self-deprecating qualifier necessary. And then I laugh to myself, because even though she is two thousand miles away, Scar is right here too. Because that’s exactly the kind of thing she would say to me.
CHAPTER 8
T heo is wearing jeans that are so tight it looks like they are thigh tattoos, and a sleeveless leather vest. I’m pretty sure he approaches getting dressed as an act in costuming. Today he’s a buff and surprisingly hot Hells Angel.
“Look at you checking out my guns,” he says, and opens the fridge. He takes out two fancy pressed juices and throws me one. “Here. This will keep you from getting rickets.”
I’m perched on one of the kitchen stools, reading. This enormous house tricked me once again: I thought I was home alone. Had I known Theo was here, I wouldn’t have left my room with my exfoliating clay mask on. Not my best look, costume or otherwise.
“What the hell is this?” I take a swig of juice, which is green and cloudy and, it turns out, revolting. I fight my gag reflex.
“Kale, ginger, cucumber, and beet juice. Probably should have started you with one more fruit-heavy. Forgot you aren’t an advanced juicer.”
“An advanced juicer? Really? You know that sometimes talking to you is like watching a reality show,” I say. “It’s amusing only because it can’t possibly be real.”
“This is all real, baby.” Theo again flashes his impressive muscles.
“Not too shabby,” I say, referring to his arms. “I dig the biker look.”
“Biker? I was going for rocker.”
“That too.”
“But healthy, muscular rocker, not strung-out, skinny rocker, right?”
“Definitely the former.”
Theo looks relieved, and for the first time, I see that maybe he isn’t all confidence all the time. Now that I know what to expect, I take another sip of my juice. There is something oddly virtuous about its grossness. I can’t decide if I love it or hate it, which, it turns out, is exactly how I feel about Theo.
“Are you going to Heather’s party tonight? It’s going to be insane. Her dad and his new girlfriend are in Thailand, and he has this huge mansion in the Hills. They have mad bank.”
Wait, SN used the expression “mad bank” recently.
Doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.
Those words are common enough, right?
I look at Theo, point to my mask.
“What do you think?”
“Oh no. Please don’t make me have to take pity on you and take you with me,” Theo says.
“What a lovely invitation, but no thanks. I have homework to do.”
“Don’t believe you. It’s Saturday night.”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“That I believe. But I bet we could rustle something up.”
“Seriously, appreciate the pity and all that, but maybe next time?”
“Your loss,” he says, and jumps off his stool and attempts to fist-bump me. “Don’t smoke all my weed while I’m gone.”
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Saturday night
Are you at Heather’s party?
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: almost Sunday morning, actually
Maybe. Are you?
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Not really. T-2 hours.
If you were there, wouldn’t you know whether I was too?
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: fine. you win. Saturday night.
don’t get all sly on me. Heather’s parties are HUGE.
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: You gave up so easily.
You’re the one who likes to be all sly.
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: I like that you can have…
does this count as our first fight? ;)
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: ???
OMG, did
CHAPTER 8
T heo is wearing jeans that are so tight it looks like they are thigh tattoos, and a sleeveless leather vest. I’m pretty sure he approaches getting dressed as an act in costuming. Today he’s a buff and surprisingly hot Hells Angel.
“Look at you checking out my guns,” he says, and opens the fridge. He takes out two fancy pressed juices and throws me one. “Here. This will keep you from getting rickets.”
I’m perched on one of the kitchen stools, reading. This enormous house tricked me once again: I thought I was home alone. Had I known Theo was here, I wouldn’t have left my room with my exfoliating clay mask on. Not my best look, costume or otherwise.
“What the hell is this?” I take a swig of juice, which is green and cloudy and, it turns out, revolting. I fight my gag reflex.
“Kale, ginger, cucumber, and beet juice. Probably should have started you with one more fruit-heavy. Forgot you aren’t an advanced juicer.”
“An advanced juicer? Really? You know that sometimes talking to you is like watching a reality show,” I say. “It’s amusing only because it can’t possibly be real.”
“This is all real, baby.” Theo again flashes his impressive muscles.
“Not too shabby,” I say, referring to his arms. “I dig the biker look.”
“Biker? I was going for rocker.”
“That too.”
“But healthy, muscular rocker, not strung-out, skinny rocker, right?”
“Definitely the former.”
Theo looks relieved, and for the first time, I see that maybe he isn’t all confidence all the time. Now that I know what to expect, I take another sip of my juice. There is something oddly virtuous about its grossness. I can’t decide if I love it or hate it, which, it turns out, is exactly how I feel about Theo.
“Are you going to Heather’s party tonight? It’s going to be insane. Her dad and his new girlfriend are in Thailand, and he has this huge mansion in the Hills. They have mad bank.”
Wait, SN used the expression “mad bank” recently.
Doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.
Those words are common enough, right?
I look at Theo, point to my mask.
“What do you think?”
“Oh no. Please don’t make me have to take pity on you and take you with me,” Theo says.
“What a lovely invitation, but no thanks. I have homework to do.”
“Don’t believe you. It’s Saturday night.”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“That I believe. But I bet we could rustle something up.”
“Seriously, appreciate the pity and all that, but maybe next time?”
“Your loss,” he says, and jumps off his stool and attempts to fist-bump me. “Don’t smoke all my weed while I’m gone.”
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Saturday night
Are you at Heather’s party?
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: almost Sunday morning, actually
Maybe. Are you?
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Not really. T-2 hours.
If you were there, wouldn’t you know whether I was too?
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: fine. you win. Saturday night.
don’t get all sly on me. Heather’s parties are HUGE.
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: You gave up so easily.
You’re the one who likes to be all sly.
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: I like that you can have…
does this count as our first fight? ;)
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: ???
OMG, did
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