That Girl, Darcy Read online

  Gabby’s smile widened, and it was as bright and beautiful as a sunrise. “Who’s your favorite captain?”

  Her question caught me completely off guard, because it was one only the initiated would ask. Here, I realized, was a kindred spirit.

  “Kirk,” I told her. “Yours?”

  “Janeway,” she said, without hesitation.

  I couldn’t help a grin. I favored Janeway, Captain of the USS Voyager, myself. “But you know,” she said, “Star Wars is the better franchise.”

  I laughed. “Prove it.”

  “Challenge accepted.” She twisted so that she was facing me, then reached up and started slowly unzipping the hoodie she was wearing, exposing a white tank-top through which I could very clearly see the outline of her black bra. Had my entire brain not short-circuited, I would have asked her what in the name of all things she was doing. “One word,” she said as she pulled her hoodie open. “Lightsabers.”

  There, on the front of her shirt was a stylized version of Darth Vader’s weapon, with the hilt down by her stomach and the glowing red blade ending just below the bra marks I was trying so desperately to ignore.

  “Name a single weapon in Star Trek,” she went on, as if nothing at all about this was weird, “that’s nearly as awesome as a lightsaber. Heck, name a weapon in all of science-fiction that’s as awesome as a lightsaber.”

  I was not at all in the frame of mind to argue, so I just nodded feebly and said, “Good point.”

  “I know,” she said with a triumphant grin. “I always win that argument.” She started zipping her hoodie back up, and I was grateful and dismayed at the same time. “Can I ask why you brought a notepad to a football game?”

  I’d completely forgotten about the notepad. “I’m covering the game for our school paper.”

  “So you’re a reporter?” she smirked. “Very Clark Kent.”

  I laughed. “Actually, I prefer Batman.”

  Gabby’s mouth formed a perfect O. “I’m not sure if we can be friends, then. I’m a strict Superman gal.”

  For her, I was willing to jump ship. “Maybe we can compromise. They are both on the Justice League, after all.”

  She laughed. “We’ll see.”

  “Do you like Meryton?” I asked. Not exactly thrilling conversation, but it was all I could come up with given that my mind was basically jelly at this point.

  “Am I going to be part of your article?” she asked with a smile.

  “Not this time,” I told her, although right now, I felt like I could write an essay about her.

  “It’s okay,” she said in a way that made me doubt her words. “I’ve only been in town for like a year, so . . .”

  “That’s all? Where are you from?” I asked.

  “SoCal.”

  California. Maybe that explained her sunny disposition. A whistle blew, and I looked down to see Andrew pulling himself free from a tangle of linemen. Sitting in the bleachers just two rows up from the field was Bridget. She was waving one of those big foam hands with the school name on it—the ones I didn’t think anyone bought—and looking like she was having the time of her life. To her right was Jake. She tapped his shoulder and whispered something in his ear, and he grinned. Not his typical covert grins, but an actual, I’m-enjoying-what-you’re-saying grin.

  To Bridget’s left sat Calvin with his legs and arms crossed, a disapproving look on his face, and seated immovably next to him was Darcy, who did not blink once in the entire ten seconds I watched her.

  After a particularly brutal play involving a couple of linebackers and one unfortunate tight end, Gabby leaned over and poked me in the shoulder. “So where’s your girlfriend?” she asked.

  I poked her back. “Who says I have one?”

  “I just assumed. Wait, are you, like, not into girls?” She looked saddened by the thought.

  “No, I like girls,” I assured. “I’m just not currently dating one.”

  She seemed genuinely surprised. “Why not? Haven’t found the right one yet?”

  I frowned. “Something like that, I suppose.”

  “I know the feeling,” Gabby said. “No one wants to date me.”

  “I don’t believe that.” And I didn’t. Not for a second. Gabby was good-looking, and not just marginally so. Which was the only prerequisite as far as a lot of guys were concerned.

