Page 178 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
Nausea swirls inside me and I grit my teeth. “Quit it, you guys.”
I follow Wyatt up the stairs, ready for the horror on his face when he calls me a crazy stalker.
Wyatt laughs to himself. “I don’t even know which bedroom is yours.”
“You can’t miss it,” Mom says, moving away from the staircase with a snigger.
I send a glare her way, and then hear Wyatt utter, “Oh my...”
The nausea vortexes.
I find him in the doorway of my bedroom with his mouth ajar. He takes in the wall plastered with his images, and even worse, my face taped over Portia’s.
“Holy crap,” whispers out of him.
I jitter behind him. “I swear, I’m not crazy.”
Wyatt splutters a laugh, turning around to face me. “You don’t think I heard you when you called yourself a fan?” He turns back to the room. “I just can’t believe there’s this many pictures of me in existence.”
I cringe as he makes his way into my bedroom.
He points at an image of him and Portia, my face over hers. “Ha. This I like.”
I press into my feeble stomach. “I seriously never thought I’d see you again. It was harmless fantasy. I know it looks creepy.”
“Creepy?” he questions. “Creepy is thinking about someone I don’t know having this on their walls. At least you and I have a history.”
“So, wait... You don’t find this creepy?”
“It’s somewhat off-putting,” he quips. “But I can’t diss your level of en-enthus... Eh, excitement.”
“I’ve enjoyed following your career.”
Wyatt gasps and zeroes in on the polaroids stuck to the wall. “Wow.These are awesome.”
I brighten. “They’re definitely my favorite thing in this room.”
He smiles at the sixth grade versions of us in the treehouse. “And the treehouse is still standing?”
“Yes. We should leave this cringe-inducing room and go check it out.”
Wyatt chuckles. “You really can’t stop squirming, can you?”
I yank on his arm. “Besides, my dad will come up here and enforce his no-boys-in-the-bedroom rule.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows lift. “How often do you have boys over?”
I smirk. “Never.”
“Then why is it a rule?”
I lift my palms questioningly. “Because I’m sixteen?”
As I pull Wyatt across the carpet, he tugs me back, glancing at the albums lying on my desk. “Whoa. These are mine?”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
He lifts up the cardboard covers, flipping them over and examining both sides. “Really fr-freaking cool. I didn’t even know they still made these.”
