Page 56 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
I still had no idea. Not even close. I didn’t know anything about Not Zesty—not his actual name, what he looked like, or really, any proof that he was even a real person. I picked up my phone, scrolling through all our random, late-night banter that somehow never got old. Talking to him was just easy. The same way it had been feeling, lately, with Zach. But still, I had no reason to believe he was the boy sitting across from me except for one word. But if this was him…
If this was him, he was the one.
I put the phone back down and rested my chin on my hand as I watched him again. When he looked up a minute later, I tried very hard to not look like I’d just been staring at him the whole time his head was down. Which was hard to do, because how did you show someone you weren’t staring at them? I probably looked like when someone said “act natural!” and everyone struck the most unnatural pose in the world.
Coming to cheer me on?
100%. Forced her to get the tickets
Hopefully I don’t disappoint
We stared at each other for a beat, his lips quirking in a way that made him look almost nervous. My response was simple:
Never.
He gave me one of his rare grins, and I prayed that he couldn’t see the way it made me blush. I didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to lose my chance to see the smile that came out so infrequently, but he looked away first anyway. The door opened behind him and all I could see was a shadow of someone. He looked over his shoulder and shook his head, like he was talking to them. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay here forever—I was sure he needed to start getting ready for the concert soon—I knew I definitely did—so I quickly turned the page of my notebook to give him one last message. He looked back just as I finished writing my message and pointed a thumb over his shoulder, like he was saying he had to go. I nodded but quickly held up my sign:
Break a leg
He mouthed thank you as hestood up. I didn’t move from my spot, even as I watched him step away. And then my hands started moving of their own accord, writing something before I could think it through. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until I looked at it and saw the words staring back at me.
I LOVE YOU
I couldn’t hold it up. I couldn’t tell him unless I knew for sure who he was. That he felt the same way. And it didn’t matter anyway, because when I looked up again, Zach was gone and his curtains drawn. I bit my lip and dragged my finger across the page. I guess this would just have to wait.
eighteen
As it turned out,deciding what to wear to the concert of a boy you thought you might be in love with was harder than I ever could have imagined.
“Just wear the short skirt,” Poppy said for the third time. She was practically buried under the pile of rejected clothes I’d been throwing on the bed. “It looks good on you.”
“But is it good enough?” I asked. I pulled the skirt on again over my dark tights and spun around in front of the mirror. It was a little jean skirt that Poppy thought it looked great, but I wasn’t so convinced.
Poppy rolled her eyes and groaned, falling back on my bed, practically using two of my sweaters as a pillow. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s just a stupid concert. The skirt looks cute.”
I rubbed my clammy palms down my legs and grimaced. “Okay, but does it actually look cute? Or are you justsayingit looks cute because you think nobody will see us?”
She rolled her eyes again. Honestly it was her top talent, along with sighing. Little sisters were great for that.
“Look,” she said. She got to her feet and started digging through my closet, throwing clothes over her shoulder. I saw my favorite tank top, which I deemed too cold to wear, fly across the room, quickly followed by the floral dress that was too dressed up for a concert. Exactly where was the fine line between cute and crazy when dressing up for a crush? I didn’t know.
I fell into Poppy’s abandoned spot on the bed as I waited, my leg jiggling nervously as I waited. She’d decided to full on assault my wardrobe at this point. I may as well redo my closet clean out at this point with how many clothes were strewn over my floor, my desk chair and my bed.
I was startled when Poppy threw a shirt at me. Not to. At me. Like it landed on my face then fell to my feet. It reminded me the day Zach gave me his clothes and my heart clenched.
“You wear that shirt,” she said. I saw her grabbing something else and I opened my hands in time for her next throw. For goodness sake. “And these boots. Then the jean skirt and a leather jacket to pull it all together.” Her hands landed on her hips as she smiled at me triumphantly. I just stared helplessly at the clothes in my hands—a simple white crop top and black boots—and wondered again if it was good enough. Would anything be good enough for this moment? “It will look amazing, I promise.”
I collected up the stuff she’d thrown to me—asimple white crop top and black ankle boots—and wondered if she was right. Poppy was always my go-to person for fashion advice since anything she wore looked fresh out of a magazine. She always gave off the vibes oflook good, feel good. I just didn’t know if looking good was enough for me tonight. This was an important day. More important than she knew, because I hadn’t told her everything about it. It was my own fault that she didn’t know about Zach, but I knew if I told her about him, she would freak out about how I was going to be marrying a T5 boy or something. And I couldn’t deal with her freaking out, because I was too busy freaking out myself.
“Fine,” I said finally, mostly because I glanced at the clock and realized if I did another round of sifting through my closet, there was no chance we’d get there on time and Poppy would kill me if we were late.
I pulled on the clothes while she headed downstairs to order an Uber for us, but I hesitated as I reached for the jacket Poppy had suggested. She was right that it would look perfect, but it wasn’t right. I shuffled through my array of clothes all over my room in a panic. It had to be here somewhere–and it had to be that one sweater.
“Ivy!” Poppy called from downstairs and I was about ready to give up when I throw a pair of jeans to the floor from my bed and I spotted it.
Zip-up sweater. Black with a faded logo on the front. Soft and smelling of him.
Zach’s sweater.
