How to Quit Your Crush Page 6

  “Let’s get back to our job.” She gestures to the trail on our left. “A trail like this gets started by one or two hikers, and next thing you know, you’ve got all kinds of people using it, creating what we call a bootleg or a spur trail.”

  Yep. I’m one of those people. I’ve used this trail more than a few times over the years because halfway up is a dirt outcropping where you can look out over the valley. It’s pretty, and it’s a good spot to drink a few beers with your buddies if you’re underage.

  “During the next two weeks, we’re going to close this off,” Amber explains. “We’re going to improve the trail on the right and do our best to steer people to it.”

  The group shifts, eyes rising to follow the bits of visible trail. I watch Mai tilt her ridiculous hat lower. The strap is cinched so tight under her neck she’s going to have a dent there. I’d like to kiss it tonight and make it better. The thought makes me smile, and it takes a second for me to realize Grant is watching me. I look away, but not before I catch a look of suspicion on his face. Is he protective of his family friend? Or is it more? Not that it matters. He’s exactly the kind of guy she wants long term.

  “So the trail is already there?” Grant asks.

  “It is. There’s been some damage from rains, and the brush has grown over the trail in spots. Nothing we can’t fix with a little sweat labor.” She turns to face us. “That’s why we brought pruning shears. The plan is to fix the sanctioned trail first and then close off the bootleg. That way we keep local hikers happy. Today, you’ll get a lay of the land while we trim the overgrown vegetation. We’ll start at the top and work our way down. We’ll use these buckets to collect some of the cuttings—you’ll see why tomorrow. Everyone here is in good shape, so thirty minutes should get us all to the top.”

  “Can we get lost on the way?” Mai asks.

  “Not really,” Amber answers. “It’s one trail down here. At the top, there’s a series of spider trails. We’re going to close those to keep people from wandering off.”

  “Does that happen here?” Mai again. “People wander off?”

  I’m wondering what’s behind the questions. From the thread of worry running through her voice, they’re not random.

  “Not often, but when people get lost, it’s because they’ve left the main trail.”

  Mai nods, but I know her well enough to know that she didn’t like that answer. Yeah, Mai is buttoned-up. Cautious. But she’s also got a streak of fearlessness. I’ve watched it flare to life in her brown eyes since the day I asked her to be my pool chicken partner. What’s got her so spooked now?

  Amber points the way, and we start the climb. I drink from the mouthpiece of my water vest, taking in a few swallows while I wait for Mallory and Ben to move ahead. My head is aching from the sun and the early hour and a few too many beers. I stayed up late playing video games with Cooper and Tucker. When I tried to leave early, they gave me a rash of shit. I had to come clean about volunteering. They thought I’d lost my mind. Hard to argue. If I’d told them about Mai, they would have been certain. The guys love Mai, but they never got the two of us together.

  I didn’t, either.

  We have almost nothing in common—from the way we were brought up to the way we want to live our lives. Mai has a list of rules that stretch from what you should eat to what you should wear to what you should do with your spare time. (You should have no spare time.) But we never ran out of things to talk about during the weeks we were together. It wasn’t the usual school stuff. Baseball and classes and who was partying where over the weekend. I tried to care about all that, but I’d come home every afternoon to a house with my dad in an urn, and I couldn’t figure out why any of it mattered.

  It was different with Mai. We talked about weird things that I kept in my head but never shared with anyone. Like how sailors steered ships by the stars and a yellow moon must have looked like a God to the first people. How living algae could grow on dead rock and how iron is part of the earth and part of the human body and how the hell is that even possible? How freckles seem random but what if they were actually constellations from another galaxy? I kissed every freckle on her arm that night before she grabbed my hair and pulled me to her lips.

  The one thing we never talked about was the future. We didn’t have to; we knew we were going in different directions. I never thought beyond each day with her, but it still burned like hell when she told me I was a distraction from what mattered. I know the only reason it bothered me so much was because the attraction hadn’t burned out.