  “It’s true,” she said with a slump of her shoulders. “Guys don’t like nerdy chicks, I guess.”

  “That depends on the guy. I don’t know what’s wrong with the dudes at Meryton, but if you went to my school you’d have to beat us off with a stick.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Us?”

  Hm. Do I backpedal, or do I go with it? “Us. Sure.” And why not? It was true. I could easily see myself going for a girl like Gabby.

  She smiled, and that spark happened again. “I have a confession,” she said.

  Uh oh. “What’s that?”

  She hid a grin. “I can’t make the Vulcan salute.”

  Surprised, I repeated, “You can’t?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Something about my fingers, I think. Take a look.”

  She extended her hand and let it hover dangerously close to my leg. I took it and pretended to carefully inspect each of her fingers. Girl hands felt so different than boy hands. Hers was soft, softer than a hand should be. I felt like I was holding something delicate, like a flower, only it was something I wanted to hold. “I don’t see anything wrong with your fingers,” I told her.

  She didn’t take her hand back. “Maybe I just need practice.”

  “Maybe. Here,” I pressed her palm against mine then took her fingers and gently nudged her index and middle finger together then did the same with her ring finger and pinky. “There you go. Perfect Vulcan salute.”

  “You’re a good teacher,” she said. She let her hand linger on mine before taking it away.

  As the game unfolded before us and the stands rumbled around us, I waged an internal battle with myself. Gabby was very easy to get along with, alarmingly so. Already I felt like I’d known her for weeks, and I could sense myself developing an attachment to her, which I vehemently resisted. Obsessing over girls was what Kyle or Liam did, not me. Despite what it felt like, I hardly knew her, and seeing as she lived clear across the valley I probably would never really have much opportunity to know her. I sighed. It was settled. I shoved aside all thoughts of the adorable girl next to me and focused all of my attention on the game.

  Nothing on the field held my interest. Our team scored again, and Andrew, as always, was in full showboat mode. Every pass he completed, even if it ended with him underneath a pile of defensive linemen, seemed to puff him with even more hot air. He’d hop to his feet, jut his chin out, and strut back to the line like he was doing something impressive. Which, I begrudgingly supposed, he was.

  Lucas was on the sidelines, snapping pictures like a madman. Nicole was next to him, sitting with the rest of the cheerleaders and their pom-poms. Both Kyle and Liam were engrossed in the game. Denise was focused on the game too, eyes darting back and forth in time with the action. Beside me, Gabby’s attention wasn’t as rapt, and for the better part of the second and third quarters she was on her phone, only looking up when something in the stands or on the field caught her eye.

  I tried not to keep looking at her, but my eyes were constantly drawn to her face. When I glanced in her direction for the eighth time, I jerked back when I realized she was looking at me with a knowing grin.

  “Do you like football?” she asked, nodding toward the field.

  “Sure,” I lied, grateful to be talking to her again. “Do you?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. I mean, I like going to the games. I like the uniforms. I think they make a guy look good, y’know? I like athletes.” She paused to give me a quick sidelong glance. “Do you play?”

  Never before had I wished I had. “Not really,” I admitted. “Not foot
ball, anyways.”

  “I’m surprised. You seem like the athletic type.”

  I looked uncertainly at her, unsure of whether or not she knew what she’d just implied. Her playful grin told me that she had. “I skateboard,” I said, hoping that qualified as a sport with her.

  Her eyes widened. “No kidding! I’ve always wanted to skateboard, I just wish I had the time. I bet you’re pretty good.”

  I fought to downplay the color I felt rushing to my face. “I’m decent, I guess. Not great.”

  She laughed. “You must be good. The modest ones are always better than everybody else.” She shifted so that we were just about facing each other on the bench, again gracing me with her full face and all its symmetry. “Is that where that bruise came from? Did you fall?”

  I frowned, then remembered where I’d gotten it from. “No, actually,” I said shamefully, “I got into a . . . scuffle, of sorts.”

