More than Friends - Monica Murphy (4 page)

My stomach twists and I fight the disappointment that wants to take over me. I knew she’d cave fast.

“Amanda!” she shouts when she spots me, and she waves me over after we make eye contact. I approach them slowly, my feet feeling like they’re encased in cement instead of my worn-out Converse. “Hey, you,” she says cheerily when I stop in front of them.

Ryan flicks his chin at me in that boy way that’s supposed to be a greeting. I say nothing in return, just send him a withering look. Like she can sense what I’m about to do—say something rude to him—Liv grabs hold of my arm before I say something ugly and leads me away from her boyfriend.

“Please don't give me any crap,” she starts, and I shake my head, cutting her off.

“So you believed him.” My voice is flat and I send her an accusatory glare.

Livvy sighs as we stop on the opposite end of the lockers. “I believe him because he’s telling me the truth. The photo was taken at a party late last summer. Before I came back from my dad’s, and when he was with…” Her voice fades and she wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t want to say the same so I supply it for her.

“Em?” I raise both brows and she rolls her eyes.

“Yes.
Em.
It’s an old photo. He swore up and down he was being one hundred percent honest. He hasn’t been near Em since we’ve been together.” She leans in close, her voice dropping. “You should believe Tuttle too. That photo is old. And I know he’s totally into you.”

I hate how my body reacts just hearing someone else say his last name. I’m pretty sure it’s not normal. “Why should I believe him? So he can go out and do something like this again? Because it’ll happen, I can almost guarantee it. Some other girl will come out of the woodwork full of half-truths and make him look bad, and I won’t be able to trust him. Or worse, he’ll cheat on me. Remember, he doesn’t do relationships.”

“Is that what you really believe?”

I whirl around, my heart dropping when I see Tuttle standing in front of me looking stupid gorgeous clad in dark jeans and his football jersey. He also looks really angry and…hurt?

No way.

“That girls will always be a problem for you?”
For us?
“Yes.”

“You don’t think I can be faithful to you.” He’s not asking a question. He’s just stating the obvious.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before.” I lift my chin, trying my best to appear strong. I don’t like having him so close. Temptation sweeps over me, urging me to take another step forward and wrap my arms around him. But I fight the impulse and win. “I’m guessing there’s a reason for that.”

“Right, because I fuck every girl I see. I can’t control myself.” The lack of emotion in his voice and on his face is unnerving. When he crosses his arms, he looks intimidating. I take a step back.

“I never said that,” I start, but Ryan speaks over me.

“Come on, Amanda. Are you really going to be such a bitch?”

I turn on him, ready to tell him where to shove it, but I don’t have to.

Tuttle is on him in an instant, his hand curled into the front of Ryan’s shirt, pinning him against the metal lockers. The locks rattle and shake when Tuttle shoves him again, stepping closer so they’re in each other’s faces.

“I don’t
ever
want to hear you call Amanda that again.” He twists Ryan’s shirt tighter and Ryan curses under his breath. “Tell her you’re sorry.”

“Jesus, she’s treating you like crap, and you still act like this?” The locks rattle once more as Tuttle pushes Ryan yet again, and his gaze meets mine. “Fine, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Tuttle lets him go with one last shove and then turns to face me. His handsome face is a mask of ferociousness, and his eyes are so hot I swear they singe my skin when he looks at me.

“You can think whatever you want,” he says between clenched teeth. “Believe what you want. You know how I feel.”

“No, I really don’t know,” I throw back at him, my voice shaky. I’m not one for violence, but watching Jordan push Ryan against the lockers in defense of me was all kinds of hot. My entire body is tingling and the urge to throw myself at him for a job well done must be some sort of instinctual reaction. “You’ve never told me.”

Our gazes lock. Never waver. Ryan and Liv slink away. A few people pass by us, but Tuttle doesn’t even notice. Neither do I.

“I thought I showed you. I thought that was good enough.” He takes a deep breath. Exhales loudly. “Guess not.”

That’s the last thing he says before he brushes past me, his shoulder bumping into mine as he goes by. I turn to watch him walk away, shocked and annoyed that he left me wanting more. Left me feeling bad, like I should chase after him, full of apologies. But I don’t. I refuse to play his head games. He’ll only end up hurting me.

Better to stay safe and alone versus getting burned.

L
iv stayed after school to watch Ryan practice—gag. I’m so disappointed in her. She forgave Ryan way too easily, but she did point out yet again that maybe I was the one being stubborn.

Maybe she’s right. I don’t know, nor do I care. My decision is made. Ever since Tuttle pushed his way into my life, things haven’t been right. I know I’m the one who sort of fell on him at his party last summer after the Thad and Tara fiasco, and that really my life was thrown into complete turmoil after that unpleasant incident. Yet he’s the one who continues to confuse me. Brings drama into my life. Drama I don’t want or need.

After lunch I have AP English with Tuttle, and I sit in my usual spot at the front of the class, refusing to look back at him. My neck remains warm the entire period. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me, staring at my nape. I totally regret wearing my hair in a high ponytail.

When the bell rings, I bolt out of class so fast I run into the edge of a desk on my way out. That probably caused a major bruise.

But at least I didn’t have to talk to Tuttle. See his face. Look into his eyes.

