Willy Wonka: Thanks for the therapy session. You’re a good friend, control freak.
I remember asking myself why the word “friend” bothered me so much. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t. Why else would he sneak into my room all worried after I came home looking sad? He was just checking on his friend. I dismissed the sinking feeling in my gut and texted back.
Kass: Anytime, Willy
I don’t understand why I experienced these weird emotions then, and I definitely don’t understand why I’m experiencing them now. The words he said to me the night we broke into Alex’s backyard roar into my brain.
“I said I don’t do love, control freak. I never said I don’t fuck.”
Of course he’d a have a regular friend with benefits. I’m not sure what I expected. My phone lights up with a new text, zapping me out of Alex’s hot tub and back into the school’s busy cafeteria within seconds.
Speaking of the devil.
Willy Wonka: What are you doing tonight say 9ish?
I delete the conversation impulsively, loathing my own pettiness. He’s been texting me like this since we “slept” together. Every day, I get a “Good morning, control freak,” a few messages throughout the day, and a good-night. Although our good-night usually come at 3:00 a.m. once we’re done talking nonsense.
Will blamed our never-ending messages on insomnia, said it’s a recurring problem with him. I claimed I couldn’t sleep either when in reality my eyes were as heavy as concrete.
I’ve barely seen him since the night he snuck into my room, but I have art class with him last period. Isn’t that great? I’ll get to picture him banging Callie Cooper for a whole hour. Kissing her, twisting her hair around his fist as he…
My phone goes off again.
Willy Wonka: And you better not give me a shitty excuse like you gave Luke.
I delete his text once more.
I do feel bad about bailing on Luke. But I knew going to that date would mean leading him on, so I told him I was sick with food poisoning. That didn’t stop him from continuing to text me. He even asked me out a second time. I had to tell him I was swamped with homework and I’d let him know if my schedule clears up—notice my usage of if instead of when here. I don’t know how to make it clearer that I’m not interested without rejecting him, and he’s still my boss’s nephew.
Twenty minutes go by.
A third text comes through.
Willy Wonka: U there :(
I’m burying my phone into my back pocket when Zoey suggests we go enjoy what’s left of our lunch break. We vacate our table, following a stream of students out of the dining hall. Winter says she’ll catch up with us later and walks off.
I’m treading into my art classroom an hour later. I scan the room, the nuisance in my chest sinking like a rock. Will’s not here yet—emphasize on yet. Let’s just say I’ve never wanted to cut class more than in this very moment.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Morgan pops up beside me.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re mad. You’ve been mad since lunch. Something’s going on. Spill.”
I lecture myself for being so transparent.
“I… I was just thinking about my dad,” I lie.
She buys it. “He still hasn’t called?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sure he’s just been busy. Or the mystery woman didn’t tell him you called. There has to be a good explanation for this.”
I appreciate my best friend’s efforts at salvaging what’s left of my relationship with my father, but I can’t make excuses for him anymore. He doesn’t care.
Not about me.
Not about Kendrick.
Not about anyone.
“Yeah…” My smile wavers. “I’m sure he has a good reason.”
“How about he’s a pile of fuming shit who doesn’t deserve what he has?”
My pulse speeds up at the sound of his voice. I spin around, only to be met with beautiful, dark, unreadable ocean eyes.
Will’s.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, invading my space until his mouth hovers near my ear.
“Check your texts,” he says, his breath grazing my skin.
Fuck off, shivers.
Then he walks away.
I don’t move a muscle, my brain lagging for a moment too long before I snap out of it and make eye contact with Morgan.
That’s when I see her O-shaped mouth.
Translation: I am so busted.
“Oh my God…” Her eyes grow two sizes. “It’s him.”
“What are you talking about?” I clear my throat, struggling to regain my composure and saunter toward the teacher’s desk to collect my project. She doesn’t miss a beat, shadowing my every move.
“He’s the dude you’ve been texting when you think we’re not looking,” she shrieks.
For crying out loud, how does she see everything?
“What dude?” I play dumb.
“What kind of moron do you take me for? I thought maybe it was Luke, but then this. It all makes sense. You’re into this Will guy. That’s why you were pissed at lunch!” You’d think she’s about to pat her own shoulder for putting the pieces together.
I pretend I didn’t hear her so that I don’t have to refute her crazy claims and dig through the jumble of projects on Ms. Janet’s desk. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge what she just said, it will be like it never happened. I refuse to consider, for even a fragment of a second, that she might be right.
That I could be dense enough to have a crush on Will.
It’s one thing to be attracted to him—to have a natural, physical reaction to a sinfully hot guy—but a crush?
A whole damn crush?
Nope. Sorry. Not happening. Try again later.
That’s Will.
You don’t fall for a guy like Will.
Guys like Will never catch you…
I practically race to our table, cutting Detective Morgan’s investigation short,