  Gabby grinned. “Really? With who? Someone here?”

  I nodded toward the field. “Number forty-three.”

  She scanned the field until she found Andrew. “The big guy? Wow. That’s pretty impressive.”

  I laughed. “Impressive isn’t the word I’d use.”

  She reached out and touched my face. Her fingers were warm, and I felt myself blush, but there was nothing I could do about it. “So tell me,” she said, “what are you good at?”

  The stands erupted in applause, and I was grateful this time for the interruption as all around us people leapt to their feet, clapping, shouting and stomping. Below us, Andrew was dancing in the end zone like some sort of over-sized chicken, clucking and prancing while his teammates bounded to sweep him up in celebration of the touchdown I’d apparently missed.

  “Well . . .” said Gabby.

  I looked back at her. “Well?”

  She laughed. “My question, what else are you good at?”

  “Oh, right.” I started to tell her, but my brain decided to grind to a halt, reminding me that I wasn’t really sure what I was good at. “Books?” I offered. “I work at a bookstore.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “The Cranny.”

  She pondered that a second before saying, “Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

  I believed that. The Cranny was a local store, specializing primarily in used books and local authors. People who lived outside of a ten mile radius usually hadn’t even seen the place, much less heard of it. “You should look it up,” I told her.

  “I will.”

  Another intense wave of applause rippled through the stands like an earthquake, and I paused to give my few obligatory claps.

  The game ended with our beating Meryton by fourteen. Once the celebrating had died down and both teams had cleared the field, the stands began to empty. It looked like someone had pulled the plug in a drain, and the sea of people all around us was suddenly sucked through the few exits at opposite ends of the stands. I stood and stretched my arms, stalling for Gabby as she finished with her phone and rose to her feet, affording me a wonderful view of her figure. I averted my eyes before my thoughts got the better of me. This was it. Our brief encounter was ending, and I didn’t want it to. I could see Gabby and I being friends. I had enjoyed our conversation more than I wanted to admit. I wanted to keep in touch, but as I prepared to tell her as much she spoke.

  “You should text me sometime.”

  Again, she completely caught me off guard. “Definitely,” I said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. We exchanged numbers, and I wondered to myself how long I had to wait before I could text her. “So, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then?”

  She slid her phone into her back pocket and looked down. Something caught her eye, and she went suddenly rigid. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tensed. I followed her icy stare down into the crowds that were still pushing their way out, and saw Darcy, along with the others, making their way out.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Gabby snapped out of it, pushed her hair behind her ears and nodded quickly. “Yep. Sure. Everything’s fine.” She turned and started down the bleachers toward the opposite exit. “Hope to hear from you soon, Elliott,” she said over her shoulder, accentuating her words with a quick, final smile.

  “Likewise,” I said as I watched her leave, wondering to myself just what could have caused her to rush off like that. It couldn’t have had anything to do with Darcy or Bridget. They were new here and I doubted they knew each other. Gabby lived on the other side of town.

  “Elliott, you coming or not?” Kyle’s voice from the end of the bleachers interrupted my rumination, and I joined him and Liam. “Some game, huh?” he asked as we all funneled out into the parking lot.

  “Yep,” I said vaguely; I hadn’t really paid much attention at all. “Sure was.” I touched the phone in my pocket, the phone that felt heavy now that it contained the number that would lead me back to Gabby, and then I rushed to catch up with Jake, hoping that his night had been as enjoyable as mine had.

  Chapter 8

  “She’s the coolest girl in the world!” Jake practically shouted.

  I had never heard him sound so excited. He’d been going on about how awesome Bridget was for the past five minutes, talking so loud that I had to keep holding my phone away from my ear.

  He barely took a breath. “We texted all night long. She tap dances, Elliott. Tap dances! She’s like Fred freaking Astaire!”

