How to Quit Your Crush Page 3

  The cute guy is much more fun to think about. Tall and lean. Dark blond hair trimmed neatly. Clean white shirt and crisp pants. Potentially amazing biceps—hard to know in his long sleeves, but I’m sure they’re way better than a certain someone else who I’m not thinking about.

  Why am I still thinking about him?

  Stepping farther into the shade, I still feel sweat trail down my spine. I’m already nervous about facing the desert. Thoughts of Anthony are not helping, but they keep creeping into my head, and I can’t seem to turn them off. It was meant to be a good-bye kiss. Instead, it was like saying Hello! to the memory of all the other kisses we had in early spring. The laughs. The fun. I thought I’d crushed my crush for good, but with one kiss Anthony proved me wrong.

  I really hate to be wrong.

  I need a distraction to clear my head. This guy—whoever he is—is just what I need.

  Then he glances my way, and I get my first clear view of his face.

  “Grant?” My eyes widen. “Grant Ellison. It is you!” I step out of the shade to meet him.

  “Maya Senn,” he says with a grin.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Volunteering like you.” His grin is contagious. I wonder if I should hug him. Our parents are best friends, and when we were all younger, we spent a lot of time together. There are embarrassing pictures of Grant and me “getting married” on the Ellison stairs when we were both six. Ethan was the minister. It became a joke with all the parents that we should marry officially to join the families. That ended when Grant got serious with his girlfriend, Katherine, freshman year. Still, I’ve gotten updates about Grant over the years and, now that I think about it, a lot more lately.

  “Did we tell you Grant is also his school’s valedictorian?”

  “Did you know Grant has four offers to the Ivys? He’s leaning toward California—just like you.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful that Grant is interested in sustainability, too?”

  He makes the hugging decision by initiating one. I end up with my cheek pressed against the strap of his pack, but he smells very nice. Not at all like dirt and septic tank, which is what it smells like near the bathrooms.

  I pull back, grinning again. “You’re the surprise.”

  “Your parents didn’t tell you?”

  “No. And Ethan knew, too.”

  “Yeah, we exchanged a few texts.” He pulls a cap with a wide brim from his back pocket and puts it on. “Our moms were talking, and I heard about the trail project. It sounded pretty cool. Figured why not?”

  “But it’s such a long drive.”

  “Not bad. Twenty minutes. My dad bought me a new electric car for graduation so no gas, no pollution.”

  Be still, my environmentally conscious heart.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I say again. Ever since that kiss with a certain someone I’m not thinking about, it’s felt like the earth has shifted off its axis. Like I was off-balance. But seeing Grant standing here—solid, grounded Grant—I feel more grounded, too.

  “Good surprise?” he asks.

  “A most excellent one.”

  His smile warms me. “So I hear you’re going to Pomona College in the fall?”

  I nod. “You chose UCLA. And what about Katherine?”

  Katherine’s family runs in the same circles, so I’ve seen them together more than a few times in the past four years they’ve been dating.

  “Yeah, well.” The smile vanishes, and he rubs the back of his neck. “We broke it off two weeks ago.”

  “You and Katherine?” I can’t help sounding shocked. They’ve always seemed so perfect.

  “She’s going to college back east. I’ll be on the west coast.”

  “Wow. That must be—”

  “Hey,” a voice interrupts. “Are you with Community Cares?”

  We both turn as a girl strides up. Not a girl, but lady doesn’t feel right, either. She’s somewhere in her late twenties, I guess. About my height but muscular and looking every inch at home out here. I hope she’s with our group. I won’t be nearly as nervous if she’s leading. She’s wearing a bandanna over her hair, but there are brown curls showing around the neck where another bandanna is tied. “I’m Amber Gray, your project director.”

  Yes!

  Grant holds out a hand. “I’m Grant. This is Mai.”

  “I know Mai from pictures on the website.” As if she can tell what I’m about to say, she adds, “Don’t worry. I won’t make a big deal out of your parents being the founders of CC. No one else has to know.”

  “Thanks.” I exchange a smile with Grant. His mom is a state representative. We’ve talked before about how hard it can be when you’re treated different because of who your parents are.

  Grant and Katherine broke up.

  My brain repeats that fact. It’s weird to think of him as single. Yes, he’s kind of perfect, but I’ve never thought of him as dating material because he was so taken.

  But he’s not anymore.

  Inwardly, I smile. If I’m going to have inappropriate and lustful thoughts about someone, it can be Grant. Grant makes sense. I let out a breath. I feel better already.

  “Glad to have you both,” Amber says. “Two other volunteers are waiting over there.” I follow the direction of her pointed finger, and a guy and a girl, about my age, are sitting on a picnic bench, holding hands. “We’re waiting for one more. A late sign-up.” She checks her watch then shades her eyes and turns back to the parking lot. “Oh, good. There he is.”

  I turn as a figure jogs toward us. Long hair. Ball cap. Wrinkled white tee. Biceps. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.

  Anthony Adams.

  Just like that, the earth tips again.

