Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,17
back and he lives next door to me. I can’t just ignore him.”
“We’re supposed to give him space, Emmy.”
“He’s not a rabid animal at the zoo!” I cried, shrugging off Drew’s arm. “How much space are we supposed to give him? He goes to our school now. It’s not like we can pretend that we don’t know him. Or, I mean, used to know him.”
“You’re not good at making conversation. In fact, you’re pretty much the worst at it.”
I thought of how I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue at Oliver the day before, then said nothing. Drew didn’t need to know any of that.
“No, I’m not,” I said instead. “I took public speaking in freshman year, remember?”
“Remember?” Drew repeated. “I’m trying to forget.”
“I was good!”
“Yeah, you were good, but every time you gave a speech, you’d kick the podium and your microphone would screech!” Drew swung his foot a few times, mimicking me. “And you’re terrible without a plan. Oliver would probably be in physical danger. You’d take out his kneecap or something.”
“Drew. I am going over there. So you can help me or watch me make a total fool of myself.”
Drew sighed. “Fine.”
“So, what do I talk to him about?”
“Just go over and say hi—”
“Got it.”
“—and then ask him if he needs your notes for any classes—”
“Easy.”
“—and then offer to make out with him.”
“Okay, I—DREW!”
He giggled and ducked away from me as I swung my notebook at him.
Drew didn’t know what he was talking about, I told myself as I stalked away. I could make great conversation.
“Hey,” I said when I was close enough, before realizing that Oliver probably couldn’t hear me with his earbuds in. I waved my hand a little, trying to get his attention, and I didn’t even have to turn around to know that Drew was smacking himself in the forehead.
Doing great so far, genius, I scolded myself.
“Oh,” Oliver said after a few seconds. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry, am I . . . ? I mean, I don’t want to . . .”
So, Drew may have had a point.
“No, it’s cool.” He slipped his earbuds out of his ears and let them dangle over his shoulders. “What’s up?”
“Hi,” I said again. “I just wanted to say that. I mean, I wanted to say hi and, um, see how you were doing.”
“I’m good,” he said. “Getting a lot of calcium, as you know.”
He was so deadpan that it took me a few seconds to realize he was kidding. “Oh!” I laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Drew and I”—I gestured to Drew behind me—“were just saying that people can be assholes.”
Oliver just shrugged. “Law of averages. Some are, some aren’t.”
“Yeah. Speaking of, do you need any notes or anything?”
Oliver frowned a little at my segue (which was, to be fair, nonexistent). “Notes?” he repeated.
“For class,” I added, patting my backpack. “Like, if you’re not caught up.”
“I don’t think we share any classes,” Oliver said. He was squinting up at me now, like the sun was in his face even though it was behind a cloud. “I’m a junior.”
And I wanted to die. Right there, right then, I wanted that cloud above us to throw a lightning bolt down and strike me dead. I had forgotten that they had put Oliver back a grade from the rest of us. Apparently, his dad had homeschooled him, so his math and science skills were off the charts, but his history and English were behind. He was easily the oldest-looking junior in our school, yet another thing that made him stand out when he needed more than ever to blend in.
“Oh, riiiiight,” I said, knocking myself in the head and grinning like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot.”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “Just adds to my rebel image. New guy in school, mysterious past, being held back a grade.” He smiled up at me. “Girls like it.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” He smiled wider. “That’s why I’m eating lunch with all these people.”
I laughed despite myself and then he laughed, too, a familiar sound that I hadn’t heard in years. His laugh was deeper now, but still Oliver’s, as unique as a double helix. Or a fingerprint.
“You have fun with my sisters last night?” he asked, tearing off a piece of sandwich and eating it, rather than biting into the bread.
“You do that,” I said, pointing at him, and Oliver stopped midchew and looked down at the sandwich.
“What?” he asked, then swallowed. “Eat?”
“No, you do this”—I mimed him tearing the sandwich—“and