Foolish Summer | ✔

09 • W A V E R L Y • 😻

Stephen was off limits.

Mom made that absolutely clear over take out that night. I let her lecture me on how important that job was for her career and how I couldn't mess it up over a boy. But I'd already decided Stephen was bad news.

That thing is mom said about the girl in the tree was enough for me to want to stay away.

I still didn't know how I was able to stand my ground when he acted like he was about to kiss me. Or maybe I did know. Saying no to him gave me a little rush. Especially when he was so sure he had the upper hand.

In the days after that incident I played the part of Mom's assistant, not thinking about Stephen. I didn't have to think about anything but the wedding. Shontell Davis (soon to be Everett, which she announced to any new person she came across) was the most nit-picky person I'd ever met.

She wanted the invitations in eggshell, not pearl. The neckline of the dress needed to be exactly three-point-five inches lower. She didn't want the wedding outside because the weather was unpredictable, but she didn't want it inside because it felt too constrictive. We lived in California, the weather was always the same!

How was she the person behind my all time favorite books?

I started to understand why people warned you against meeting your idols.

I'd always pictured Sasha Keaton as carefree and easy going, like most of the girls she wrote about. Instead she was this anal retentive woman who could point out a hundred different shades of white.

When Shontell insisted on taking a private jet to New York to look at shoes, my mom, being the amazing woman she was, told me I could stay in California. For two whole days I had that huge house with it's backyard jungle all to myself.

Just as I had gotten settled on the sectional under the cabana with my lemonade and copy of To All The Boys I've Loved Before, someone called out my name. I groaned, not wanting to move.

"I know you're in there!"

Theo?

Why was he there? Was he alone? Did he bring Naomi with him? Was it some kind of intervention? More importantly, did he know about my crush on him?

The possible answer to that last question momentarily paralyzed me. What if he did know? What if he was there to tell me that it would never happen between us and I should stop acting like a baby and get over it?

He continued to scream my name as obnoxiously as possible. It reminded me of when we were younger and he'd do the same thing to get me outside to ride bikes or play with at the park. I abandoned my book and went through the house to open the door.

He grinned when I opened the door, a single deep dimple appearing on his left cheek.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded before he could say anything. "How did you even know where I was? How'd you get here?" Being three month shy of sixteen he wasn't allowed to drive without an adult in the car.

"You do remember our moms are best friends, right?" He said, slipping past me into the house. "My mom dropped me off on her way to her yoga class. And I'm here because you've been ignoring my calls, you ran from us at the book thing," he ticked each thing off on his fingers.

Guilt filled my chest.

"And, the biggest offence," he faced me, a serious look in his eyes. "You thought you couldn't talk to me. Me. Your best friend since birth."

Technically, it wasn't since birth. My family moved to the neighborhood when I was six, but it felt like we've known each other forever.

And, even though I knew he was right, that I could tell him anything and he'd never judge me, I still couldn't imagine telling him that I liked him. It was too embarrassing. My instincts to keep it to myself were obviously right since he didn't feel the same way.