The Hoodie Girl, page 7
Painting requires you to fill a certain picture or image in their head with color, and then translate that image onto paper, with paint. The problem with me is that two years ago, after that night, I’d messed up a certain part of my brain, and ended up with PTSD
(post-traumatic stress disorder).
Painting somehow made my recall of the experience more vivid, and dulled my responses to others and the outside world.
So I had to stop it. Quit. Completely abstain. Dr. Tselentis told me that there was a possibility that painting was my trigger. Suddenly, the thing that calmed me did the opposite. And so, to prevent the intensity of the side effects of PTSD, I had to refrain from things that triggered it. Common sense, right?
I turn to find Reed staring at me curiously. Snapping out of it, I brush past him. After choosing a pile of books and finishing copying the notes, I look around the library to find the two guys.
They’re sitting next to each other at a table.
Reed looks like he’s playing some sort of game, presumably Candy Crush, his uninjured leg resting on the table itself. Brody’s chewing gum, scrolling on his phone. I stomp over, and when they see me glaring at them, Brody stops blowing bubbles and Asher lowers his leg faster than the speed of light.
“You two do know this is a library, right?”
“Yes,” they say simultaneously.
“So that means you know what you’re supposed to do in a library . . . right?”
They both stare at me blankly.
I burst. “You read, you idiots!”
Brody’s eyes are wide. “Holy shit. That’s what you’ve been hiding this whole time?”
I frown. “What?”
He tilts his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen you all angry and worked up. Guess I don’t know you as well as I think I do, huh? We’ve got to hang out more.”
Suddenly, I’m very conscious of the fact that he’s right. A little.
I’m not antisocial, just a little socially awkward. Until you get to know me and I’m comfortable with talking to you, that is. But that’s the thing about most introverts—they’re really just extroverts in disguise, and it’s when they get comfortable enough that you get a real glimpse of their personality.
Brody must sense that I’ve coiled back, because he sends me one of his easygoing grins. “Relax, Wren. Just means you’re human. Plus, when you’re angry, it’s pretty hot.”
I choke. Asher grunts, and I’m reminded that he’s still sitting right there. His jaw is tight, and he’s sending Brody daggers for some reason. When I recover, I mutter, “Can you just go get a book? Please?”
They both stand and slowly walk away, but my face is still warm from Brody’s words. Were these boys born with no filter?
Thankfully, by the time they’re back, I’m more composed. This time, they each have a book. But one look at the books in their hands and my mouth drops. The books are erotica, published in the freakin’ middle ages. Why does our library even have these?
They’re grinning at each other like idiots as they stride back to their seats. Huffing a breath, I choose to let it go as I take a seat across from them and flip open the cover of my own book.
After a moment of reading, I hear someone flicking quickly through the pages of their book. I glance up. The culprit’s Brody.
Reed apparently reaches the same conclusion, because he uses his book to smack Brody in the back of his head. Brody lets out a profanity and does the same to Reed, using his own book as a weapon.
Reed’s about to retaliate when I stop their idiotic little game. “Quit it, both of you!” I hiss. “Why are you acting like four-year-olds?”
“He started it,” Reed mutters.
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“I was just looking for the good parts,” Brody murmurs.
I give him a silencing glare, and soon, the two return to their stupid books.
At least, that’s what I think. But when I look up at them again, Asher’s leaning on his hand and staring at something behind me, and Brody’s book doesn’t look quite readable at the moment. I stare at them dryly. “Reed, close your mouth. Brody, your book literally isn’t even the right way around.”
Asher frowns. “Reed? ”
I raise a brow. “That’s your name, is it not?”
“No.” He shifts uncomfortably on his seat. “That’s what the guys on the team call me. Can’t you just use my first name?”
I consider the way his face softens a little, and I almost crack.
“No.”
Brody laughs, and slowly sobers up at the sight of my straight face. He offers me an uneasy grin. “I actually like this book.”
He’s making the issue worse. I really don’t think he actually registers what he’s said until a few minutes after. We all stare at the seductive looking pinup on the cover of Brody’s book, and they both burst out laughing.
“You two disgust me.” I grimace, but this only fuels the intensity of their laughter until they are both on the verge of tears. I can’t help the slow smile spreading across my face because they look . . . cute. Their energy seems to spill out in colors more vibrant than the rainbow. It’s endearing. I don’t even know why the librarian hasn’t stopped these two lunatics yet.
“You read a whole lot, right?” Brody asks. The question comes out of the blue.
“Definitely,” I reply anyway, with a smile.
“So, do you prefer happy endings? Over, you know, sad ones?”
“I don’t like endings at all,” I say immediately. “Hate them more than anything. I wish that books could go on and on forever. The good ones, at least. But they can’t, and they don’t. So, I guess we never really know what happens to the characters. Other than the fact that they’ll all eventually die.”
“Unless they’re immortal,” he notes. I’m impressed.
“Yep, unless that,” I agree.
“Hey, Brody,” Asher starts. “Zach just texted. Apparently, Tristan’s hosting a party this Friday? He asked whether you’re going.”