  “Is that right?” I said in a hushed voice. I balanced my phone on my shoulder while reordering a row of books. Technically, we weren’t allowed to have our phones with us during work here at the Cranny, but we all did, even Phillip the manager. Especially Phillip the manager. Fortunately for me, Saturdays like today were slow, and I was back in the biography section, which was tucked away in a far corner of the store.

  “She loves animals, too,” Jake went on, “Horses especially. Her grandparents own a ranch; she used to go riding all the time.”

  I scanned the shelf and slid a book on Marlon Brando back with the rest of the B’s.

  “And did I mention she’s a vegetarian? Well, sort of. Most of the time.”

  “How can you be a vegetarian most of the time?” I asked.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  That’s not the only thing, I thought.

  “Where are you?” Jake asked suddenly. “I thought you were supposed to be at work.”

  I smiled, even though he couldn’t see me. “I am.”

  “Oh,” he stammered. “Sorry. I’d better go. I’ve got . . . stuff . . . to take care of anyway.”

  I paused. “Bridget-related stuff?”

  “No.”

  I waited.

  “Maybe.”

  I sighed. “Be careful, Jake. Alright?”

  He laughed. “It’s not like she’s going to bite me.”

  “But you’d like it if she did,” I said.

  He seemed to actually consider it for a beat. “Maybe. Bye.”

  I hung up. Jake had managed to ask Bridget for her number, which was a huge achievement—although, knowing him, it could have gone the other way around. Still, I was uneasy. They seemed to be getting very close, very fast. I’d seen plenty of relationships that started on a Monday and had crashed and burned by that Friday. I didn’t want that for Jake; he wasn’t that frivolous. Hopefully, Bridget wasn’t, either.

  I finished with the biographies and went back to the front desk, where Mark was unloading boxes behind the counter. “By the way, I wrote a new song,” Mark started, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t really interested. “I gotta tell you, the lyrics are deep. I don’t know where they came from. Sometimes I’m like a well, y’know?”

  “Right. Here, why don’t you go organize the end caps?”

  He saluted. “Sure thing, boss-man.”

  Mark always called me that, even though I was in no way his boss.

  I kept thinking about Bridget. What type of gi
rl was she? Did she like Jake as much as he liked her? I couldn’t be sure. Besides lunch, I was hardly there when the two were together. I needed to see them together for myself, as an unbiased third party. And the best opportunity to do that was the homecoming dance next Friday, which I still didn’t want to attend.

  My pocket vibrated, and I fished my phone out, half expecting it to be Jake again. When I glanced at the screen, my heart somersaulted. It was a text from Gabby.

  Where are you—GW

  I glanced around to make sure no one was watching—even though no one else was here besides Mark—before quickly typing up a reply.

  At Work :( You?

  I hit send and left my phone on the countertop. A few seconds later it vibrated again.

  Me too. :)

  I started to ask her where she worked when the door chimed. I shoved my phone into my pocket and jerked toward the door . . . only to find Gabby standing just inside the doorway.

  “Hey!” She said with a great big smile.

  “Hey,” I said excitedly, “I thought you were at work.”

  She strolled inside. “I am. Yours. I told you I’d look this place up.”

  The first thing I noticed was that Gabby wasn’t wearing any makeup. And she was beautiful. Her face was radiant. Her curly tresses bounced with each step she took. Her eyes were bright, alert, and focused entirely on me. It made me feel like I was the only thing in the world she wanted.

  The second thing I noticed were her shorts, or, rather, her near lack thereof. They were high-waisted, denim numbers that were so short that the bottoms of the pockets were sticking out under the hems, revealing the most glorious pair of legs I had seen outside of a fitness magazine. It didn’t help that she seemed to be purposefully walked in slow motion, making my struggle to keep my eyes on her face that much more difficult.

  I laughed, and it came out as this odd croaking noise. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  She gave me a fake pout. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No way!”

  The smile came back in full force. “Good, because I don’t feel like leaving.”