  That won’t happen this time. This time around, we’re going to short out the buzz of electricity for good. I’m going to walk away from Mai and never look back.

  A sudden scream echoes down the path.

  Mai?

  Chapter Eleven

  Mai

  Snake!

  The word explodes in my brain at the same second a scream rips from my throat. I jerk back hard. Rocks skitter from under my boots as I bang into something. Someone. Grant’s arms come up and steady me from behind.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “No, I’m not okay,” I cry, my knees wobbling, my skin crawling. The others are there, just behind me—Amber, Mallory, Ben. Then suddenly a shape comes vaulting up from my right, feet hitting the hillside to pass the others, stopping just in front of me.

  Relief surges. Anthony.

  “What is it?” He’s breathing hard, his big body tensed and ready—putting himself between me and the snake.

  “There!” I point a shaking finger.

  He raises a hand to keep me back. As if I’d move forward. The snake is in the middle of the trail, stretched across the dirt.

  Except.

  I blink, my heart thundering as Anthony steps closer and…and…

  Oh Lord.

  Anthony kicks at it, and the snake is suddenly, obviously, a thick brown stick that clatters harmlessly across the trail.

  “A stick?” I say in a choked voice.

  Mallory giggles behind me.

  Amber gives me a quick pat on the back. “Happens all the time. Darn sticks can look like a snake if you’re not paying attention.”

  A stick? My breath is heavy as the words finally penetrate. It looked so real. For a minute, I was seven years old again. Lost. The sound of a rattler so clear in my head.

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I feel so stupid—I hate feeling stupid. Especially because I was paying attention. It feels like I haven’t blinked in over twenty minutes in case I missed something.

  “Hey.” Anthony’s voice is low and works its way under the churning in my head. I can see his fingers twitching near my hand. I curl my fingers away from him. He can’t hold my hand even though I would really, really like that right now. “You okay?” he asks.

  “An effing stick.”

  He smiles, relief in the breath that whooshes out. Something sparks silver in his hand, and I realize he’s holding a knife. My mouth hangs open. “You carry a knife?”

  He presses a spot on the handle, and the blade retracts. “I do.”

  Grant steps closer. “Is that legal?”

  “Yeah, it’s legal,” Anthony says.

  “And practical.” Amber nods her agreement. “They tend to come in handy when Mother Nature decides to throw you a curve.”

  Grant doesn’t look happy with the answer, giving Anthony another long stare. I don’t blame him. It’s not like we hang out with people who carry knives—even if they are pocket knives. It’s just more proof that Anthony comes from a different world than we do.

  I’ve never seen anyone handle a knife before—not like that, like it’s part of him. I’m not sure how it makes me feel. My gaze drops to his hands. To the scars across his fingers. Maybe he gets into fights. Maybe he has a violent past I don’t know about. Except… I feel safe with him. I always have.
>
  There’s no way I’d let anything happen to you.

  It’s not just his words I hear again. It’s the fierce way he said them. He heard me scream and he raced up here, and he was ready to use a knife if he had to.

  For me.

  Warmth slides down my spine to my core. I don’t want to feel warm. I want to feel uncomfortable about the knife. I want to look at Anthony and not feel…warm.

  “Just so everyone knows,” Amber is saying, “I also carry a pocketknife.” She pulls the folded knife from her pocket and shows it around. “Everyone good with that?”

  Ben raises a hand like we’re in class. “Did you know pocket knives are responsible for—”

  Amber interrupts. “Will this be a helpful comment related to trail maintenance?”

  He pulls down his hand. “No.”

  “Then you can share it with anyone interested on your time. Right now, this is my time.” She hoists her bucket of shears. “Follow me.”

  Grant lags behind with me while I take a drink. “You sure you’re all right?”

  I adjust my hat so my face is shaded on all sides. “I’m fine. I’m just embarrassed.”

