Page 2 of Running Into You
“They’re so sour,” he agrees. “You never get the seeds out of your teeth. You just have to learn to live with them.”
“And what is with the fuzzy coating? There is something completely unnatural about fruit with fur.” I live for this banter. I could do this all day. Given the opportunity, I would do this all day.
“Look what’s done is done. The important thing is that you can still have a blueberry Pop-Tart tomorrow morning.”
“You’ve already hidden the strawberry one, haven’t you?” I accuse.
“Aww, poor Betty.” He pushes himself away from the stairs and hovers over me. “You never really had a chance.” His smile is back as he pats the top of my head. I try to look irritated, while secretly thrilled at the physical contact. Joshua Pine is touching my head! If he just changes the angle and slows it down, he would be stroking my hair! I catch the scent of whatever soap he uses as he stands close to me. He smells fresh, unlike most of the boys in my grade who smell like they marinated themselves in Axe body spray before school. “Rilla’s in the basement,” he calls over his shoulder, already backing away from me and walking toward the kitchen. I watch him as he walks away. His hair is getting longer and starting to curl at the top. The dark brown waves bounce slightly as he goes. Regardless of the length, it always looks untidy. Like he just woke up and can’t be bothered to do anything with it. And he’s gotten so tall. He must be more than six feet now. I realize I’m still standing in the hall, staring after him.
“Okay, thanks! I’ll head down!” I call after him, though I’m not sure if he heard me.
Descending the stairs to the Pine family’s basement is so familiar to me that I’m confident I could do it with my eyes closed. So many memories crammed into one sparsely furnished room. Some great, like the first Halloween we decided we were too mature to go trick or treating. After manning the door and handing out candy, Rilla’s mom rewarded us with the leftovers. We made a pillow fort and stayed up until three in the morning eating fun-sized chocolate bars and watching horror movies. Then there were the not-so-great memories, like the mortifying game of spin the bottle in the ninth grade where Stu Hansen gave me my first kiss, leading with his tongue. I shudder at the memory as I’m scanning the dimly lit interior when a pillow is launched at my head. A direct hit.
“About time, St. Claire!” Rilla hollers. “I’ve been waiting for weeks! Months, perhaps. Maybe even years!” She’s sprawled out on the couch, her light brown curls cascading over the armrest. Her long legs reach all the way to the opposite end and suddenly I’m envious that everyone around me seems to be so tall.
Rilla and I have been friends since I moved here in the fifth grade. I was an awkward new kid. Short for my age, no breast development to speak of, and already sprouting acne. I remember how defeated I had felt on my first day at my new school. I had no desire to start over again. On the morning bus, I chose a seat by myself. I had just begun staring out the window when Rilla plopped herself down next to me. She talked the entire ride to school and, as luck would have it, I was assigned to her class. By the end of the day, we were inseparable.
A lot has changed in the last five years. I’ve made it to five feet five inches and I think that’s where I’m staying. My breasts showed up with a vengeance. I now wear two sports bras to gym class to minimize the movement of my D-cups. Thankfully, my skin has cleared up aside from the occasional breakout. But Rilla remains the unwavering constant in my world. I barely remember life before her.
“Do you want to watchThe Dark Knight Risestonight?” Rilla asks, pulling me out of my memories. “Mom got me the DVD.”
“Hmmm?”
“TheDark Knight Rises,” she repeats herself. “Do you want to watch it again? The DVD has director commentary.” Rilla is a movie buff and as of late, Christopher Nolan is her god.
“Oh. Sure. We can do that.” To be honest, I don’t really want to watch it again. It was my least favorite of the trilogy.
“Sweet!” She sits up on the couch to make room for me. “Mom’s ordering pizza. The only catch is we have to eat at the dining room table with the family and not in the basement like the darkness dwellers we are at heart.”
“We’ll live.” I smile. I like Rilla’s entire family. Her dad is a lawyer and works most of the time, but when he is around he’s fun and much cooler than most dads I know, including mine. Her mom is amazing. She takes care of everyone and lovingly micromanages them to the point that she knows what each family member is doing at all times. She’s the polar opposite of my own mother. And then there’s Josh. I especially love Josh. He’s not like any other teenage boy I’ve met. He’s thoughtful and kind. A lot of guys would have been annoyed to have to “babysit” his younger sister and her friend, but Josh never seemed to mind. When he got his license, he practically became our chauffeur. Rilla once told him he’d make an excellent soccer mom and he took it as a genuine compliment. Did I mention he’s gorgeous? He’s a bit on the lanky side, still adjusting to his recent growth spurt. His brown eyes look hazel at times, depending on what color he’s wearing. I think about running my hands through his beautiful hair more than I should.
“Girls! Pizza’s here!” Nancy Pine’s sing-song voice calls down to us. We clamor up the stairs two at a time, laughing as we both try to get to the dining room first. But we are not there first. Josh is already at the table in a faded Celtics hoodie, his hand reaching for a slice of pepperoni. Sitting next to him is Eleanor. I should have known she’d be here, but I’m disappointed all the same.
Eleanor and Josh have been going out since they were juniors, just shy of eight months. By high school standards, that means they’re practically engaged. She’s smart, athletic, and beautiful, but not in a Teen Vogue type of way. Her jet-black hair and blue-eyed combination is striking. She’s the type of person your eyes gravitate to whenever she’s in the room. And aside from the fact that she treats us like children, she’s really very nice. It’s infuriating. Speaking of infuriating, I notice that she is wearing a turtleneck and plaid skirt combo very similar to the one I had on earlier. Seriously?
“Sleepover night! Adorable!” she squeals as we settle at the table. “Are you going to play truth or dare and give each other makeovers?” I don’t think she’s trying to be a dick; she genuinely thinks of us as ten-year-olds.
“That won’t be necessary,” Rilla drawls. “We already know all of each other’s shameful secrets and we’re perfectly happy with our current aesthetics.” She enunciates each syllable in an attempt to prove her maturity.
“That’s right,” Josh says, joining the conversation. “Rill is going for a Sporty Spice who doesn’t play sports look, and Betty,” he pauses while he considers me carefully. His full attention is on me, and I stop breathing. “Crazy cat lady?”
“I prefer feline enthusiast.” I shrug my stiff shoulders while reaching for a slice of Hawaiian. “But yes, that’s an accurate assessment.”
“The idea that tracksuits and yoga pants should only be worn by athletes is elitist,” Rilla argues. “I deserve as much comfort and freedom of movement as someone who runs fast and sweats profusely.”
“Well, I still think it’s sweet that you still have sleepovers. I loved them when I was younger!” She beams at us like we’re in a goddamn Anne Geddes calendar. This girl is nineteen months older than me. “We’re going to the pep rally tonight. Did you want to come with us?” There she goes, being nice again.
“Thanks, Eleanor. But Betty and I lack both pep and spirit,” Rilla says gravely.
“All the more reason for you to come,” Josh says, looking between us. “Maybe some will rub off on you.”
“You’re suggesting we might contract it?” I ask, wide-eyed. “Like a virus?”
Josh fights a grin and nudges me with his foot under the table.
“I thought you caught other things from football players,” Rilla adds dryly, causing Josh and I both to choke on laughs.
“Rilla,” Nancy warns, giving her youngest child a look of warning. “I, for one, think it’s a wonderful idea. You girls could use the fresh air instead of being cooped up in the basement all evening.”