Instead of driving straight home after school like I normally would, I go in search of a job. It’s time for me to grab hold of my life and control it. I need money. Lots of it—and all for college. Working a part-time job after school and during the weekends wouldn’t make me much, but it’s a start.

I pull into a shopping center parking lot and walk from store to store, asking if they were hiring. Asking for applications. Most of them told me to apply online, especially the chain stores, and I knew I’d never hear back from them. I need to find a local store, a place that’s run by the actual owners versus a management crew hired by corporate. But those types of businesses are getting harder to find.

So when I stop in front of Yo Town, a relatively new frozen yogurt place located at the far end of the shopping center, I’m thinking it might have strong possibilities.

Pushing open the door, I walk into the chilly shop, noting how clean it looks. A vaguely familiar teenage boy sits on a stool behind the counter with his back against the brightly painted wall, his head buried in a book. So buried, I really can’t see his face at all, just a shock of light brown hair sticks up above the open book, his lanky body hunched over as he reads.

“Um, hi?” I say after I clear my throat.

He startles, nearly dropping the book to the floor, but he catches it just in time. I recognize him immediately. Blake Stephens. He’s a senior. Quiet. Studious. He’s in most of my advanced classes, just like Tuttle.

I’ve maybe spoken ten words to him the entirety of our high school life.

“You’re Amanda Winters,” he says after an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“That’s me.” Lame, lame. Yikes. “So, hey. Are you by chance hiring right now?” I ask.

Blake jumps to his feet, coming to stand directly across from me behind the cash register. “We are. I can put in a good word for you, too.”

I laugh nervously, noting how closely he examines me. His rapt attention is kind of creepy. “That’s awesome. Can I have an application, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He reaches beneath the counter and hands over a standard job application. I take it from him with a faint smile, thank him for the pen and clipboard he also hands me then go sit at one of the small table so I can start filling out the application.

I’m concentrating so hard on making sure all of my answers on the application are correct, I don’t notice at first what’s playing on the flat screen TV hanging on the nearby wall. But then it slowly dawns on me that he’s watching a kid movie on the Disney Channel.

He must’ve seen me stare at the TV because he says, “My parents keep it on Disney so the kids are entertained.”

I turn to look at him. “Your parents own this place?”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head and shuffles his feet. “I hate frozen yogurt.”

This time my laugh is for real, and there’s not a hint of nervousness in it. “So why do you work here?”

“Because they make me?”

I laugh some more and he joins in with a low chuckle. “Seriously, you don’t want to work here?”

“Oh yes I do.”

My gaze returns to the application and I work on it some more, wishing I’d prepared better. It’s hard to come up with a list of references on the spot. I grab my phone and start scrolling through my contacts, stopping when I find my grandma’s address. She’s a great reference, though maybe I should tell her not to say she’s my grandma. “I need a job.”

“Not this one.”’

“Yes, this one would be perfect.” The more he talks about me not wanting it, makes me want it even more. “What’s so bad about working here?”

“Cleaning the place. The machines, the toppings bar, the bathrooms, the floor.” He makes a disgusted face. “It’s awful.”

“I don’t mind cleaning.” I really don’t. Mom runs a tight ship. We’re always cleaning around the house every weekend, sometimes even after school. Mom always says, “Idle hands lead to idle minds,” and I hate that quote, probably because it’s true.

Not that I’m really sure, considering I don’t keep myself idle for too long.

“Then you’re crazy,” he tells me with all the assuredness of someone who doesn’t have to worry about his job, considering his parents owned the place. He was guaranteed a job for the rest of his life. Granted, no one wants to work at Yo Town when they’re forty, but I’m sure Blake knows he can always work at the yogurt shop if he has to.

I’m almost done filling out the application when a buzzer sounds, alerting that someone’s walked into the shop. I glance up to see a pleasant-looking older woman stop at the register to talk to Blake. Their features are similar and I’d bet money it was his mom. I drop my head when she catches me looking, concentrating instead on my application and hoping she doesn’t think I’m a creeper.

“Are you applying for a job?” the woman asks a few moments later.

I glance back up to find her standing on the other side of the little table I’m sitting at. “I am. Blake said you were hiring?”

The woman’s smile grows. “You know Blake?”

“We go to school together,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t ask for any more details. I don’t really know Blake at all.

“Mom, stop questioning her,” Blake says from behind the counter.

She glances at him over her shoulder. “I have to question her if she wants to work for me.” She returns her attention to me with a pleasant smile on her face. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

Excitement and nerves bubble inside my stomach. “Sure.”

Blake’s mom introduces herself as Sonja, and after a few minutes of chit-chat, questions about my (lacking) experience and inquiring exactly how I know her son, I’ve got the job.

That was way too easy.

“Can you start tomorrow after school?” she asks after letting me know I’ll average 15 hours a week and the starting pay is minimum wage.

I’m shocked she’d offer the job so quickly and want me here so fast, but I recover quickly. “Yeah, definitely.” I smile as we both stand, and shake her offered hand. “Thank you so much for taking a chance on me.” Considering I’ve never had a job before, she was doing me a huge favor.

“I think we both lucked out.” Sonja smiles warmly. “See you tomorrow, Amanda.”

I check my phone as I’m walking back to my car and see that Liv has texted me what feels like five million times. Deciding I don’t have the time to text back, I call her instead.