Notable (Smith High) (20 page)

M
y dad didn’t let me linger in Amy’s hospital room for long the next morning.

In fact, he didn’t give me a chance to do much more than plant a quick kiss right in the center of her forehead. It was one of the few places where she wasn’t bruised. Still, it was a relief watching Amy’s infectious grin spread across her face when I tentatively entered the room.

“We did it, Chelsea!” she crowed victoriously.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Amy.”

Her smile only widened, and I found myself hoping that someday I would have one ounce of her unshakable optimism.

Screw SAT scores. I wanted to see colleges take
that
strength into consideration.

Then again, that probably still wouldn’t improve my chances of gaining admission.

That’s when my dad looked pointedly at his watch, wished Amy a very speedy recovery, and shooed me out to the parking lot. He didn’t even give me a chance to peek in on Neal myself. Instead, he kept insisting that what Neal really needed was all the uninterrupted rest he could get.

If I hadn’t suspected that my dad was right, I would have dug in my heels and insisted on visiting my former professor before seeing this great surprise my dad insisted he had in store for me.

Okay, so maybe I was a little curious to see what had my dad so excited.

I’ve heard about kids getting outrageous gifts when their parents divorce; apparently getting a car with a big, shiny, red bow on the top was supposed to make all the pain go away. But considering that
my
divorce gift had been a thoroughly disastrous trip to Cambodia, I was also a tad apprehensive about it.

All of that faded away when he pulled up into the driveway of a house in northeast Portland. The paint color matched the gray cloud cover that overshadowed the city for three-quarters of the year. The flowerbox on the deck was barren, and a tree with some crabgrass around it was the closest it came to a yard.

Once more there was a suitcase sitting right outside the door.

Except this time it was
mine,
and I wasn’t going anywhere.

I had never seen anything more welcoming.

My dad dropped a copy of the key into my palm. “Welcome home, princess. I’ve been moving in stages so it’s kind of a mess right now. Our dishes are still boxed somewhere in the living room. So . . . it’s definitely going to take some work. I figure it’s nothing you can’t handle putting to rights, though.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You’re making
me
unpack an entire house worth of stuff?”

“You’re the one who said she thought she could handle life as an emancipated minor,” my dad pointed out. “I thought you might see this as an opportunity to get a feel for what that means.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Uh huh. I seriously doubt that’s the reason you want me doing it.”

My dad kissed my forehead. “Oh right, and there was this call I received from my bank letting me know about some of the charges placed on your emergency credit card.”

I was so busted.

“Right. I forgot about that.” I nodded agreeably. “You make an excellent point. Why don’t you show me your office. That’s got to be the messiest room here, right?”

He chuckled but gave me the grand tour before heading into the kitchen to place an order for pizza.

And while he was preoccupied with that, I slipped into his office and typed out an email I’d been mentally composing ever since Liz had left my hospital room the day before. I paused only to double-check my dad’s event calendar, which was conveniently lying right next to his computer.

I clicked send before I could lose my nerve.

With every passing minute as I waited for his reply, I regretted sending it more. Liz was wrong; the last thing Houston wanted from me was an explanation. As far as he was concerned, I had been delivered back to my dad, officially fulfilling his sense of obligation. The princess was safely in the castle. Mission over.

I had to fight the urge to do a victory dance. Instead, I deleted all traces of the email so it wouldn’t get back to my dad, and reminded myself that Houston and I had never actually been a couple. Not officially. No kiss—no matter how staggeringly great—equals a relationship, especially under such crazy extenuating circumstances. So if he wanted to get back together with the girl Ben insisted was about as interesting as oatmeal, he didn’t owe me an explanation.

Although I couldn’t help feeling kind of pleased that the years I had spent pining after Logan hadn’t been a complete waste. They had given me a whole new appreciation for the blunt approach.

Do you like me or not?

Are you back together with Carolyn, or do you actually want to give this thing between us a chance?

And if Houston honestly wanted to stick to the whole
What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia
thing, I would respect his decision and move on with my life too.

Just as soon as I heard the words directly from him.

The rest of the details were almost
too
easy to arrange.

I simply smiled at the receptionist and told her that my dad wanted me to wait in his office until his department meeting had finished. Then I tested the locked door and rolled my eyes with amused exasperation as I said that once again he’d managed to lock the key inside his office. And since the receptionist had experienced that scenario firsthand with my dad far too many times to count, there was no reason for her to suspect me of lying. She simply pulled out her emergency key and left me to settle in.

I couldn’t stop pacing the room while I mentally rehearsed my speech.

Unless I should let him bring up Carolyn and their talk for himself....

Then again, maybe reminding him that our only kiss had taken place while I was under the influence
wasn’t
necessarily the best approach.

I thunked my head down against my arm and began seriously considering canceling on him. A simple three-sentence email and I could pretend that nothing had happened. Except . . . I had to clear the air once and for all. Even if I didn’t like what he had to say. Even if he didn’t like what
I
had to say. There was no way I had faced down a freaking
drug lord
only to turn to jelly because some guy might not like me back.

No way.

“Hey, P—” Houston’s face turned stony when he realized which Halloway was in the office. “Chelsea.”

