Last Year's Mistake - Gina Ciocca Page 0,16
to make a big deal.”
“But it’s your birthday! Presents are, like, a rule.”
“I don’t need anything.”
He could be so exasperating. “Okay, but do you want anything?”
David’s lips twisted in thought as he ran his fingers over the edge of the IOU. “You have English class with Amy, don’t you?”
“Second period, every day.”
“Maybe you could ask her what she thinks of me?”
Ick. He was actually interested in her? “We’re talking about birthday gifts, David, not pimp services.”
“But you said you wanted to give me a gift!” His eyes widened with disbelief. “Favors count.”
“Ew, you’re serious, aren’t you? You could do so much better than Amy Heffernan. She’s gross.”
“Geez, Kelse. No one can accuse you of not telling it like it is.”
“It’s a talent.”
David threw his hands up with a laugh. “Fine. Maybe she’ll be at Maddie’s party this weekend. If I have enough to drink, I can ask her myself.”
I froze. “You’re going to Maddie’s party?”
“She invited me this afternoon. Why, you’re not?”
I stared at the medal, tracing the etching on the face with my finger. “Maddie and I . . . aren’t as close as we used to be.”
David didn’t push when I sat quietly for a few seconds, absently dropping the medal into its box and fishing it back out again.
“Then I won’t go either,” David said.
I looked up at him. “No, you should go if you want to. They like you better than me, anyway.”
A slow smile stretched across his face. “Well, I like you better. So I’m not going.”
His grin must’ve been contagious, because I felt it reflected on my own face. “Don’t think this means I’ll talk to Amy for you.”
“Forget I said anything about Amy. I take it back. But”—he looked down and picked at something on his comforter—“it’s not like you’re interested, right?”
“David!”
He looked at me long enough to make me a little nervous. Then his lips quirked up again. “Kidding, Kelse. Kidding.”
“Good. So how about a new hat to go with your Yankees jersey?”
His face turned serious. “No gifts, Kelse. Promise me.”
I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise you won’t get me anything for my birthday either.”
“Deal. I’ll give you the gift of my friendship,” he teased.
That was good enough for me. Because even though there’s no way to say it without sounding horrifically cheesy, having him in my life was gift enough.
Seven
Rhode Island
Senior Year
“Seriously, how have you never mentioned this guy before?”
It was the first Friday night of the school year, and Candy sat perched on the edge of my bed, holding my post-perfect-game photo of David, which I’d dug out of my closet after my freaky dream the other night.
“There wasn’t much to say.” More like no easy way to say it. “But I must’ve mentioned him once or twice.”
Hadn’t I?
She tapped the picture against the palm of her hand and pursed her lips. “I definitely know nothing of Hot David from Connecticut. So what aren’t you telling me, and why does Smurfy all but piss himself every time this kid comes around?”
The sound of a car pulling into my driveway distracted Candy, and she scurried across my bed on her knees to peer out the window. “Speak of shit heads and they appear,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go before they try to come inside and I have to watch Ryan molest you.” She stretched across the bed and set the photo down on my dresser. Then she pointed at me. “And don’t think this conversation is over.”
I popped a mint in my mouth as we walked out to the car to meet Matt and Ryan. I still didn’t know how Violet managed to put a party together on less than a week’s notice, but her party was exactly where we were headed. She’d been touting it as a “last pool party of the summer,” and used words like “epic” and “fab” every time she talked about it. She’d also been all up in David’s business every time I’d seen her since Mr. Ingles’s class—like, walking so close you would’ve thought they’d been surgically fused together.
I did not want to go to this party.
My interactions with David had been limited to polite hellos and what’s ups since then, despite the fact that Violet had invited him to sit at our lunch table. Stressing me out even more was the fact that our parents were on a full-fledged mission to get together one weekend. Luckily, my dad’s weekend trips to promote the book he finally