How to Quit Your Crush Read online

  My whole body flushes. I clear my throat, which is suddenly dry. “I think I vaguely recall.”

  His smile says he knows none of it is vague. “I think it’s worth…revisiting.”

  My knees threaten to buckle, which should be impossible, since I’m sitting. My breath speeds up, and I have the urge to fan myself because my skin feels hot enough to melt. “We are not revisiting. We are not running bases. We are not touching in any way. We are not kissing.”

  Heads turn to look at me, and I flush even harder, pressing my lips together, though the words are already out.

  “Shhh,” he says with a wide grin. “We’re in a library.”

  “This isn’t funny,” I hiss. I yank the rules back, wadding them in my fist. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “And you’re taking it too seriously. You’re getting rid of all the fun parts.”

  “Because this isn’t supposed to be fun. Do you want to hate me or not?”

  He pauses, his jaw slack. Then he half laughs, half groans. “This is nuts. But you’ve made your point. We’ll have rules.” He reaches for the paper, and I let him have it. He carefully smooths it out, but it’s wrinkled and torn on one corner. A mess like this. Us.

  “So no kissing. No touching.” He taps the table as if that cements it. “If we’re not doing that, what are we doing?”

  I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “We’re planning dates,” I say. “That we’ll love and the other person will hate.”

  Chapter Nine

  Anthony

  “Bad dates?” I let the idea settle in. “That’s kind of genius, Killer.”

  “I thought so.” She’s got her hands folded together again, her shoulders back. Fun Mai is gone, and I’m facing Run the World Mai.

  “These are not real dates,” she adds. “We’re not trying to impress each other or build a relationship.”

  “We’re trying to destroy every good feeling between us?”

  “Exactly.”

  I can’t decide whether to shake my head or nod. “This could be fun.”

  She holds up a finger in warning. “But nothing life-threatening. No bungee-hopping.”

  I cross my heart with a straight face. “And no bungee-jumping, either.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” She glares. “Because that is an excellent way to annoy me.”

  “Good. I’ll do it some more.”

  “I mean it, Anthony. We can’t do anything dangerous.”

  There’s real fear in her eyes. I lean in, all joking gone. “You think I’d let you get hurt?”

  She looks into my eyes. Her breath eases out. “No. I know you wouldn’t.” The flicker of a smile on her lips is so sweet, I already want to break Rule 5. She tucks her hair behind her ears. She’s wearing tiny silver stud earrings. I kissed those earrings in the spring. Those ears. That tight jaw. Those stiff shoulders.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “Relax. There’s no way I’d let anything happen to you.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t relax. I can’t even believe I’m doing this.”

  “You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

  Her eyes flash at me, but the fear is gone, replaced by a spark of laughter. She gives me one of her prim looks that make me want to kiss her stupid. “I am never cute,” she says. “I’m imposing. Resolute.” She pauses. Blinks. “Or regal. I like being regal.”

  “You don’t get to choose your own adjectives.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Smiling, I lean closer. “Your cheeks turn red when you’re frustrated.”

  “They do not.”

  “Makes me want to feel your skin. See if it’s warmer.”

  The color deepens. “Anthony!” My name is a hiss as she looks around at the people near us.

  “Speaking of color, you’re not wearing lipstick tonight.”

  “We weren’t speaking about color.”

  “Sure, we were.”

  She purses her lips. “This is what happens with you. We take detours and end up having ridiculous conversations. Also an adjective I normally don’t do. Can you please focus?”

  I can, but it’s not nearly as much fun as teasing her. “What about nicknames?” I ask. “Can I call you Kitten? Sugar?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m Killer.”

  “You also don’t get to pick your own love name.”

  “We don’t have love names. This is a fling.”

  “Is this another rule, Dumpling?”

  A laugh bursts out of her. She claps a hand over her mouth as if she can stop the sound after the fact. A few people look up, but only for a second. She wrestles her smile back under control. “That is the worst fling name in history.”

  “I’ll work on it.” I slide my pinky closer—snag hers. She has long, slender fingers with short nails and no polish. Understated and elegant like everything else about her. “Can we hold hands?”

  “No.” She pulls her finger free. “We just agreed no touching.”

  I trap it again. “What if we have to make a pinky promise?”

  “I’ll make an exception when that happens.” She pushes my hands back to my side of the table. I get a small glare, but her shoulders are finally loose again. “Rule 3, the fling ends a week from Friday, but either one of us can stop it early.”

  When I nod, she says, “Rule 4. No one can know. Not even your friends.”

  “You’re not telling Josie?”

  She pauses a second and then nods. “I won’t tell Josie, either. And no more meetings in the equipment shed. In fact, if you’re still planning to volunteer, we keep our distance.”

  “I signed up. I’m not going to bail now.”

  “Then we act like high school acquaintances. No more.”

  “You’re that worried about your parents finding out?”

  “Yes,” she says flatly.

