Page 52 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
I let the phone drop into my lap and just stared at it, brain still buffering. Did that just happen? Did I somehow imagine it all? It felt like I sat there for hours, replaying it all, waiting for my brain to catch up to my heart.
He loved me.
And I totally blew it.
sixteen
On the morningsmy mom couldn’t drive me to school, it was always a little chaotic. I liked to sleep in as late as possible and snooze every single one of my alarms until I absolutely had to jump out of bed. Then, I’d pull on my uniform in record time, brush my teeth while also doing my hair, and run out the door while trying not to choke on my breakfast.
But today, when I ran outside, there was a car outside the front gates of my house. The same car, in fact, that I’d been driven home in yesterday. And Zach Miles was leaning against the passenger door of it.
I faltered in my step, suddenly wondering whether my uniform skirt was on straight and if I’d remembered to braid both sides of my hair because it was feeling a little lopsided. I actually ran a hand over my hair just to make sure that it was right, and sighed in relief when I determined I’d braided both.
Zach’s eyes came up to me just as I was coming down the path, reaching the end of the path andadjusting my skirt, because I wasn’t positive if it was on right.
“Hey,” he said.
I was pretty sure my mouth formed the syllable “hey,” but no noise came out. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I thought I’d give you a ride,” he said.
“Uh,” was all I responded because what exactly was I supposed to say when an internationally known pop star showed up at my house and told me that he wanted to drive me to school?
“Get in,” Zach said, apparently taking my random noises as a yes. He pushed off from the passenger door so that he could open it for me. I stared at the open door, then at him. I had to be on some sort of prank show, right? I mean, there was no way that Zach Miles was offering me a second ride in as many days. That just didn’t happen. Not to girls like me.
The fact that he went to my school at all was weird enough, but this? This was just over the top.
“That’s okay,” I stammered out. “I can catch my usual bus, and you?—”
His eyes landed on my hand, and I looked down as well. My fingers were still purple and bruised, swollen.
“You shouldn’t have to take the bus with your hand like that,” he said.
“My hand being hurt has no impact on how I take the bus.”
“Does it hurt?”
I stared at him for much longer than was probably socially appropriate, wondering what exactly his anglewas here. Did he really feel that bad about the situation? Because it hadn’t really been his fault. Somebody had pushed him and he’d fallen into me. Things happened. It wasn’t his fault that I had my hand in the locker or that he’d pushed me at just the right angle to slam it closed with my hand It was just an unfortunate set of events.
“No,” I lied. “Anyway, I should get going to catch my bus.”
“Just get in the car.” His voice was a little more forceful now, like he was exasperated—with himself or with me, I couldn’t tell. He blinked, showing off his long, luscious eyelashes. It wasn’t fair that guys always had the nicer eyelashes, and they didn’t appreciate it ever. “I don’t want to think about you being on the bus with your hand like that, when I could just be driving you. I’m already here, so just get in.”
“Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to kidnap me?”
“If I wanted to kidnap you, I wouldn’t have given you the choice. I would have just grabbed you as soon as you walked out.”
“Yeah, like you could take me. I could fight you off, no problem.” I held up my metal travel mug full of coffee. “This is practically a weapon.”
He raised his eyebrows, looking both amused and unimpressed at the same time.
“Well, I’d say let’s put it to the test, but I really don’t want you to call the cops on me for trying to kidnap you,” he said. “Plus, then my manager would be upset, and you know, even if you didn’t actually get me in trouble, if anybody saw me trying to kidnap a girl, they might get the wrong impression.”
“Can’t do anything to ruin the image,” I said teasingly. But inside, my heart sank a little. Of course, that was why he was offering me a ride, and that was why he was so careful to take me to the nurse’s office yesterday. All of it must have been about his reputation.
If people saw that I was hurt yesterday and he had just ignored me like those girls wanted, then that would have looked bad on him. The other girls in the hallway would have noticed and tweeted about how Zach Miles had been rude to a fan. And then the hate campaign would start, everybody telling him how terrible he was for doing what he did, even though he hadn’t actually really done anything wrong.
I wondered if he planned for people to see us this morning. If he’d thought about what it was going to look like when we pulled into the parking lot at school and everyone had their eyes on us. I didn’t like the idea at all—I hated being the center of attention, in a positive or negative way.