He was wearing the same ridiculous
No edge!
shirt and a pair of beat-up sneakers, just as he had been that first day I met him in the airport.

“He’s . . . on his way.” I quickly pointed at the chair on the other side of the desk. “My dad, uh, asked me to have you wait in his office. So take a seat.”

Houston hesitated, then, clenching his jaw tightly, he lowered himself into the chair. Not much of a victory, but at least he hadn’t instantly stormed out of the room. I was willing to count that as a marginal success.

“So how have you been?” I asked, nervously pushing back my red hair from my face. A small part of me couldn’t help wondering if Houston had noticed that the blond girl who was furious with her parents had been transformed into someone a whole lot stronger.

That’s how I now saw myself anyway.

“I’m fine.”

Two whole words.
I braced myself and tried again.

“I haven’t seen you since I first woke up two days ago.”

Houston raked a hand through his hair, but I couldn’t tell if it was a good thing that I had him on edge. “I’ve been busy. Is your dad going to be here soon? Because otherwise I should—”

So he really wanted nothing to do with me.

The pain blasted me as I stood, scooping up the mounds of paperwork into a rough pile simply to give my hands something to do.

“You don’t want to see me ever again? Fine.” I shrugged but managed to keep my voice even. “Have a nice life, Houston. Let me know if you ever change your mind. In the meantime, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

He didn’t move. Instead he narrowed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “You made it
very
clear in Cambodia that you didn’t want to see me after the trip. Pretend to be strangers, remember? That was
your
idea.”

“I said that stuff before we became friends, Houston! I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“I’m not interested in being one of your toys, Chelsea. I don’t work like that. You can play your games with Lerman or find someone else. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of offers.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “I’m
not
playing any games right now.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “So you don’t think you’ll keep leaping at any opportunity to get away from your parents?”

“Let’s get this clear: When I was in middle school I dated a guy who didn’t care about me. At all. And some part of me— maybe
all
of me—knew it even at the time and went along with it because
anything
seemed better than going home. It was a mistake but one I needed to make at the time. And I
refuse
to be ashamed of it.” I glared at him and would have employed one of Liz’s finger jabs if Houston hadn’t looked so confused.

“I’m not trying to shame you, Chelsea. I’m just not interested in taking a number and lining up with all the other guys.”

“Okay, you understand how ridiculous that sounds, right? There is no freaking line!”

He didn’t exactly look convinced. “I’ve seen you in action, Chelsea. You meet a new guy roughly every ten minutes.”

“I
flirt,
Houston. And yes, if a guy actually seems interested in anything beyond looking down my shirt, I’ll go out on a date. But that’s not why you didn’t swing by my hospital room yesterday. Not the real reason, anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me your theory,
princess
. Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you?”

“I think you’re jealous.”

The words lingered there between us, and even though he folded his arms stiffly, I didn’t shut up.

Because I was right.

“You’re jealous because you like me. And that scares you because, unlike boring Carolyn, who you’d better not be dating—I’m a little . . . unpredictable. And I know that’s not always fun, but I can promise you there is no line of guys. Even if there were . . . they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

That last part was the hardest for me to say, and I stared down at the papers in my hand as I waited nervously for him to say something.
Anything.

But he waited until I forced myself to look him in the face again before he spoke.

“In Cambodia, you said you were in love with Larson.”

My heart started pounding faster as I nodded. “I think a part of me will always be in love with Logan. But mostly that’s because he was my best friend long before anything else developed. That’s all there is between us now.”

“It didn’t look like just friendship in the hospital.”

“Well . . . I don’t know what to tell you. Beyond the fact that you really shouldn’t jump to conclusions when a concussed girl tells someone she misses him from her
hospital bed.
” I propped my hands on my hips. “Now will you just admit it already?”

“Admit what?”

It wasn’t a question I had planned to blurt out, because demanding a yes-or-no answer has rarely worked out well for me. Taking the forward approach meant that my heart was dangling right there in front of him . . . ready for anyone to whack like a piñata. And yet taking charge of the situation so that I would finally know where we stood . . . it felt right to me. Better than right.

“I—” Houston seemed temporarily at a loss for words. “I can’t do this, Chelsea.”

My heart plummeted, but I forced myself to act like an adult about it. “Okay. Can you tell me what’s holding you back?”

“You’re too young for me.”

“Okay, there are three years between us,” I scoffed. “Hardly unsurmountable. Try again.”

“You’re in
high school.
”

“And yet I totally held my own on a
college
study-abroad program.”

As I continued shrinking the distance between us, Houston held up his hands as if that would ward me off. “You’re my
professor’s daughter!
It’s just . . . inappropriate.”

“Actually, it’s not. If you were dating my dad,
that
would be a problem. Me? Not so much.”

His fingers began clawing at his hair in a now-familiar gesture. “You’re a self-centered ballerina and you drive me absolutely crazy!”

I grinned.

“You’re a geeky know-it-all and you drive
me
absolutely crazy too. But I still like you. And I think you like me back.” I tried to ignore the doubt that kept sinking its claws in deeper. Maybe I had entirely misread the situation? Maybe he wanted nothing to do with me after all?