  Chapter Five

  Mai

  “Let’s start with introductions,” Amber says.

  She’s gathered us around a picnic table under the shade structure. Grant is beside me, and the couple is sitting across from us. Amber is sitting at the far end. Anthony is not sitting. He’s leaning. He’s not even dressed right in frayed jeans that hug his legs and black sneakers. His arms are bare even though the website specifically said long sleeves. Hair curls from beneath a baseball cap nearly reaching the neck of his tee. The big, junky cuff he never takes off is glinting against his wrist. There is nothing I should find attractive about any of that, so why am I so completely attracted?

  I should never have kissed him. My mouth is suddenly dry, my hands fidgety in my lap. That kiss brought it all back after I was completely over him. But in my defense, the kiss shouldn’t have mattered. I wasn’t supposed to see him again. I’m only in town for two weeks, and it would have been easy enough to avoid any parties where I thought he might turn up. And he’s definitely not supposed to be here.

  Why is he here?

  Amber begins speaking, and I force myself to focus. “Why don’t I start? You all know I’m Amber Gray. I’m a grad student at ASU. I’m studying forestry in school and plan to be a park ranger when I graduate.”

  She turns toward the couple, smiling.

  “I’m Ben,” the guy says. “I’m here because she’s here.”

  The girl giggles. “I’m Mallory. I need a hundred volunteer hours for a scholarship, and my dad saw this advertised at our church.”

  Eyes turn my way. My throat closes as Anthony slips off his sunglasses, his brown eyes saying he could tell everyone plenty about me. I focus on Amber. “I’m Mai. I’m starting college in the fall—microbiology with an emphasis on the environment. I thought this would be an interesting project.”

  There. That was good. I look at Grant. His nod steadies me.

  “I’m Grant. I’m majoring in sustainability, starting in the fall.” He shoots me a wide smile. “Mai and I are old friends. I always thought we’d blaze trails together.”

 
Mallory giggles again.

  “Mai and I are…old friends, too,” Anthony says. His pause is just long enough to make it sound like there was more going on than friendship. I snap my gaze to his. What is he doing? His smile widens, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m Anthony, by the way.”

  “We went to the same high school,” I explain to the group.

  “Did you both know you were going to be here?” Amber asks.

  “Coincidence,” Anthony says.

  I narrow my eyes. “Really?”

  His dimple deepens. “She might have mentioned Community Cares the last time we saw each other. When was that, Mai?”

  A flush burns me from the inside. He knows exactly when it was. “No idea,” I say pointedly. “Feels like high school was such a long time ago already.”

  “You’ll have to find time to reminisce later,” Amber says. She claps her hands as if that’s the end of that. But my brain is still scrambled, and it’s a fight to keep my focus as she launches into the project details. “We have a lot to do, starting with a quick orientation. As you all know, this is a two-week project, three hours every morning. To create the least amount of disturbance for the public, we’ll work six days this week so the trail can be reopened next Friday. Please wear sunscreen, hats, and gloves, bring water, and dress as requested on the project site.” She directs that last comment to Anthony. “We’ll be closing off a bootleg trail and grooming the trail we want the public to use. As part of our volunteer service, we’ll also do some clean up.”

  “Will you sign our volunteer forms?” Mallory asks.

  “I will. You’ll get credit for every hour you complete. Since we only have a few hours each day before it gets too hot, we need to make the most of that time, starting now.” She stands. “Any questions?”

  I look at Anthony again. I have a question, all right.

  When no one says anything, she grabs her pack and pulls it over her shoulder. “Let me show you the equipment shed and we’ll go over how to use the various tools.”

  She leads us to a room at the far side of the visitor’s center. It’s more garage than shed. There’s all kinds of gardening tools hanging from hooks and stuffed into giant tubs. I’m not sure what most of it is. Is a hoe the flat one or the spiky one? And more importantly, why is Anthony here?

  “I forgot,” Amber says. “We’ve got a new supply of trail signs in my truck. Grant, lend me a hand? We’ll need a wheelbarrow.”

  “Of course.” There’s a row of four wheelbarrows, two of them full of rock. He grabs an empty one and follows Amber out the double door. Mallory is close behind. “It’s stuffy in here. We’re going to wait outside.” She grabs Ben’s hand and leads him out.

  The door closes behind them, leaving Anthony and me. Alone.

  Heart racing, I turn to face him with a glare. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Six

  Anthony

  As hot as it is outside, I think it’s hotter in here. Or maybe it’s the heat coming off Mai. She’s not happy to see me. Then again, I’m not happy to be here. It’s this attraction that won’t let go. It’s got me so twisted up that I’m willing to do anything to get over it—even a volunteer project. When I woke up this morning, way too early, I was hoping I’d see her and feel…nothing. Instead, just standing close to her is like a jolt to my chest. “I’m here earning volunteer hours,” I say.

  “For surf school?” She raises her eyebrow in that snooty way she has. Good. The more annoying she is, the better.