  “No reason to be. I’m not a fan of snakes, either.”

  His smile is nice. Everything about him is. We’ve never been anything but friends, but I’ve always thought of him as the ideal. As in: When I find a guy, he’ll be like Grant Ellison. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him? I bet it would be nice, too. Nice is good. Nice is what I should want.

  What I feel around Anthony is churning and achy and upside down and not nice.

  “A guy who reacts that fast is used to trouble,” Grant says, and I don’t need to follow the line of his gaze to know he means Anthony. “You can tell that by looking at him.”

  We’ve just made the turn in the trail, and Anthony is waiting up ahead. Grant is right. He looks like trouble. Legs planted wide. Wicked-looking cuff dangling above a fist. Dirty T-shirt and beat-up jeans. Every muscle tense including one that flexes in his jaw. A stance that doesn’t look like he understands the words, Back up. And I still like him so much more than I should.

  I concentrate on stepping around a boulder.

  “What do you know about him?” Grant asks.

  My pulse skips. “I mean. The basics. Why?”

  “It’s weird. Seems like he’s always watching you.”

  “Oh. Um.” A new wave of heat creeps up my neck and into my face. “I’m sure he isn’t. It’s just that we know each other from school.”

  “Seems like more than that.”

  We also rounded second base together. I flush at the wayward thought. “We have friends in common.”

  “Is that how you met?”

  “Kind of. Not really.” I decide to stick to as much of the truth as I can. “It was an accident. Spring break. Community pool. I got dragged into a game he was playing.”

  Call me Killer.

  I still can’t believe I said that. Or that I didn’t get dragged into anything. I said yes. Me, sensible Mai, climbed onto the shoulders of a guy I didn’t even know. The memory still fills me with a rush of embarrassment. But also, it was possibly the most fun I had in four years of high school.

  Grant seems to be waiting for more of an explanation, but I can’t say any of that to him. I don’t want him to think I’m the kind of girl who does reckless. Who liked reckless. A lot. Instead, I say, “I doubt we’ll see each other again after this project is over.”

  “Right,” he says. “Why would you?”

  My eyes search for Anthony, watching as he kicks up dust striding between cactus and brush. My stomach flutters again. “No good reason at all.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mai

  “So how is the trail project going?” Josie asks. “Anything exciting I should know about?”

  For a split second, I think, She knows! She can read my face, and it’s screaming, Liar! Flingerer!

  Is “flingerer” a word?

  But she doesn’t know about Anthony or she wouldn’t be calmly stacking papers together for the summer baseball league she’s helping coach. She always thought my Anthony-crush was a mistake. Which it is. I still feel terrible not telling her, but I will as soon as it’s over. She hands me a packet. “Sooooo?”

  I realize I still haven’t answered. “Nothing too exciting.” I fold the papers into thirds and stuff them into envelopes. “Oh. I didn’t tell you. Grant Ellison is in the group.”

  “Grant?” She frowns, and then her expression clears. “The family friend, right? Lives in Scottsdale. You compete from afar?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I slide my stool down a foot, avoiding a shaft of sunlight through Josie’s kitchen window. It’s another triple-digit day, and this is the hottest part—nearly five in the afternoon—and even the granite countertops reflect the heat. “My mom told his mom I’d signed up for the trail project, so he did, too.”

  “Really?” Josie gives me a speculative look. “I thought he has a girlfriend.”

  “Had.”

  “Ooh, this is getting more interesting.”

  I flip a stuffed envelope on the pile. “We’re working on trails. Not flirting.”

  “You can do both. You’re talented that way.” She hands me a new stack. “You like him?”

  “I do.” I stuff another envelope and consider all things Grant. Once I’m over Anthony, I think I’ll like him even more.

  “You’ve always said he’s your twin in life.”

  “Turns out he’s my hot twin.”

  “Even better.”

  I grin, just happy to be in Josie’s kitchen. “So how is baseball camp?”