“Why can’t he just text me?”
Reed laughs. “He’s probably too lazy to scroll through his contacts to find your name. Mine’s at the top.”
“My name starts with a B.”
Asher snorts. “Your name’s saved as Fatass.”
“F isn’t that hard to scroll to!” Brody wails. “And I’m in his Recents.” He rolls his eyes and waves a dismissive hand.
“Just tell him I’ll go.” Then his eyes flicker to me. “You coming, Martin?”
They both look at me, waiting for my answer. I place my book down. “No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like parties.”
Reed is silent for a while. “If you come,” he says, slowly, “you don’t have to take my notes for—”
“I’ll go,” I intercept.
“— one day.”
I drop my jaw, and Brody and Asher high-five, laughing.
“Deal’s off,” I huff.
Brody lifts a brow. “You already said yes.”
I groan, slapping my forehead with my book. It takes an annoyingly long time for their laughter to die down, and when it does, someone calls out that the library’s closing. I groan to myself, because thanks to Asher and Brody, I got hardly any reading done.
When we exit the library, I clutch my books to my chest. “I’m never asking either of you to the library again. Never.”
Chapter 10
Asher
Sheets of paper are scattered across the surface of my desk, and I realize I’m officially in over my head. I’ve missed a lot more homework than I anticipated. And the more time I spend playing catch-up, the less I have to complete the new work that piles up every day. But every time I try to focus, I’m pulled back to the scene in the locker room, which leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Continuing my work, I halt when I come across a drawing on the side of Brody’s paper. Zooming in, I find an obscure doodle of boobs. Chuckling, I know it’s Zach’s work of art. I flip my page over and start the next assignment. With my wrist slowing me down, it makes everything harder, but I have a concession to hand in work electronically until my wrist heals.
A few minutes later, a head pops into the room. Mom. I swivel on my chair, looking at her.
“I’m heading out to drop Ev off, then back to work,” she says.
“Have you had something to eat?”
I’m halfway through murmuring a vague answer and Mom’s nodding, leaving my room, when a stupid, ill-informed idea worms into my mind. I’m probably the last person Wren wants to see, but I’m past the point of caring. She’s undoubtedly the best person around to help me with the shit ton of work I have to do.
I’m fully aware that this could blow up in my face, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
Before I can think about it, I’m shoving my books and MacBook into my backpack and rushing out of my room. “Mom, wait.”
She pauses midstep, glancing up at me with impatience in her gaze. “Yes?”
“Can you drop me off too?”
My mom narrows her eyes a little, and there’s this little dent between her brows that always forms when she’s thinking. And as much as she tries to be The Cool Mom, she’s also naturally curious. “Why?”
“Homework,” I say as I slowly descend the staircase.
“With Wren?”
I nod. “Yep”
Her brows cross. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“We are,” I say. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But the full truth isn’t exactly going to help my case, and what my mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
She sighs. “You better not be lying to me. I know you think I don’t know what the kids are up to nowadays—”
“Mom,” I say, cutting her short. “Have you seen Wren? Does she look like the kind of person I’d do a line of coke with?”
Her hazel eyes are wide. “Coke? ”
“It’s a joke, Mom.” I laugh, undocking the keys from the key holder attached to the wall. “Wren’s great.”
My mom raises a brow.
“And Ev loves her.”
I chuck the keys to her unceremoniously. She’s forced to catch them, and it cuts our nice little conversation short. My mom shakes her head as she walks out of the house, me trailing not far behind her. When I slide into the backseat next to Ever, she pouts.
“Why are you coming?”
“Because I want to,” I reply, half-offended.
Ever frowns. “I don’t like you.”
“Yeah,” I say, flicking her forehead. “That’s ’cause you love me.”
At this, Ev shrieks like the little brat that she is, and Mom chastises me from the front. I roll my eyes as I scroll through my phone. A few minutes later, my sister promptly forgets that I’m The Enemy and peeks over at my screen in a way she’d like to believe is discreet. Grinning, I exit my chat with Zach and open my camera. When Ev’s face lights up on my screen, she looks up at me sheepishly, caught in the act.
I grin. “You’re not sly, Ev-bug.”
“What does that mean?” she shrieks.
“Enough, both of you,” Mom hushes. “We’re here. Behave.”
A glance out the window shows we’ve pulled onto Wren’s street.
With its matcha-green paint job, her house is quaint. Homely. The lawn is neat, even though some of the flowers look . . . squished?
Jumping out of the car, I wince when the impact sets off a sharp pain in my knee. As it fades, I walk up to the door with Ever waddling not far behind me while Mom reverses.
A few minutes after, I ring the doorbell, and the door opens, revealing Wren. She’s still wearing her red hoodie, her chocolate-brown hair tied back in a braid. There’s a teal ribbon at the end.
When she notices it’s me, her honey eyes widen a fraction, and her mouth opens slightly. She blinks as she stares up at me. Then blinks again.
I clear my throat, fighting the urge to grin. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”
She looks around me, searching for my sister. “Where’s Ever?”