  “I’m doing my civic duty. Saving the planet—all that.”

  “Anthony, please. What are you really doing here?”

  I snag her gaze with mine. “What if I said unfinished business?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Anthony.” She shakes her head. “It was a good-bye kiss. That was all.”

  “It didn’t feel like a good-bye.” I step closer.

  She puts her hand on my chest, stopping me. Can she feel how fast my heart is beating? She’s like a foot on the gas, revving me up.

  “It was an impulse. A bad one.” She’s flustered—pushing the collar of her shirt up and then pulling it away as if she can’t breathe.

  “Yeah, it was,” I say, and I think she’s surprised I agree. “But it still happened.” I pull off my cap, dropping it on the table behind me. Makes me think of my dad saying, Cooler heads prevail. I don’t feel much cooler. I face Mai again, wishing I were better at putting thoughts to words. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like there’s still something between us.”

  Her eyes widen. “There isn’t.”

  “Then why did you kiss me?”

  She flushes deeper.

  The words come, rough as gravel. “And why do I want you to kiss me again?”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “Doesn’t change what I want.”

  There’s panic in her face. “Don’t say that.”

  “Because you don’t want it?”

  “We already said good-bye.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Her throat works over a swallow. “Grant and Amber will be back in a minute.”

  “Also not an answer. Maya. Do you want to kiss me, too?”

  She steps back, but I still feel the connection. The pull.

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. There’s no point to it. Our lives are going in different directions. That’s why I broke up with you in the first place.”

  I pick up a rake that’s fallen, balance it against the others. “We didn’t break up. We were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “We played pool chicken. I had my thighs around your neck.”

  “While I’m not arguing the point, it doesn’t make two people boyfriend-girlfriend.”

  She’s back to messing with her collar. “What are you saying?”

  “That it never got to the point of boyfriend-girlfriend because that’s not in the cards for us. But we had this thing between us. Call it chemistry. Call it an attraction.”

  “Attractions fade.”

  “Exactly,” I snap. “But usually you wait until it does before you end things.”

  She runs a hand down her neck to the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. “And I didn’t wait?”

  I shake my head. “And it hasn’t faded. At least not for me. I’d say from that kiss on Thursday, not for you, either.”

  “But I don’t want to like kissing you.”

  “You think I want to like kissing you? You live by a long list of rules, and you’re so focused on the future, you don’t know how to live in the moment.”

  She scoffs. “What about you? You’re unambitious, you don’t work hard at anything, and your idea of the future is this afternoon.”

  “Which brings us back to why we’re no good together.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  I grab a fistful of hair at the nape of my neck, as helpless as I’ve ever been. “Because the only way I’m going to get over this is to spend time with you.”

  Her voice rises with disbelief. “So you signed up for a two-week trail project?”

  “Did you want me to drop by your house?”

  Her eyes widen. “No.”

  “It’s not like we were going to bump into each other. Besides, I figure two weeks should be plenty of time.”

  “For what?” Her hands are twisting restlessly. I’m not sure if she knows she’s doing it. I reach out and quiet them with my own, slide my palms over hers, pull her fingers around mine. The air turns heavy as both of us breathe quicker. I feel the tremble under her skin. She’s feeling this every bit as much as I am.

  Hates it every bit as much as I do.

  “To get over this. Us. Whatever it is.” I shrug. “I just need to spe
nd more time with you, and all the ways we’re different are going to start bugging me.”

  “But,” she glances at the closed door, “Grant is here. He’s a family friend. Our moms talk nearly every day.”

  “So?”

  “So I don’t want him to know about you. I never told my parents about…well…”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Baseball games? Drives we took?” My voice deepens. “What we did in my backseat?”

  “Shhh!” she hisses.

  But our eyes lock with the shared memory. We’re both breathing hard, our gazes doing a dance to and from each other’s mouths.

  “You can’t look at me like that,” she says.

  “You’re looking at me the same way.”

  “This isn’t right, Anthony.”

  “So let’s do something about it.”

  She’s tugging at her collar again. “You really think spending time together will work?”

  “I know it will. Two weeks, max.”

  I’m sure her calculator brain is burning up, it’s working so hard. Voices are getting louder. Amber and Grant. “But not at the trail project.”

  “Then where?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think about it.” Nervously, she glances at the door. “We’ll meet tonight and discuss this thing. Whatever this thing is.”

  “This,” I say, “is a two-week fling.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anthony

  “Don’t drop your father!”

  Mom’s cry is so jarring, the heavy urn tilts in my hands. “Jeez, Mom!” I grip the urn tighter—the damn thing weighs more than Dad did.

  “He’s tilting.”

  “I’ve got him.” I set the urn on the top shelf of Grandma’s ten-foot curio cabinet. Dust puffs up. “You sure you want him up here?”

  “There’s such a nice view. Could you move him a little to the left?”

  I move a gravy boat a few inches and slide the urn. I angle it so the face is looking out the window. I know it doesn’t matter, but I check to be sure it’s just right. The nameplate catches the sun: