The Boy In My Head

11

I want to curl up into a ball and die right about now. As if spilling punch all over myself isn't bad enough, it has to be in front of the cutest guy in my grade. Will grabs a pile of napkins from the counter and pats them on the punch stains. Oh. My. God. I think he just touched my boob. "I'm really sorry," he says again. "No, I'm sorry," I manage to say, but I can barely spit it out due to shock. "Uh, this isn't going to work," Will says, tossing the napkins in the trash. "Do you know where the bathroom is?"

I shake my head. "Here, I'll show you." And then he actually grabs my hand and holds it as he leads me to the bathroom! I am speechless. I stop for a moment in the hallway as I pass a photo. It's a picture of six-year-old Aline hugging her dog Toby. The blonde of the golden retriever's coat matches Aline's hair perfectly. I remember him. When we were friends, we'd play with him together all the time. I look at the caption of the photo, which lists Toby's birth and death dates. The death date is familiar. It's significant to me, but for other reasons. "Hey." Will's voice cuts through my thoughts. "This way." I follow him as he tugs on my hand again. Will hurries around the bathroom looking for something that will clean up the punch stains on my dress. I stand there stupidly, unable to move. I still can't believe I am alone in a bathroom— granted, the door is open—with Will Dylan. My heart speeds up thanks to my overactive nerves. He wets a towel, and as he bends over the sink, I notice the pale blue light on the back of his neck. I lightly touch my own implant. He hands me the wet towel. "Try this."

I wipe it across my dress, trying to get the stain out, but it doesn't work. I don't want to speak, but I hear words escape my mouth anyway, mostly out of curiosity. "So, uh, your upgrade," I say stupidly. I don't meet his eyes, but a lump forms in my throat. I unwillingly give a cough to clear it. "How is it working for you?" His hand moves onto the back of his neck. "It works great. I love the way music plays in your head. It took me a little off guard at first." I nod. I can't believe he's talking to me like I'm a real person. "Me, too. So, nothing weird happened with yours?" "No. Why? Did something weird happen with yours?" "No," I say almost too quickly. My hands shake as I continue scrubbing away at my dress, my eyes locked on the big red stain. The stain isn't coming out, though. "It's just something my father would want to know about is all." "Why do you hide it?" Will asks. His question surprises me. "I mean your implant," he clarifies. "Don't get me wrong, your hair looks good down like that, but sometimes it seems like you're self-conscious about it."

Oh. Wow. Heat rises to my cheeks. How did Will Dylan of all people realize that? I didn't know he paid enough attention to notice. I can't believe that he would. But I can't just tell him that I am insecure about. If it weren't for making my dad happy—and having the compatible appliances in my house—I would upgrade when everyone else does. But upgrading before everyone else makes me an oddity. Except . . . Not this time. Not with Will. I stop wiping at my dress. "How come everyone cheered?" I find myself saying. I don't know where that came from, but I feel the need to explain my question. I let my eyes wander up to his face as I speak nervously. "In the lunch room after you got your upgrade. Everyone seemed to like the fact that you got a new implant. They weren't jealous or anything." He shrugged. "I think a few of them were, but having the upgrade is cool, I guess. You know, people think your upgrades are always cool, too. If you weren't such a loner, people would want to ask you about it, but everyone is afraid to." I snort. I actually, legitimately snort. My cheeks flame in embarrassment, and my hands shake against my dress as I go back to working the fruit punch out of it in an attempt to avoid his gaze. "No, they wouldn't. Everyone hates me. They hate me because of my upgrades." "You really think that?" Will asks. He looks me up and down as he says this. Then he shakes his head. "That stain isn't going to come out. Here, take it off." "What?" I can't believe what he just said. Will Dylan just asked me to take off my clothes. I mean, it wasn't like that , but it still makes the nerves in my body ignite. I look down at my dress and realize he's right. It's probably better to walk around in my bikini than a ruined dress. I slip it off, which makes me feel really awkward because his eyes are on me. I think I see them linger for a second. He holds out his hand, and I hand over my dress even though I have no idea what he intends to do with it. He gestures for me to follow him, so I do. We walk down a long hallway and into a laundry room. It's a lot smaller than my laundry room, barely big enough for two people, so when we step inside, it feels kind of cramped. Will smiles as he holds up a bottle of bleach. "This should do it," he says as he throws my dress and some bleach into the wash.

"You sure know your way around the Wright's house," I say, almost too softly because I still can't believe that I'm alone with him. He shrugs like it's nothing. "I used to date Aline, so I'd come over a lot." "Used to?" I ask, surprised at how bold I am at the moment. Judging by the way Aline still hangs on him, I assumed they were still together. He nods as he shifts toward me slightly, and then his body presses up against mine. I freeze. What is going on? Is he flirting with me? Then I realize that he's only putting the bleach back on the shelf. We wouldn't be pressed up this close if the room wasn't so small. Still, I can't help but take in his scent and go weak in the knees. "Oh. My. God." Will and I both look toward the hall where the voice came from. Trish Spencer, Aline's right- hand lady, is standing in the doorway. Of course, she had to choose the most inopportune moment to walk in on us. Trish flees, and Will chases after her. Because I don't know what else to do, I follow quickly behind him. When I reach the end of the hall and enter the kitchen, Will is saying, "Come on, Trish. It wasn't like that."