  “Excellent. Coach is great—gives me a ton of responsibility. The boys are mostly great, too. A few troublemakers but I’ve had practice dealing with ornery players.”

  “Your boyfriend, for instance?”

  Her smile turns dopey, like it always does when she’s thinking about Garrett. “That reminds me,” she says. “There’s a party Saturday night. We’re invited. The guys will all be there.”

  “The guys?” My pulse skips because I know exactly who the guys are.

  “They’ve been stopping by to help out at the camp. Cooper, Tucker—Anthony was going to, but I guess something came up in the mornings.”

  “Probably working.” I fold the last pages carefully, keeping my eyes down, while guilt gnaws a hole through my stomach. I know she’s wondering if I’m really over him. She’s worried about me, and I’m lying to her.

  “You can invite Grant if you want. I’d love to meet him.”

  “It’s not really like that. At least, not yet.”

  “It might be by Saturday. Even if it isn’t, you’re still coming.” Josie straightens the pile of envelopes. “I’ve rescinded my invitation, and now I’m issuing an order.”

  “Isn’t that bossy of you.”

  “Coach gave me a whistle. I feel all-powerful.”

  My phone beeps with a text. I check the screen, and my breath catches.

  Anthony: B there at 6

  This is it. Operation Over Him. I shift on my stool and type:

  Me: Fine.

  “Who is that?”

  I look up and find Josie staring at me.

  “Oh. Um.” I slide the phone away. “It’s my roommate for next year.” The words spring from some part of my brain that is surprisingly quick with a lie. I had no idea. “She’s bringing an espresso machine for our room.” She actually is, which is why it pops into my head. I’m saved from more lies—or, even worse, the truth—when the door from the garage opens.

  Ms. Walters comes in carrying two grocery bags. “Hello, Mai,” she says. “It’s nice to see you. I’ve got plenty if you want to stay for dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I need to go.”<
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  I hug Josie at the door. “We’re on for Saturday.” By then, I’m hoping I can tell her everything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mai

  He’s parked in the back lot of the library as requested. I park two spots down. I don’t even want our cars to be seen together. I sprint to his car, open the door partway, slide in, and close it so fast I nearly lose a finger. I’m breathing so hard, I’m a little dizzy.

  Anthony is leaning against his door, annoyingly relaxed. “You trying out for secret agent?”

  “I don’t want to be seen.”

  “Then don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  I scowl, annoyed. He’s smiling, and I’m all sweaty and nervous. He’s probably used to illicit meetings. Me, I’ve barely functioned all day. This, I remind myself, is what it would be like with him all the time. No calm. Never sure what to expect. This kind of stress is how people end up with ulcers and heart attacks.

  I set my purse on the dusty floorboard. I just saw him this morning, but the sight of him still makes my skin feel too warm. Is he using pheromones? I’ve read about scents that supposedly attract a woman’s sexual receptors. I never believed it, but now I’m not so sure. Or maybe it’s the whole bad boy vibe. I read up on that, too. Why girls are drawn to dangerous men. Anthony has cleaned up, but there’s still an element of danger in the shaggy hair, the intensity of his dark eyes, the muscles pulling against his shirt. The smile that hints at an unpredictability I should hate but don’t.

  That annoys me too, so when I say, “Hello,” it comes out sounding angry.

  “You mad about something?”

  “Yes. I’m mad that I’m even here. Tonight better be awful.”

  He grins. “It will be.”

  I look him over again. “You’re wearing that shirt.”

  “So?”

  He looks down at the purple tee. It says Mechanical Engineer beneath a row of metal gears. It’s the shirt he was wearing the first night we kissed. It was a few days after the first party at Jason’s house. We were sitting in his car, a half-moon shining through the windshield, the sound of my heart drowning out everything else. My first kiss. Ever. The nerves I expected. The awkwardness, definitely. Me fisting that purple tee and pulling him closer, not so much.