The One That I Want (12 page)

“No,” I heard Max say, “that’s what Gemma
would
wear if she really meant it.”

I stopped short on the sidewalk, feeling my jaw tighten with anger. Carter and Addison kept walking, but Max noticed I was missing and turned to look for me. When he saw my face, his eyes widened. He knew he had crossed a line this time.

He ran two steps to catch up with Addison and Carter and said something to them. They looked back at me, but then stayed where they were and started talking. Carter had thought of something to say, now that he was not saying it to
me
.

Then Max jogged back down the sidewalk and nudged me to the side, out of the way of other pedestrians, against the punky shop window. He looked down at me and said, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I grumped.

“You’re going to turn sullen and stop talking for the rest of the night.”

He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Not when he’d
made
me turn sullen. “I’d already stopped talking,” I pointed out.

“With you, there’s regular quiet, and then there’s sullen quiet,” he said. “You and Carter are both like that.”

If Max was trying to cheer me up, he wasn’t doing a very good job. I didn’t want to be like Carter.

Of course, Max’s observation explained a lot. He wanted to be friends with both Carter and me. Maybe he even wanted me for a close friend, like Carter was his close friend, but Max wanted to date someone entirely different.

“Gemma.” He glanced up the sidewalk. When he saw Carter and Addison weren’t watching, he turned back to me and used his long middle finger to brush a strand of purple hair away from my eyes.

I stared stubbornly up at him, my face on fire where his finger had brushed me, and burning with anger at what he had said and the situation the three of them had dragged me into.

“We had that whole talk when we were alone in my car,” he said, “and you didn’t get mad. I made fun of you for being rich and it didn’t bother you at all. Why are you getting mad now?”

“Because when we were alone, you were trying to be nice. It was just a joke. Your comment about my clothes was meant to hurt me. Why did you take a jab at me, Max?” He’d already made me crush on him and then asked out my best friend. He could not insult me too.

“It’s true, though,” he defended himself. “You want to look punk, but you don’t live that lifestyle at all.”

“Just because you think it does not mean you should say it. We have been over this.”

He was nodding before I got all the words out. “You’re right. I know. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

He was sorry, but he still hadn’t acknowledged he’d taken a swing at me on purpose. Had he been trying to get a rise out of me? Why would he do that?

“Don’t be mad, Gemma, okay?”

I sighed. He wasn’t going to explain himself, and now Carter and Addison were watching us. “Okay.”

“Say something funny.”

“Something funny.”

He pursed his lips, considering me. “Hmm. I’m not sure you’re back. Work on it.”

He placed his hand between my shoulder blades and pressed, pushing me into walking up the sidewalk with him. At his touch, tingles raced all the way down to my fingertips. I was so angry at myself for my body’s reaction to his that I could have cried.

“The pizza place is around the corner,” he whispered as we walked. “They have really good dinner salads with meat on them, so you feel like you’ve eaten something, but it’s, you know, still a salad. Healthier than pizza. If that’s what you wanted.”

“Thank you!” I exclaimed. That was exactly what I wanted. Good food, and a distraction from how far I’d fallen for Max.

We’d reached Carter and Addison on the sidewalk. Carter frowned at Max. “I didn’t catch what he said to you, Gemma, but I’m sorry on his behalf. Didn’t I tell you he makes girls mad?”

Addison cackled and put her arm around Max’s waist like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

“Yes, you did warn us.” I forced a laugh. “It’s okay. I’ll stop listening.” As if I didn’t hang on Max’s every word.

The restaurant was packed. My heart sank. I figured we’d have to wait forever for a table, which meant more non-conversation with Carter. Thankfully, the hostess found us a table in the corner quickly.

Maybe Max still felt bad for what he’d said, and he was trying to make it up to me. Maybe he just knew how to work a room. For whatever reason, he managed to keep the conversation going among all four of us until our food came, so I never had to rack my brain for something to say.

