Page 55 of Best Friends for Never

I freeze, almost like I’ve been hit by some fancy, techy, time-freezing ray gun straight out ofSpider-Manor something.

Apparently Noel’s been hit with it, too, because he sits unmoving. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with wide eyes.

I hold my breath. Maybe if I’m not breathing, he’ll forget I’m here, and maybe if he forgets I’m here, he can forget I just said that.

MaybeIcan forget I just said that.

Ugh, whydidI say that? What the heck was I thinking? What the heck ishethinking?

Then slowly, he blinks, and I suck in a desperate breath.

“Parker, I—”

“I have to go,” I announce, shoving out of my chair. It’s loud and undoubtedly draws attention, but I don’t dare look back to find out. Or stick around, for that matter.

I push through the crowd and bolt out the front door, leaving behind my untouched lunch and Noel calling after me.

But I have to. I can’t face him, not after what I just said.

And not after meaning it so much.

Chapter Nine

Noel

You! I want you!

Those four words have been playing on a loop for the last week. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, like having a conversation with Gran. They’re stuck.

“—then Jackie Peeps said the Carolina Comets were taking the Cup this year, but I told her she’d been smoking too much of that whacky tobaccy and that the Seattle Serpents had it in the bag—”

You! I want you!

“Noel?”

You! I want you!

“Bub?”

You! I want you!

“Noel Benjamin Carter!”

I whip my head toward Gran. “What now, Lou Lou?”

She scowls at me, and I’m unsure if it’s because I called herLou Louor because I wasn’t paying a lick of attention to what she was just talking about. “Boy, I swear ...” She shakes her mixing spoon at me, then turns back to the task at hand—baking enough to feed an army.

She’s been in the kitchen baking away for tonight’s raffle, which means the house has smelled amazing for days, and I’ve not been allowed to eat any of the delicious treats.

An absolute travesty, if you ask me.

It is almost as big a travesty as having Parker so close and not seeing her for a week. We’ve slipped right back into our old habit of ignoring one another, which is unfortunate, because I got a good ass chewing from my agent about extending my stay. But Aaron being Aaron, he made it work. He’s already started fielding the questions that have popped up thanks to the photos of me some of the local high schoolers are posting on Instagram and canceled the red-carpet appearances and two interviews I had. All I have to do in exchange is read a script he’s been trying to get into my hands for weeks.

It’s the last thing I want to do, but it’ll all be worth it if I can get Parker to talk to me.

When I saw her getting pie at Fran’s on Saturday morning, she ran out the back door. When I saw her Tuesday morning at the town rummage sale, she hid under the booth where she was working. By Wednesday, I was wiped from helping out with various things around town—Gran had a whole list for me—so I stopped by Bigfoot’s Hideaway for a drink, and I could have sworn it was Parker who disappeared through the kitchen doors and was never seen again.

On Thursday, I stopped looking for her, because one thing was clear—she would run no matter what.

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