Page 52 of Better Than the Movies
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and dialed his number, unaccountably nervous as I heard it ring. I thought it was going to voicemail when he picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hey, Libby Loo.” Wes sounded tired, or like he hadn’t used his voice in a while. It had that gravelly thing going on. “What’s up?”
I pulled my covers up under my armpits and ran my finger over the stitching on my comforter. “Did I do something to piss you off at the hospital?”
“What?” I heard him clear his throat before he said, “No.”
“Because you seemed… um, terse…? When you left?” I sounded like a nervous middle schooler, and I rolled over onto my side. “I’m just sorry if I said something to upset you.”
“Wow.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I had no idea you cared so much about making me happy.”
“Okay, stopthat.” I laughed—which hurt my nose—and I said, “I just wanted to make sure we’re cool.”
“We’re cool, Lib.” His voice was deep as he said, “I promise.”
I rolled over onto my other side, trying to get comfortable. “Did you give Michael my number, by the way?”
“Yeah, I did. He wanted to check on you.”
“And he did!” I was smiling again and squealing a little. “He texted me to see how I was doing.”
“And? How’s the honker?”
“It’s okay.” I rolled onto my back and looked up at my ceiling fan. “Sore, but I’ll live. I still look like a freak, but the doctor said the swelling will go down soon.”
“That’s good.” Wes cleared his throat and said, “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to ask me more than three questions.”
Oh God. What could he possibly want to say that I wasn’t allowed to give him the third degree about? “What are you talking about?”
He sighed, and I could hear a TV in the background. “Just promise, Buxbaum, and I swear you’ll fall asleep smiling.”
I didn’t know why, but something about Wes saying those words made my stomach dip. I swallowed. “Okay, I promise.”
“Okay. So when we were playing basketball earlier, Michael mentioned your look.”
“What did he say?” I kind of shouted it as I sat straight up in bed. “What did he say?”
“I don’t remember his exact words—”
“Come on, Wes, you’ve got one job and it’s—”
“—but he essentially said that he could see why you’re so popular.”
Oh my God. I glanced at Fitz, who was curled up in the corner on top of a crumpled Barnes and Noble shopping bag, and I hoped it wasn’tallabout my look. “What did he say, exactly?”
“I already told you that I don’t remember his exact words, goofball. But the general sentiment was that he gets it. You’re no longer Little Liz.”
“Oh.” I flopped back down onto my back, conflicted. A tiny part of me was uncomfortable with that. Like, before I straightened my hair and put on a cookie-cutter outfit, he couldn’t understand how Wes could be interested in me? When I looked the wayIliked looking, it was inconceivable to him that Wes would find me attractive? That kind of stung.
I pictured Michael and told myself not to get hung up on it. The bottom line was that he had noticed me. “Did he say it cute, like, ‘Ooh, dude, I totally get it now,’ or was it more matter-of-fact?”
“We were playing basketball. He was panting and grunting.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“No, you’re just a weirdo.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” I glanced towardmy window, where all I could see in the darkness was the side of his house. It was a little surreal that I was talking to Wes like he was a friend, when he’d always been my neighborhood nemesis. “There was plenty of time when you were walking with me to the hospital.”
