guy is totally getting a ticket,” Owen says.
Goose bumps crawl up my arms.
It’s working.
I’m changing it. I’m fixing this day.
I glance down at the tiny piece of paper in my lap.
Be the best version of yourself.
Touché, Universe.
That’s exactly what I intend to do.
Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head
8:05 a.m.
Before we get to school, I decide it might be a good idea to try out some of the advice from The Girl Commandments on Owen. You know, take it for a little test run before the real thing. I mean, Owen is a guy and Dr. Levine says all men are biologically hardwired to respond to the commandments. And let’s be honest, when it comes to being a Creature of Mystery (Commandment #5), I need all the practice I can get.
“Have you watched the season premiere of Assumed Guilty yet?” Owen asks as we wait for the light to turn green.
Answer his questions with a question.
“Have you watched the season premiere of Assumed Guilty yet?”
Owen gives me a blank stare. “Um, yeah. I texted you last night to tell you I was watching it.”
I sigh. Okay, so that didn’t really go anywhere. “No, I haven’t watched it.”
He bangs his fist on the dashboard. “Bollocks! You need to get on that. You missed the best episode.” He waits for me to reply, and when I don’t he adds, “Do you not even care about the show anymore?”
The guilt returns, punching me in the gut for the third time. I want to tell Owen I’m sorry but …
Don’t say exactly what you mean.
“Well,” I begin, clearing my throat. “I’m … regretful that you feel slighted by … my lack of enthusiasm for … this particular episodic television entertainment, but you should know that … I have good intentions to … observe the episode in question this … nightfall.”
Okay, now I just sound like a walking thesaurus.
Owen gives me another weird look. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I mean, why are you acting strange?”
“Why are you acting strange?” I retort.
“I’m not acting strange!”
“Neither am I.”
He guffaws. “Objection. Misleading.”
“Overruled.”
“You can’t overrule my objection.”
I shrug. “Sure I can.”
“On what grounds?”
“On what grounds yourself?”
He throws his hands in the air. “Gah! Why are you being so infuriating?”
“Why are you?”
“Didn’t we play this game when we were ten?”
I bite my lip. I think I’m doing this wrong. Owen looks really annoyed. I don’t think that’s the goal of the book. Are you supposed to exasperate your boyfriend into staying with you?
That doesn’t sound right.
I turn in to the school parking lot. “Never mind,” I mumble. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I park and kill the engine. I can almost feel the confusion radiating off him. I grab my umbrella from the backseat as Owen gets out of the car and closes the door.
I reach for the handle but pause when I remember:
Girl Commandment #8: Thou deserve to be treated with chivalry.
Dr. Levine says that you should never open your own doors or pay for your own food. Men like doing that stuff because it makes them feel important.
Owen taps on the glass but I still don’t move.
He’ll get the point eventually.
He doesn’t.
After a few more seconds, he finally opens his door again. “Ells, what on earth are you doing in there? Did you forget how to use a door? I’m getting soaked.”
I let out a sigh and kick open my door. Whatever. So maybe the commandments don’t work on every guy, maybe just the guy you’re in a relationship with. Which makes perfect sense. Why would Owen care about opening doors for me?
I pop my umbrella and step out. Ahhhh … so this is what it feels like to be dry.
Once I’ve locked the car, I expect Owen to make a run for it again because he still doesn’t have an umbrella, but he walks beside me, keeping the same pace as me and getting completely drenched in the process. I offer to share, but he simply shrugs and says, “A little rain never hurt anyone.”
He only says that because he didn’t see my last two school pictures.
When we make it to the front entrance of the school, I close my umbrella and reach for the heavy metal door. But Owen stops me, gently tugging on my elbow. “Wait.”
“What?”
He looks at his feet, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.
“Owen,” I whine, “It’s freezing out here and the rain is—”
“I like it.” He spits out the sentence, like he’s afraid he might swallow and choke on it if he doesn’t