He's Just a Kid

Denial

What the heck.

That's how I would describe what happened in the last few hours. What the heck. Not even just the fact that Marcus borderline asked me on a date. Just seriously.

What

The

Heck?

I was sitting in the back seat of Mr. Davenport's car with Bree as Tasha drove me home. It was a legit sportscar. Like, an a million dollar Porsche. It was worth that much because obviously Mr. Davenport had tweeked a few things, from what I could see from the interior. I was scared to even sit down on the seat because of the possibility of messing up the leather.

Yes. Leather. Real leather. I was surprised he even let Tasha drive the thing.

He could probably pay for any type of damage done to it like he was buying a candy bar, I figured. The man was worth billions.

Bree tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and gave me a sideways grin. "So," she began. "Did I see Mr. Hot Stuff ask you out earlier?"

My face heated as a blush rose to my ears. I pushed my glasses further up my nose in an attempt to appear annoyed.

"That's not what it was, Bree," I corrected, not believing my own words.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Sure. I can totally tell by your cherry of a face." I slapped her shoulder and she laughed through the pain.

"Who's going on a date?" Tasha asked, her dark eyes finding me in the rear view mirror.

"Abby," Bree blurted before I got a word in edge-wise.

"Bree!"

"Oh, shut up, Abby," Bree snapped. "You've got to stop denying absolutely everything. I mean, come on, really?"

"Where did you meet this guy?" Tasha asked curiously.

I buried my face in my hands and groaned. Bree snickered beside me as I tried my best to silence my racing mind.

The events of the last few hours kept replaying in my head. Marcus smiling at me as he introduced himself, giving me a tender hug in a sweet goodbye, the look of hope in his eyes as he asked me out---

No!

I sighed. "I met him at school," I explained half-heartedly.

"Ooo, those high school romances are the best," Tasha swooned, grinning as she turned her attention back to the road.

Bree chatted with Tasha the rest of the way to my house as I stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and cars as they sped by. I couldn't help it. I started picturing myself with Marcus getting ice cream.

He was just so . . . So . . .

Awesome, hot, pretty, sweet, genuine, the list goes on. I couldn't believe that I was actually agreeing with my inner self for once. Fake Abby and I were always going at it about the dumbest things. But this time we actually reached the middle ground, which was something we didn't do often.

The Porsche slowed down and the clicking of the right-turn blinker began as Tasha pulled into my driveway, parking in front of the tiny, old house. I thanked Tasha and Bree and walked up the steps of the run-down house and braced myself before twisting the handle and opening the front door.

"Abigail Strickland, get your skinny butt in here!"

I flinched at the sudden noise. "There's Mom," I grumbled. I gave one last wave to Tasha and Bree and closed the door behind me, looking up at my angry, frizzy blond haired mother who was staring down at me with venom in her gaze, the house phone gripped so tightly in her hand I thought she might crush it.

"Explain to me," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, "why I just got off the phone with a boy asking for you. Now."