In fact, I felt so good after half an hour of the four of us being nice to one another, and with some avocado in my stomach, that I was able to do my part on the date by calling up Extroverted Gemma. “Addison said you guys ref soccer games on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“Yeah,” the boys said in unison, and they rolled their eyes in exactly the same way, which I found hilarious.

I said, “I take it you don’t enjoy it.”

“Well,” Max said, looking at Carter.

“It can be dangerous,” Carter said.

“Dangerous!” Addison exclaimed. “How? Do you have to break up fights in the men’s league?”

Max and Carter exchanged another look and both said, “Women’s league.”

I was still laughing as Max leaned toward Addison and pointed to his cheekbone, probably showing her the remnants of a black eye that I hadn’t noticed on the MARTA or in the car.

“And we’re there forever,” Carter said.

Max nodded. “The games start at eight in the morning, and the last ones end at ten at night. We don’t get scheduled for all of them, but they’re usually scattered through the day. Carter takes long breaks for lunch and dinner.”

“I can’t eat indoor soccer field food,” Carter complained. “I would starve to death. Max doesn’t care. He probably brings his own rabbit food.”

“I
do
sometimes bring my own salad,” Max said self-righteously. It was pretty weird to sit at a table in the edgy alternative section of Atlanta with two handsome boys who were arguing about salad. Clearly they could argue about
anything
. They were worse than Addison and me.

“If you think I’m underfed,” Max said, reaching for a slice of Carter’s meat-laden pizza, “you won’t mind if I—”

“Nuh nuh nuh nuh,” Carter said, thunking Max’s knuckle with his finger until Max backed off. Then Carter said, “And Max takes a break to coach his team.”

“Oooh, what team do you coach?” Addison asked.

I wanted to know too, but I was afraid to press it. Since Carter had brought it up, he must have thought it would embarrass Max. Max blushed a little, the faintest flush on each cheek in the romantic glow from the strings of lights overhead.

“I coach my little sister’s team,” Max said.

Carter had miscalculated. Addison and I said, “Awwwwww!” and Addison scooted a little closer to Max.

“How old is she?” Addison asked.

“Ten,” Max said.

“Do they wear pink socks over their shin guards,” I asked, “and bows in their hair?”

Max grinned. “I have tried to discourage this.”

“I’ll bet your sister’s friends idolize you,” I said. “You’re like Justin Bieber!”

Addison shrieked laughter, so Max smiled at her rather than me as he admitted, “I am the Justin Bieber of girls’ soccer, yes.”

“What a boost to your ego,” I said.

Carter laughed harder at this than I’d meant him to, then jumped on my comment. “Like that ego needs boosting.”

Max looked at Carter. “If my ego were easily boosted—”

“And it is,” Carter assured everyone.

“—I would embrace my status as the Biebs of soccer,” Max said. “As it is, my sister wanted to play, the league has a hard time recruiting coaches in the summer, and my dad has to work late some nights during the week, when they practice.”

“It’s probably hard for you, too,” I said. What I wanted to say was,
This is the sweetest thing I ever heard, and it is making me fall in love with you,
but I managed to hold back.

He shrugged. “It was fine in June and July. It’s hard now that school and football practice have started, but it will be over the weekend of our first football game.”

“The weekend Gemma’s team will crush us,” Carter said.

I stabbed a tomato rather than look at him, because I was afraid the expression on my face would give away how little I liked him at that moment. If Carter was really so concerned about Max being superstitious and losing his mojo for their game, why was he the one bringing it up again? And if he really liked me, why was he going out of his way to embarrass me?

Addison jumped up. “Gemma, come with me to the bathroom.”

I arched my eyebrows, by which I meant to convey to her that my mouth was full, and that she was a big girl who could go to the bathroom all by herself.

She did not get the message. She grabbed my arm and hauled me up so fast that I hardly had time to snatch my purse.

In the bathroom she pushed me against the wall and put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to move in on my date?”

My heart raced. I wasn’t trying to move in on Max. I had not thought it was possible. But if I
had
thought it was possible, yeah. I would have been totally busted.

I put on the most perplexed face I could muster as I chewed my tomato very slowly and swallowed. “You mean Max?”