  I don’t mind her honesty. I get that I’m not the guy her parents want her to bring home. Maybe I might have been, once. Before Dad died. Before my grades dropped and I didn’t have the energy to lift them. Back when I thought you could have the future you wanted just by working for it. I run a thumb over the metal curves of my cuff. “Your mom and dad dreaming of an Ivy League douche for their brilliant daughter?” I sprawl back as much as I can in the skinny chair. “Grant seems like he could be a douche.”

  She gasps. “There is nothing douchey about him.”

  “His haircut. Like someone cut around a cereal bowl.”

  “He had on a hat!”

  I smile so she knows I’m teasing her. “So what’s the story with you two? You’re here with me, but on the other hand, he stayed pretty close to you today.”

  “I’ve known him forever. We’re good friends.”

  “You ever kiss him?”

  She lowers her voice to a whisper. “You know you’re the first guy I ever kissed.”

  I shift forward, my gaze lowering to her mouth. “The only guy you’ve ever kissed?”

  Her throat works over a swallow as her eyes drop to my mouth. “So far.”

  I hook a foot around her chair and drag her an inch closer. “Can we—”

  “If you bring up Rule 5 one more time, I’m going to search the stacks for War & Peace, which is possibly the only book in this library as thick as your head, and I’m going to clunk you with it.”

  I blink innocently. “I would never think of breaking the rules.”

  “I’m going to clunk you for that.” She pushes her chair back, resettling it out of my foot’s reach. “Focus, please.”

  “Right. Focus.” I shift my face into a serious expression, but inside I’m smiling more than I should be. “We keep this a secret from everyone. I’m good with that. I don’t want my mom to find out and think I’m dating for real.”

  Her eyes sp
ark with surprise. “She doesn’t want you to date?”

  “You kidding? She’d love it. She thinks if I meet a girl, I won’t leave town.”

  “Would you stay?” she asks. “For a girl?”

  “Would you stay for a guy?”

  “Of course not. But my plans are more set than yours.”

  I roll my eyes. “You mean more important?”

  “I’m just stating facts.” She holds up her fingers, ticking off each point. “I’m going to attend a college that accepts less than 10 percent of all applicants. I have a double major, a four-year program. A plan to attend graduate school after that. You have a road trip.”

  “Don’t forget surf school.” I raise my eyebrows a little mockingly. “You know how important continuing education is to me.”

  She shakes her head. “What do you have against college, anyway?”

  “Nothing against it. It’s just not for me.”

  “Because you haven’t thought ahead. You’ll miss out on so much.”

  She doesn’t know anything about missing out, about loss. About real life. Her words rub me like sandpaper. “What about you? What have you already missed out on?”

  She frowns. “Meaning what?”

  “What did you do in high school other than study? You don’t get those years back.”

  “Oh, and you had such a better experience because you went to parties and drank too much?”

  “I’m not saying it was better. I’m saying I was living in the moment. Playing baseball, hanging out with my buddies, going to dances…getting kicked out of dances.”

  She tilts her face higher so she can look down her nose at me. “A proud moment, I’m sure.”

  “Not proud. Not perfect,” I say. “But at least I was there. You were so busy going through the motions, so worried about what came next, you never saw what was going on around you.”

  “I did so,” she says. “I saw you, didn’t I?”

  “Smartest thing you did.”

  “S-Smartest?” she blusters. She holds out her hands like she’s weighing things. “National Merit Scholar or pool chicken with Anthony.”

  I shrug. “So a close second.”

  There’s a charged moment of silence, and then she lets out an exasperated sigh. “This is never going to last the full two weeks, is it?”

  “Not even close.” I push my chair back. “Start tomorrow night?”

  “We’ll meet here. That way I can tell my parents I’m going to the library without lying.”

  “Fine. You want to plan the first date?”

  She shakes her head. “I need more time to arrange things.”

  “Then I’ll start.” I stand and settle my chair under the table. “One bad date coming up.”

  Chapter Ten

  Anthony

  We’re back to being strangers. Acquaintances.

  She barely looks my way when I join the group at the visitor’s center. But I feel the crackle of energy between us, and from the way her shoulders tighten, I think she feels it, too. I don’t get it. I don’t get why it’s her?

  My only real girlfriend was Haley, and that was a long time ago. I asked Haley to our eighth grade graduation dance. I dressed in a suit, bought her a rose corsage, and kissed her behind the cafeteria. I kissed her behind a lot of buildings after that. We lost our virginity to each other freshman year.

  And then my dad got sick.

  After that, her touch made my skin crawl. It wasn’t just her—it was everyone. I didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be around other people. I felt like I was living inside a spider’s web, strands clinging to me, suffocating me. I couldn’t get free. Couldn’t breathe.

  Eventually, the feeling went away—or maybe I got used to it. But I didn’t want connections. Didn’t want strings tying me to anyone…pulling me toward a future I’d stopped believing in. I don’t know whether Haley understood what I couldn’t explain, but she found a good guy sophomore year and moved on.

  No more girlfriends after that. No strings.

  Until Mai.

  Now I’ve got strings attached with knots I can’t seem to loosen.

  I woke up at the crack of dawn and wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. It’s summer. What was I doing getting up to work in the desert? And then I thought about Mai. I was suddenly wide awake and feeling the same pull I felt all spring. So yeah, I’ve officially lost my mind. But not for long. I’ve been thinking up ideas for tonight that she’ll hate.

