Page 8 of Better Than the Movies
Not only that, but love was in my genes. My mother had been a screenwriter who’d churned out alotof great small-screen romantic comedies. My dad was 100 percent certain that she would’ve been the next Nora Ephron if she’d just had a little more time.
So even though I had zero practical experience, between my inherited knowledge and my extensive research, I knew a lot aboutlove. And everything I knew made me certain that in order for Michael and me to happen, I would need to be at Ryno’s party.
Which wasn’t going to be easy, because not only did I have no idea who Ryno even was but I had zero interest in attending a party filled with the jocks’ sweaty armpits and the populars’ stinky beer breath.
But I needed to get reacquainted with Michael before some awful blondewho shall remain namelessbeat me to him, so I’d have to find a way to make it work.
Lightning shot across the sky and illuminated Wes’s big car, all snuggled up against the curb in front of my house, rain bouncing hard off of its hood. That assbag had been right behind me all the way home from school, and when I’d pulled forward toproperlyparallel park, he’d slid right into The Spot.
What kind of monster parked nose-first in a street spot?
As I honked and yelled at him through the torrential downpour, he waved to me and ran inside his house. I ended up having to park around the corner, in front of Mrs. Scarapelli’s duplex, and my hair and dress had been drenched by the time I burst through my front door.
Don’t even ask about the new shoes.
I licked off the spoon and wished Michael lived next door instead of Wes.
Then it hit me.
“Holy God.”
Wes was my in. Wes, who had invited Michael to the party in the first place, would obviously be attending. What if he could get me in?
Although… he didn’t do things to help me. Like, ever. Wes’s joy was derived from torture, not generosity. So how could I convince him? What could I give him? I needed to come up with something—some tangible thing—that would get him to help me out and keep his mouth shut at the same time.
I dug out another spoonful of ice cream and put it in my mouth. Stared out the window.
This was a no-brainer.
“Well, well.” Wes stood inside his house, behind the screen door, looking out at me in the rain with a smirk on his face. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Let me in. I need to talk.”
“I don’t know—are you going to hurt me if I let you in?”
“Come on,” I said through gritted teeth as the driving rain pelted my head. “I’m getting drenched out here.”
“I know—and I’m sorry—but I am seriously afraid you’re going to junk-punch me for stealing the Spot if I let you come inside.” He opened the door a crack, enough to show me how warm and dry he looked in jeans and a T-shirt, and said, “You’re a little scary sometimes, Liz.”
“Wes!” Wes’s mom came up behind him and looked horrified as she saw me standing out in the rain. “For the love of God, open the door for the poor girl.”
“But I think she’s here to kill me.” He said it like a scared little kid, and I could tell his mom was trying not to smile.
“Get inside, Liz.” Wes’s mom grabbed my arm and gentlypulled me across the threshold to where it was warm and smelled like dryer sheets. “My son is a nuisance and he’s sorry.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Tell me what he did and I’ll help you punish him.”
I pushed the wet hair off my face, looked directly at him, and said to his mom, “He stole my spot when I was trying to parallel park.”
“Oh my God, you told my mom on me?” Wes closed the front door and followed me and his mother inside. “Well, if we’re randomly tattling, Mom, I should probably tell you that Liz was the one who called the cops on my car when I had pneumonia.”
“Wait, what?” I stopped and turned around. “When were you sick?”
“Well, when did you call?” He put both hands on his heart, fake-coughed, and said, “I was too ill to even move my car.”
“Stop.” I didn’t know if he was messing with me or not, but I suspected he wasn’t, and I felt like a monster because as much as I loved besting him, I didn’t like the thought of him being sick. “Were you seriously sick?”
