Dating Makes Perfect - Pintip Dunn Page 0,6
my formal first name. Reminding me that we’re not friends—will never be friends. “I know this house like I know the fifty-nine letters of the Thai alphabet. I know the location of every bathroom. Every bedroom.” He drops his voice. “I know exactly where you sleep at night.”
I shiver. He doesn’t mean the implied threat. In all these years, he’s never physically hurt me. And yet, my pulse races all the same.
He reaches out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. I almost scream. The gesture is mocking, an empty facsimile of what the real action should be. It’s like he’s telling me what I’ve always feared. I’ll never experience real dating in high school. Never have a romantic memory other than what I observe vicariously. Never have a person touch me, with interest in their eyes and feeling in their heart.
And if Mama has her way, and I have to fake date Mat? Well, I’ll have no hope of turning my dreams into reality before I graduate.
“Sweet dreams tonight,” he whispers. His voice is low, rough. “If you need any more inspiration—you know where to find me.”
Sweeping up his plate, he takes off. I stare after him, emotions jumbled, knees weak. Baffled as usual over our interaction. There’s always so much animosity between us, so much hate. Sometimes, I wish we could just peel away those complex layers and be what we used to be: friends.
Yeah, right. I’ll be friends with Mat Songsomboon when thunder manages to catch the lightning across the sky.
Chapter Four
I hate him. I hate his annoyingly straight eyebrows that waggle on his forehead like worms. I hate his arrogance. His suave manner, his easy confidence. I hate how he can drop that bombshell of a line on me, without blushing or even flinching.
I stomp into the kitchen. The new guy is gone, but Bunny and Ari lounge by the marble island, their bodies casting shadows on the stainless-steel refrigerator. Pots of green curry, five-spice pork stew, and tom yum goong sit on the induction cooktop, with dirty plates and empty glasses stacked to the side. But my sisters aren’t cleaning—not yet. That will happen later, after the guests leave. Bunny will put on her latest playlist, and Ari will bump me with her hip, and the three of us will laugh (loudly) and sing (badly) and wash dishes (slowly) until the wee hours of the night. I miss cleaning with my sisters almost as much as I miss having their presence at these parties.
My elbow catches on a plastic cup of wine, and the burgundy liquid spills all over my white blouse. “Look what he did to me,” I moan.
“Who?” Bunny grabs a sponge and begin to mop up the spill on the tile.
“The guy Mama’s selected to help me be marriageable, that’s who,” I snap. “Freaking Mat Songsomboon.”
Ari blinks. “He’s not even here. Are you seriously suggesting it’s his fault you spilled wine on yourself?”
“Oh, Winnie blames him for everything,” Bunny chimes in from the floor. Her shoulders vibrate as though she’s trying not to laugh. “Sleeping past her alarm clock. The yogurt going bad when it’s been left on the counter. Even climate change.”
My lips twitch. “Well, overpopulation does contribute to global warming. If Mat had never been born, that’s one less person using fossil fuels.”
Ari grins so widely that I can count her teeth. “You know? I’m beginning to think that Mama picked the right practice boyfriend for Winnie.”
“Don’t be gross. I just ate.” I lift the soaked shirt away from my skin. “Help me get this stain out before someone sees.”
Someone, of course, is code name for the new guy, Taran. Luckily, my sisters don’t make me say his name out loud.
Ari picks up the edge of my shirt, squinting at the red blemish. “Don’t worry. Taran’s making his rounds. He won’t be back in the kitchen for a while.”
Bunny wets a paper towel under the faucet and scrubs at the stain. “We were right. Taran is a senior, and he starts at Lakewood High next week. His family just moved here from a small town in Kansas. He’s a total math geek, is kind to his mother, and looooves our egg rolls!”
In unison, the three of us snicker. These qualities make up the holy trinity of a perfect mate from Mama’s perspective. Still, when a boy looks like Taran, even I have to admit it’s not a bad foundation.
“Will you stop?” Ari grabs her twin’s hands.