As soon as she says this, my sister catapults into Wren in a flurry of pink. “Wen!”
Wren gathers her composure quickly; I’ll give her that much.
She hugs Ev back before setting her down on her couch and switching on the flat screen. Her wary eyes follow me as I walk straight in and drop a pile of books on the table.
“Um . . . no offense or anything,” she says, standing in front of me. Her gaze is accusing as she buries her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “But why are you here?”
“Easy there, panda bear.” I bop the tip of her nose with my index finger. Her hands fumble as she tries to swat me away, but I ignore her as I continue. “I need help with my homework.” I pause for a second before continuing. “I missed two whole weeks, no? And you volunteered to help me out.”
“I did not volunteer.”
“Semantics.”
She shoots me a baffled, slightly repelled look. “Your mom’s paying me to babysit one child. Not two.”
I pause for a moment. And I’m really testing her patience now, but I can’t help it. A grin plays on my lips. “How about I pay you for two, then?”
For a minute, she’s silent, and she just stares at me. I glance her way quizzically. “What?”
She tilts her head. “You wear glasses?”
Realizing, I curse under my breath. I’d been in such a rush to catch a ride here I forgot to put in my contacts. Yeah, so my eye-sight isn’t perfect, so what? That’s what optometrists are for. She’s trying to fight a smile, but a second later it splits her lips apart.
“Was that a smile?” I ask, edging closer to her. “Pretty.”
My words clearly take her by surprise, and just as quickly as it appeared, her smile fades. I can see her fumbling, desperately searching for a fitting reply. She chews on her lower lip. “Didn’t you say you needed help with something?”
A crystal-clear attempt to change the subject.
“Yeah,” I say. “Homework.”
“So, you show up at my house?”
I shrug.
“Okay.” Wren takes a labored breath. “Okay.” She lifts her honeyed gaze to me. “I haven’t started, either, so let me just get my stuff.”
We spend most of the afternoon trying to complete the homework with the low hum of Nickelodeon on for Ever in the background. Wren sits next to me, and I can tell she’s trying her level best not to be disconcerted by my presence. She’s a great tutor—genuinely patient, and she doesn’t get frustrated when I ask her to go over something twice, explaining everything in earnest.
“So,” she explains, “whenever you’re talking about perfect circles on Euclidean surfaces, then pi, which represents the ratio of the circumference of the circle to its diameter, is a constant—”
She stops. I’m still focused on her but I can’t fight a smile.
“What?” she snaps.
I point to the closed textbook on the table. “How do you know everything without even opening the textbook?”
She stares at the textbook, realizing that my observation is accurate. She looks at me, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I like pi.”
“I’m not going to lie,” I say. “That’s kinda strange. What’s with the unnatural love for math symbols?”
“Not all math symbols, just constants like pi.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Unlike people, pi is forever, it doesn’t just die, and it doesn’t just end. It’s constant, but at the same time there’s no pattern to it. It’s different. Unpredictable.”
I consider my words as my gaze meets hers. “Nothing lasts forever.”
The soft brown in her eyes melts into honey as a shard of dying sunlight falls on her face. “I won’t take your word for it.”
Less than an hour later, I exhale and finish off my last problem. Typing out math is a fucking nightmare. Wren shuts her book then disappears somewhere in the house.
“Hey, Ever,” she says, appearing a few minutes later from the kitchen with a tray of iced cupcakes. “I got something for you.”
Ev looks up at Wren like she’s given her the Krabby Patty secret formula and grabs one. My lips lift as she turns to face me.
Without saying a word, she shoves the tray into my face. I take one, a ghost of a smile spreading across my face.
“You done with your other homework?” I ask. My mouth is full of cupcake, and normally I’d think twice about eating this type of shit, but a cheat day is allowed. Besides, my team already thinks I don’t care about them.
“Most of it,” she says. “I still haven’t started studying for midterms.”
I look up at her. “Those are in a month.”
“Yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious. “So?”
“So . . . you’re studying a month in advance?”
“Asher,” she says. My chest tightens at the fact that she used my real name. “One month isn’t enough. People start two to three months before. These grades are really important for college applications.”
“Fair enough.” I nod. “Where are you applying?”
“A few places,” she says. Then, she flicks her eyes to me in thought, as if making some mental decision to offer me more.
“But I really want to get into Yale. And if I don’t get a scholarship, I won’t be able to. So yeah—” She sighs. “The midterms are really important to me.”
“Why Yale?”
The question takes her by surprise, and her demeanor is jilted for a second. “It’s an Ivy League.”
“So is Harvard,” I say. “And it’s close to home.”
She chews on the inside of her mouth, alarm flaring in her eyes.
I get it. I asked her a question that she doesn’t have the answer for herself. Deciding to change the subject, I tear my gaze from her to my sister, who’s licking the icing off her cupcake. She holds it with both her hands. “She’s clearly in love with you.”
Wren lifts a brow. “That’s an exaggeration.”
“I don’t think so, no,” I say. “I guess I just want to know why Ev likes you this much, this quick. She’s selective.”
