I grab the door handle and swing it open. Once I’m seated, I slam the damn thing with more force than necessary, not giving a crap that I look like a pouting toddler, and he’ll probably tease me about it later.
“You Charlie?” the driver asks.
“Yup.” I grab my seat belt and buckle myself up, each movement jerkier than the last.
“Your boyfriend coming?”
I laugh maniacally then look out the window to see Levi heading inside before we’ve even left the curb. “He’s not my boyfriend. And nope. It’s just me.”
Pulling away from the curb, the driver turns up the music to drown out the awkward silence, and my head drops back to the leather seat.
Boyfriend? Ha. Not gonna happen.
If only I could get that message through to my stupid heart.
Chapter Two
Charlie
Saturday
Levi: Hey.
Monday
Levi: What’s up?
Monday Night
Levi: You there?
Ten minutes later
Levi: Stop running and answer your damn phone!
I laugh at that one because he really does know me too well. Still, it isn’t enough to make me respond.
Tuesday
Levi: Charlie. You always answer my texts within five minutes after I send them. What the hell is going on?
Wednesday
Levi: If you don’t respond to my text, I’m going to call the cops and submit a missing person report.
It’s the last text that finally gets my numb soul to cooperate. Mainly because I don’t want the police knocking down my dad’s door.
Me: I’m fine. Busy.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. The lie sucks, but I don’t really fe
el like explaining myself. Mainly because I don’t know what the hell my problem is, either. So he called me a guy. Why do I care what he thinks?
Oh, wait. It’s because he knows how touchy I am about it. Ya know, since I was practically raised with an unkempt pixie cut, was obsessed with sports, and had a best friend who loved Ninja Turtles and Pokemon, which means––you guessed it––I did too. Combine all of that with the fact I’m named Charlie, hate pink, and still haven’t gotten my boobs in, and you have a very tomboy girl with little self-esteem. But the real problem is the fact that all those stupid girly emotions have been resistant to the whole tomboy persona, which means I still feel every single one of them. And it sucks. A lot. I don’t have anyone to talk to. To gossip with. To unload all my pent-up feelings about my best friend, who sees me as his freaking wingman. My lips purse until I’m sure I look like I just sucked on a lemon.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Annoyed at the whole situation, I glare at my screen, reading Levi’s response.
Levi: Finally. You had me worried. What’s got you so busy??