Page 54 of How to Be Remy Cameron

At the bottom of the bleachers, he turns, then says, “A little bird says you haven’t called him yet?”

“A little bird?”

“Okay,” he chuckles, “Ian’s more like a pelican.”

Every muscle in my face reacts to the sound of Ian’s name.

“He’s kind of weird,” I say.

“A good weird.”

“A good weird.” I agree, and when did this blushing thing become such a problem? Also, that last crack in my voice? Uncalled for.

“He was totally casual when he said it,” Brook says, his tone betraying him.

“Totally casual?”

“Mostly.” Then Brook gets serious, which usually frightens underclassmen, but I’ve seen this dude cry during Pixar movies. I’m immune. He says, “As his best friend, I’m authorized to harass you about these things.”

“What things?”

“You know,things.”

“Our friendship?”

“Yes, that.” Brook sighs loudly with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “But, also, because I’ve been his best friend for five years, so I know other things.”

I raise an eyebrow.Other thingsis a loose term, and I’m not about to out Ian if his best friend isn’t going to be clear.

Brook drags a hand down his face. He hesitates. “My weird-but-hilarious best friend has a boner for you. I’m politely—but in an I-will-kick-your-ass-if-you-play-him way—asking you to consider calling or texting him. Sometime soonish.”

I choke on my spit. Did Brook just respectfully threaten bodily harm? And why is my heart jumping like a kid ten seconds from overdosing on sugar in one of those bouncy houses?

“I, uh—” No, no, no. I’m not having this conversation. Remy Cameron is not dating this year.

But Brook’s foot taps on the grass, so I say, “Okay.”

“Okay? Seriously?”

“I’ll text.”

“Wow. Didn’t think that would work.”

My jaw drops, eyes widening. “You did just threaten to crush me like a Coke can.”

“I’d never do it,” Brook admits. “Lucy is savage when it comes to you.”

We share an amused look. It’s true. But out of all the guys Lucy’s dated, which isn’t many, I like Brook best. I think he feels the same about me. He starts toward the large oak tree where the bus stops but pauses. “This is all off the record, little dude.”

“Of course.”

“He’s a weirdo, but in a good way, I promise.”

It doesn’t take much effort for me to believe Brook. Unspoken trust. But I give him a nod for assurance, and then he’s gone. And I’m left on the bleachers, reconsidering my whole “Thou shall not date this year” philosophy.

All because of Ian Park.

14

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