“No, I mean my butt!” she shouted at me. “Stop being funny, Gemma! He is
my
date, and
I
am the only one who’s allowed to be funny.”

“I’m not being funny for Max’s sake,” I reasoned. “I’m being funny and flirting with Carter.”

“Carter isn’t laughing!” She flounced into a stall and slammed the door.

True enough. I glanced at my watch. The concert would start in half an hour. It would probably last two hours. Driving back to Carter’s truck would take thirty minutes, which meant a total of three more hours saddled with this behemoth named Carter. I didn’t know how I would get through it if I wasn’t even allowed to pretend to be extroverted. It would be torture, sitting there silently while listening to Max crack jokes and not being allowed to respond. I wasn’t sure yet how I would get out of it, but I would
not
go on a date with these people again.

I didn’t wait for Addison. After a quick coat of lip gloss, I left the restroom and sashayed around the tables, back to the boys. Hunched over in conversation, they didn’t notice me coming. I caught the tail end of what Carter was saying: “. . . if she doesn’t even know you like her.”

This made me a little mad. They were talking about Max liking Addison. Of course she knew. He might not be hanging on her, but he’d asked her out, hadn’t he? That was more than anybody had done for
me
.

But I didn’t dwell on it, because I’d noticed something else as Carter spoke. Sliding into my seat, I said, “You
are
from Russia! I heard your accent that time.”

Carter’s expression sent daggers across the table at Max.

Max held up his hands. “This is a secret all of a sudden?”

“It
was
nice to go out with girls from a different school,” Carter said acidly, “because they didn’t know about that. Just like they didn’t know you make girls mad.”

“Oh, I think you spilled that in the first five minutes,” Max said.

Carter said, “Gemma found out anyway when we walked up here. I’m surprised Addison hasn’t slapped you yet.”

I glanced at Max across the table, looking so fun and sweet . . . but yeah, the goatee reminded me of his devilish side. I asked him, “Have you gotten slapped before?”

“Yes,” he and Carter said in chorus.

“I was twelve, though,” Max defended himself.

I could only imagine what a twelve-year-old girl had thought when Max had filleted her psyche and laid it out on a butcher block for her to see. Actually I was intrigued by this and wanted to know more about twelve-year-old Max. This guy had quite a bit of experience not getting along with girls.

But as Addison had reminded me, Max was not my date. I took my curiosity and warm feelings for Max and simply turned my head, directing all that emotion at Carter.

“I like your accent,” I said. “It’s sexy.”

Carter turned to me, too. This shouldn’t have been weird, but it was. Usually when he talked to me, he faced straight ahead and made a comment, and I knew from context that his words were meant for me. The most he’d ever bothered to do was tilt his head at me. This time he turned his whole body to face me full-on as he said, “
БОлЬшОе cПacИбо.
”

I was so shocked to hear Russian come out of his mouth that I grinned with a lot more emotion than I actually felt. If I
acted
like I felt it, maybe I really
would
feel it. I would start having a better time, and the night would not drag. I could not have Max. Carter
was
handsome. I
was
his date. I would give it a try.

He grinned at me. I slid my hand onto his knee and smiled back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Max signal the waiter. He called, “Check, please.”

I kept up my act during the walk to the
concert and the wait to get inside. I touched Carter periodically. That prompted him to say a little more to me, and it was easier for me to think of things to say back to him.

Mrs. Baxter had told the majorette line that the glamour grin was important. We looked better smiling, and we also felt better, as if our bodies assumed there was something to smile about. I had never really felt this way about the majorette grin. It felt like I was gritting my teeth and waiting to drop a baton. But I did feel this way about smiling up at Carter. I made an effort to like him a little better, and then I did.

The concert was easy to get through because it was too loud to talk and too dark to see much. The Dolly Paranoids were chicks who wore leather and beehive hairdos and rocked their guitars, putting on a great show. As long as I watched the stage or glanced over at Max, who clearly was as big a fan as I was, I felt happy to be there. If
this
was what being a teenager was supposed to be like, I had a lot to look forward to.