Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls Part 25

"Enlighten this." PUNCH! Right to the gut.

I can't believe I did that but I'm shaking with anger and adrenaline and just need to get away from him. So with my head held high, I collect Adam and jog off.

"Bad fight?" Adam asks.

"You could say that," I reply, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself.

I sneak a glance at this adorable boy next to me and realize this isn't going to work.

I slow to a walk. "Adam, you're a great guy-"

"Yeah," he laughs. "I am. And it's okay. It was fun while it lasted. But honestly, Ally? Even if he does get a clue, I don't think he deserves you."

That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in this entire fiasco.

I really wish I could love this guy.

But I can't and it wouldn't be fair to Adam, so it's back to me, myself, and I.

Maybe that's okay because I go home, shower and pull out all my clothes to figure out what gets kept and what gets donated to some other girl's makeover cause.

Besides, I'm going to need lots of mindless distractions to get me through this. Might as well start with clothes.

There is definitely a happy medium to be found. But it doesn't involve thongs. I slingshot those little fiends into the trash. First up to purchase? More sensible underwear. As in boy shorts, not granny panties.

The flat iron gets donated. I'll just have to ride that hair wave of mine. Own it. And control it. But not by burning my head for forty minutes.

After about an hour, I have a pile of clothes I can live with and way less makeup.

I'm happy with my self. My sense of style has managed to combine my old comfyness with my super hot self. I may not reach "smoking" on the charts but I remain deep into "check her fine self out" territory.

And I can always go back for a visit.

I have no idea how some of those bunnies in their platforms regularly show up all dolled up at school year after year. Not sure whether to pity them or give them props for dedication.

Maybe a bit of both.

I'm pretty done with contacts, too, but even I get that I can't put the giant frames back on unless I get a pimped up Caddy, a feathered fedora, and a one-way ticket back to the seventies.

I call Rachel to come gla.s.ses shopping with me.

Mom hands the credit card over when I tell her that the contacts hurt. She doesn't press, but I know she's dying to ask what happened.

I'll tell her.

Sometime.

Happily, the search is relatively pain free. Rach and I find a small, hip pair of purple frames that really suit me.

Rachel then drags me over to the nearby Costco for free samples because she's hungry.

I've been doing a great job of not thinking about Sam every second. Maybe one day it'll go down from every other second to every couple of minutes.

That would be great.

Rachel shoots me a sideways glance. I can tell she knows I'm faltering. She picks up a sample of pomegranate juice in a small plastic gla.s.s and swirls it around like a fine wine.

She inspects the color of the liquid in the gla.s.s by holding it up to her white jacket sleeve.

Rachel sniffs delicately at the juice before finally taking a sip. "Last week. An excellent vintage," she jokes.

I give her a weak smile.

She hands me a cup. "Drink."

I run my finger around its rim, zoned out in my thoughts.

Rachel sighs. "I didn't want to bring any of it up and depress you. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah. We fought."

"Sucks. I'm sorry. What about Adam?"

I shrug. "Done. I couldn't go there. Not feeling...whatever."

"For what it's worth, Ian and I both think Sam really is in love with you."

"He might be. But since he'd rather die than admit it to himself, it doesn't really help."

Rachel nods, then her eyes light up and she motions for me to stay put. She returns a moment later with two tiny bags of hot cinnamon-sugared mini donuts.

"If you can't have love, you can have sugar and fat," she says. She waits for me to say something but I'm not quite sure how to explain what I'm thinking.

I try. "We all have these beliefs," I stop, trying to focus my thoughts. "If we could just do this one thing, our lives would be better. Like lose twenty pounds."

"Be the hot chick."

"Exactly. But I did that and my life is still a mess. Or at least it's not the life I want."

I pick a piece off one of the mini donuts and pop it in my mouth. There is a warm sugar explosion on my tongue. This would be a pretty good day if I didn't feel so hollow inside.

"If you could go back and do it all again," Rachel asks me, "would you?"

"No great s.e.x? No feeling this way?"

"No realizing you love him," she says.

