friend than not have her at all. The misery of the weekend had proven that to me, if nothing else.

I flopped back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling unseeingly, considering these recent developments. Ainsley did like me. I wasn’t just her tutor. We were friends. She’d broken up with Ian.

I smiled. All good things. Hank would have been proud.

With sudden determination, I got up and rummaged through my drawer for my List Notebook. I opened it to Ainsley’s page and tossed it on my bed before reaching for the bag of potential birthday gifts and dumping it on my bed as well. I considered it all with a slight frown.

Okay, then. We were friends. Friends gave each other gifts. So I was going to pick one gift to give Ainsley for her birthday and take the rest back. That was rational. That was reasonable.

I’d pick the best gift—even if it wasn’t
perfect
, since I’d pretty much figured out there was no such thing—and give it to her
as a friend
.

Friends. Yeah. That was fine. That was good.

I ignored the hollow feeling in my stomach and sat down in the midst of my collection, shoving the CDs aside—I’d settled on a couple of options, thanks to Viney’s sister, Angela—and consulted my list. My dad had come through on the software, and it was nonreturnable, so maybe that was a good—

A knock at the door distracted me from my thoughts. I figured it was my mom, coming up to see how I was after Ainsley’s visit, and thought maybe she could offer some insight and help me finally make a decision.

“Come in!” I called out distractedly, flipping through the pages of the Seven Wonders of the World book. “Mom, would you rather get a book with pretty pictures or software that could help you c
reate
pretty p—” I looked up, stunned to find Ainsley standing in my doorway.

“I forgot the calculator,” she said, weakly waving toward my desk as her gaze flittered over the pile of stuff on my bed. I jumped to my feet and floundered, trying to cover it up, stuff it back in the bag, flip the comforter over the whole mess—
anything—
but she took a step forward, and I froze, my heart pounding.

“What is all this?” she whispered, her gaze zoning in on my List Notebook.

No
.
Nononononono
.

“It’s nothing!” I reached for the notebook, but she beat me to it, stopping me with a glance as she laid her palm across the open page.

“ ‘Things I Know About Ainsley.’ ”

Oh, this was bad. This was all kinds of horrible, terrible badness.

“I wanted to get you a birthday present,” I stammered, watching in horror as she read down the list. I fought the urge to snatch it away, knowing I’d only make it worse. She fingered the green mittens.

“For your hands. I mean, of course they’re for your hands. They’re mittens.” I rubbed my face, wishing I could be somewhere—anywhere—else. “Because, you know, your hands are always cold. Yeah, you saw that on the list, didn’t you? Duh. So I thought—” Her fingers trailed over to the CDs. “Those are stupid, right? I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll take them back.” I slid the CDs away and managed to get them in the bag. “I couldn’t decide what was best, so I went a little overboard, but I was going to pick one—” She picked up the coffee cup in one hand, the software disc in the other.

“Um . . . yeah. The cup is spill proof. So you can use it at your aunt’s salon, if you want.”

She blinked slowly at me. “And this?” She held up the computer disc.

I swallowed thickly. “It’s Photoshop. Because you said you might be interested in graphic design, and I thought it might help you decide for sure. I mean, it’s an old version—”

She’d put down the cup and the disc and was flipping through the book.