Page 25 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
If there was one thing I hated even more than trying to have a conversation with five strangers, it was being stuck in a crowd of a hundred of them. As girls started pouring in from the door, someone grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the back door of the shop. It took me a second to realize the hand on my arm wasZach’s.
“What are you…” My voice was pretty much drowned out by the sound of girls calling on the boys’ names.
“I suggest you run before this place fills with fans,” Zach yelled over the sound. “I’d hate to see you get trampled.”
“But I…” I didn’t know what I was going to say.But I can’t leave you here?How stupid did that sound? Besides, he was obviously used to this kind of stuff and I definitely was not. It was for the best I got out of here.
He practically shoved me out the door and into the cold fall air. I might have been offended if I wasn’t too busy learning to breathe again now that we weren’t surrounded.
“It was good seeing you again, Ivy,” he said with a wink. My heart stopped beating and by the time it started again, the door was closed and he was gone.
seven
It tookme over an hour to get home. My data plan sucked so I couldn’t connect to Maps while I was walking, which left me wandering aimlessly around Bibridge, trying to find my street. But since Mom only made me memorize the name of our street and not the name of any of the streets around it, that was a little easier said the done. By the time I actually found my block, I was so delirious from hunger that I almost didn’t recognize it.
I groaned as I stumbled inside and kicked off my shoes. I didn’t dare to look at myself in the mirror—I didn’t need to do that to know that I probably looked like I rolled out of bed and immediately ran a marathon without any training.
“Stupid new school,” I muttered to myself as I raided the kitchen for snacks. “Stupid new town. Stupid new house.”
We were abysmally low on food, but I managed to find a bag of chips tucked in the back of the pantrybehind some cans of beans that I swore we’d been dragging from house to house for the past five years. Could beans go bad? Eh, I guess it didn’t matter if we were never going to eat them anyway.
My backpack slid off my shoulder and landed on the ground with a loud thump, narrowly missing my foot. After that walk home, I didn’t have the energy to bend down and pick it up, so I just left it there and dragged myself to the stairs, which I swore grew while I was at school.
Seriously, when did this staircase become as tall as Everest?
I was strongly debating setting up camp and attempting the climb after dinner, until I remembered that we still didn’t have a couch in our living room because of some issue with the furniture delivery company. So my choices were either forcing my way upstairs and getting to lay down on my warm, comfy bed, or collapsing on the hardwood floor down here.
It was a hard choice, honestly.
Which was probably a sign I should get in shape.
My legs were so exhausted from the walk home that I practically pulled myself up using the railing and by the time I was upstairs, my whole body was shaking from the exertion.
Okay, Idefinitelyneeded to get in shape.
But I could deal with that tomorrow.
For now, I wandered into my room and collapsed face-first on the bed with another groan.
“Hey Siri,” I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. I waited for the phone to ding so I knew it actuallyunderstood me—impressive that it could with the way I was sitting—then said, “Call Poppy.”
“Got it,” the robotic voice replied. “Calling Not Zesty.”
“Who?” It took a second for my mind to catch up with what it said and I jolted up. “Wait, wait, no!”
Too late. The phone was ringing. I dove for it, ready to slam my hand on the “hang up” button but then I realized he would get the notification regardless. He would see the missed call and think that Imeantto call him. Possibly even call me back.
No, no, no, no.
“Okay, it’s okay,” I told myself, once again trying to channel Poppy’s calm, everything-will-be-alright energy. I wasn’t very good at it. I was stuck between wanting to press it and wondering if him answering would be better, since at least then, I could explain. “I’ll just tell him it was an accident. That’s all. Everything will be fine.”
Who was I kidding? Everything would most certainly not be fine. He wasn’t going to answer anyway. No matter what, I was going to have to send him an “oops, didn’t mean to call you!” text and hope that he wouldn’t think I was that freak who tried to call him after three texting conversations.
Then the phone clicked, and he went, “Hello?”
Suddenly, I forgot how to speak. My mouth went completely dry. What if he only thought I was fun over text? Or what if something about calling him like this ruined whatever friendship wehad going right now? But then he said, “Hello?” again, and I knew I had to say something.
So I stammered out, “Hi.” Then, because I was the most awkward person alive, I had to awkwardly tack on, “Not Zesty.”