  Race go-karts. Water gun fight. Strip checkers.

  Maybe all three?

  Amber strides from the equipment shed with a bucket in each hand and nods a hello my way. Mallory and Ben are waiting off to one side, holding hands and wearing the suggested uniform of hiking pants and long-sleeve shirts. Grant is dressed the same and standing close to an over-dressed Mai.

  I amble forward in an old pair of jeans and an even older Cholla baseball tee. It’s not that I’m a rule breaker. It’s more that I don’t see the point of following most of them. I’ve got sunscreen and a hat on, gloves in my back pocket, and a CamelBak vest that holds two liters of water. Those make sense. The rest is about comfort, far as I’m concerned. I don’t see how Mai’s get-up can be comfortable. And with that ridiculous hat, she looks as out of place as a Christmas tree would up here. I get the feeling she’s not exactly at home in the desert. So why volunteer for a trail project?

  “Let’s get started,” Amber calls. She gestures for us to follow her up the paved track. After about a hundred yards, we turn onto a smaller trail wide enough for two, and the group pairs off. Ben and Mallory. Grant and Mai. Amber and me bringing up the rear. I reach for one of the buckets and realize it’s heavy with pruning shears. “Give me the other bucket, too.”

  “I got it.” She shoots me a smile as we start up the incline. She looks badass in camo and mud-caked hiking boots, but I get the feeling she’s good people. That’s what my dad would have said.

  “So what drew you to this project?” she asks. “You never did answer yesterday.”

  “Right.” I shoulder past a wide branch, hold it back for Amber to pass. I keep Mai in my sights. “You could say it was a certain fascination.”

  “You like the desert?”

  “I like the outdoors.” That’s not a lie. I look up from the dusty trail to the rocky terrain that rises in easy slopes, lit by the morning sun and smelling of peace. Freedom. “I biked a lot of these trails with my dad and brother.”

  “A mountain biker, huh?”

  “Used to be.”

  “It’s nice to know you used the trails. The more people who use the desert, get to appreciate it, the more people will want to take care of it.”

  “I hope so.”

  Green brush and scraggly trees make way for the spiky arms of Cholla cactus and a few towering Saguaros. We’re moving into a small valley between a range of mountains that stretch east to west. The slopes are usually a gray backdrop to the city, but we’ve had a lot of rain this spring, and everything is sprouting green. The ground is rockier here, and we keep our eyes on the trail, dust kicking up with every step. By the end of the three hours, I have a feeling we’ll all be covered in dirt.

  “You got a problem getting your hands dirty?” Amber asks, as if she can guess what I’m thinking.

  “Me? Not at all.” I grin. “But it’s usually oil under my nails, not dirt.”

  “You a car guy?”

  “I know my way under a hood, but I work construction. Mess around a little with welding projects.”

  “Cool.” She grins and points to my cuff. “Did you make that?”

  “I did.”

  “Correction,” she says. “Very cool. Bike chain, right?”

  We exchange a smile of understanding. “You bike, too?”

  “I do. Mostly road biking. I was
n’t lucky enough to grow up near trails like these.”

  She steps ahead, and I realize we’ve reached a clearing with trails on either side of us. “Here’s where we’ll be working for the next two weeks,” she says.

  The group shifts and forms a loose circle. I set down the bucket as Amber says, “Take a look around. The main ridge extends for miles, but there are places where other slopes rise up to meet it.” I see what she means. The mountain has two ridges here, like a double-sided staircase. The main ridge line is on our right, but there’s another slope on the left that takes you up in the same direction. In between is a U-shaped area where we’re standing now, patchy shade giving us a break from the sun.

  Amber sighs as she looks around. “People come out here, and they see a way up and don’t stop to consider whether it’s safe, stable, or whether it’s good for the mountain.”

  “How can a trail be bad for a mountain?” Mallory asks.

  “Trails mean wear and tear on the landscape. If a trail crops up in an area prone to erosion, then the ground will be even more unstable. We’ll lose part of the mountain to runoff when we get a hard rain.”

  “People die from trail erosion,” Ben says. He tucks his thumbs under his armpits. “Happens all the time at the Grand Canyon. People move to the edge of the trail for a picture and don’t realize the ground underneath is paper thin because of erosion. Their weight hits the rock shelf, rock shelf falls. Person falls. Death.”

  Mallory is smiling with pride. “Ben is writing a book on unusual deaths.”

  “I’m also including maimings and gross injury.”

  “He’s really talented.” Mallory hugs his arm.

  Ben’s chest swells. “I’ve been researching desert incidents since we signed up.”

  “Great,” Amber says in a voice that sounds like “not great.”

  I don’t miss Mai’s nervous shuffle as if the earth is going to collapse beneath her.

  “We won’t have to worry about that here,” Amber says. “We’re on firm ground.”

  “Unless we wander off,” Ben adds.

  Amber’s nod is slow, and when I catch her lips moving, I’m pretty sure she’s counting to ten. I can already tell I’m going to like her.