"No losing my best friend?"

Moment of truth.

"Yeah. I would." I give a small smile, blinking furiously so I don't start bawling in the middle of this concrete warehouse.

Rachel squeezes my hand. "So what happens now?"

"There's always Ecuador."

Chapter thirty-one.

I'm in the diner, sitting at the counter. No way is Ally getting custody of this place. I'm reclaiming it as my own. And that starts with a new place to sit.

It's been driving me nuts that she got the last word back on the seawall. Maybe I have a few things to say on the subject, too.

Like how everything was perfect before she messed it up. How she should have put on her big girl panties if she was going to start sleeping around instead of finding more p.u.s.s.y boys to date.

How she doesn't have the right to tell me she loves me and then freak out when I don't love her back.

I love her. She's my best friend. I'm not in love with her. I don't do "in love," and Ally of all people knows that fact. So she's a b.i.t.c.h if she gets mad about who I am.

If she really loved me, she'd accept me. Instead, she's avoiding and judging.

I pick up my cell phone, just revving to chew her out.

"Sam." Rosie's voice beside me is sharp. "You've already left two messages, young man."

I put the cell back down. "You're right. I've got other friends."

Matt gives me an "atta boy" grin. "That's the spirit."

Except I don't want to see any of them. I want to see Ally. The Ally of before this all started. The old cla.s.sic c.o.ke. Not New c.r.a.ppy c.o.ke.

I try staying home and doing homework, but the silence is killing me. My dad is out yet again.

Not that I want to hang with my pop but he would be better company than no one.

Even Attila is ignoring me. She sneaks into the kitchen to eat and drink, then hides the rest of the time.

I shift, restless. The hum of the fridge is driving me nuts. I have to get out of here so I decide to hit up this grubby club with an indie band rocking an all-ages show.

The music drives me through the s.p.a.ce with a kind of ruthlessness. I'm a man with a mission, checking out anyone of college age.

The s.e.xy stench of anger and desperation to prove something must be wafting off me in waves because the closest thing to encouragement I get is when some punk chick elbows me in the gut.

f.u.c.k it. I'm going home.

Outside, head down, I'm winding my way through all the people out for a good night downtown when I accidentally barrel into someone.

I look up to apologize to whomever I just b.u.mped into and find myself face to face with Ca.s.s.

The look on her face makes it clear that if there was any way she could ignore me, she would.

"Sam," she says in a flat voice.

"Ca.s.s. How's things?"

"Spare me."

"You don't need to be a b.i.t.c.h," I reply.

Ca.s.s is left speechless for a second. She finds her voice all too soon. "Are you kidding? You ran out on me."

"Okay. Maybe I didn't go about that in the best way, but really, it was what it was. Why can't we just be happy about having had a good time together?"

Behind Ca.s.s, through the gla.s.s window of the restaurant beside me, I spy my dad. He's out with a smoking, much younger babe who appears delighted to be with him. He says something in her ear and moves off, further down the bar area.

Nicely scored, Pops.

I snap back to Ca.s.s as I realize she's speaking.

"...We could have hung out. Talked. Spent the day together like normal people getting to know each other."

"Right there. Given how you propositioned me, why did you think I was promising more than I was?"

Dad hasn't been gone ten seconds and immediately the girl is. .h.i.t on by a guy way closer to her age.

"Because," Ca.s.s answers.

"*Because' is not an answer. I wasn't being coy. We picked each other up. I thought we both understood the rules."

"What rules?" Ca.s.s crosses her arms, purse in hand, as if she's considering smacking me with it.

"Just hit the Big O, no hard feelings, and everyone gets respected in the morning. But suddenly you're playing a different game. And I'm the a.s.shole. How is that fair?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the babe place her hand on young guy's arm and leave. Without Dad.

"You are the worst guy I ever got involved with," Ca.s.s says.

Dad arrives back with two drinks, just in time to see his date go. His smile slips and, just for a second, he looks old and tired.

But he recovers fast and puts his smile firmly back in place.

"No involvement," I explain. "That's my point."