Page 50 of Better Than the Movies
He glanced over again, his expression unreadable as we walked up to the entrance of the ER. Just before the doors opened, he said, “You don’t seriously think his fingertippiness was a thing, do you?”
“How should I know?” I shivered in the cold and wondered why Wes all of a sudden seemed a little cynical. “It could’ve been.”
He let out a noise that was a cross between an exhalation and a groan. “How are you so bad at reading signals?”
“Wha—”
“Liz.” My dad stepped out through the hospital doors and rushed at me, his face harsh with worry. “We were literally at the theater across the street. How’s the nose?”
We went through the doors, and Helena, waiting beside the check-in desk, glanced at Wes and gave me a funny smile. Which immediately stressed me out on top of everything. The last thing I wanted was my dad to be looped into the false narrative of me and Wes being a thing.
Wes was nice to them and did the small-talk thing for a few, but he didn’t really even look at me the rest of the time. When he left, he said, “Later, Buxbaum,” and just kind of threw his arm up in a wave before disappearing.
I wasn’t sure what to think. He couldn’t bemadat me, could he? Why the weirdness? Was it all in my head?
I texted Joss about my nose (leaving out any Michael references, of course) while we waited for the doctor, because I knew she’d appreciate the ridiculous story. Her response:
Joss: Wes Bennett took you to the hospital??
Me: Yeah, but he was my ride so it was no big deal.
It felt good to text her about my nose, probably because it was safe territory. It had nothing to do with senior year—her obsession—and nothing to do with my Michael scheme.
Joss: SO?? OMG! Methinks Mr. Bennett has a crush…
So much for safe. I knew it was weird, but as I sat there on thepaper-covered exam table, I missed my best friend pre–senior year. I missed being silly and obnoxious and 100 percent myself without having to dodge unwelcome emotional conversations.
Me: Shut up—I have to go.
Joss: Will Monday work for dress shopping since there’s no school?
See? I missed being able to text more than one sentence before stress and conflict came into our conversations. I felt like the total worst, but it didn’t stop me from texting:
Me: I think I have to work—SERIOUSLY—don’t be mad.
Joss: Shut up—I have to go, loser.
Ugh.I really needed to do the shopping thing before her feelings got hurt. Joss was a strong person with a lot of opinions, but underneath her stubbornness she was sweet and extremely sentimental.
Which was why weusuallygot along so well—we both were.
The doctor finally came in, and after poking and prodding my tender beak, she determined it wasn’t broken. She said it would look normal in a day or two, so I only had to Potato-Head it for a couple days. By the time we got home, it was eleven and I was exhausted. I showered and crawled under my covers, and was almost asleep when my phone buzzed.
I rolled over and looked at the screen. It was a text from a number I didn’t know.
Unknown: Hey, Liz—it’s Michael. Just wanted to check on you.
“Oh my God.” I fumbled for my glasses and turned on my lamp.Oh my God!I stared at the phone. Michael Young was texting to seeif I was okay. Holy shit. I took a shaky breath and tried to think of a response that didn’t make me sound like a dweeb.
Me: Well, my Mrs. Potato Head nose isn’t broken so it’s all good.
Him: Haha glad to hear it. Wes told me you refused all pain meds at the hospital because you’re a badass, so I figured that was the case.
Note to self: thank Wes for that one.I smiled and rolled over onto my stomach. It was like I could hear his rich, drawling voice speaking his texts aloud. It made me feel like rolling on the bed and kicking my feet like when Julia Roberts freaked over three thousand dollars inPretty Woman.
Me: He’s right about my badassery, by the way.
Him: Um, I seem to remember a girl who cried when she got wet.
