How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You by T. M. Franklin Page A

ideas—”
    “Oliver, I told you I can’t change it.”
    “But you can. Hank said it could be good, but it should be a comedy.”
    Ainsley stared at me, but I couldn’t read her flat expression. “A comedy.”
    “Yeah.” I flipped through a couple of pages to the locker room scene Hank and I had worked on. “See this? Could you . . . look, maybe? Give it a chance?”
    “No!” She shoved the script back at me. “I told you I can’t change it. I won’t change it. And you had no right to show it to anyone, Oliver.”
    “But—”
    “No. No buts.” She slammed her books shut and shoved them back into her backpack. “I told you. I told you, and you completely ignored what I said.” She stood up and shouldered her pack, papers sticking haphazardly out of the top. “I can’t believe you.”
    I gaped at her for about a half a second. Then an unfamiliar feeling swept through me.
    Well, not entirely unfamiliar. I’d felt it often before—around Sherlock, people like Ian. Sometimes even around Viney.
    But never around Ainsley. Never before around Ainsley.
    I was mad.
    I was trying to help. And sure, in hindsight maybe I should have talked to her about it first, but she wouldn’t even give it a chance.
    “I can’t believe you !” My harsh words caught even me off guard, but I didn’t back down.
    Ainsley had been saying something else but stopped mid-sentence, her eyes wide.
    “You agreed it wasn’t any good.” I wasn’t sure how the words were flowing out of me, steady and firm. “And I’m telling you there’s a way to make it better, and you won’t even listen— ”
    “It’s not up to you, Oliver!” Ainsley’s eyes flashed. “It’s not your play.”
    “And I can’t believe you’re willing to go ahead with it as-is so your boyfriend doesn’t get mad—”
    “That’s not fair. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.”
    “That’s why I tried to help!” I threw my hands in the air. “All you have to do is look at what Hank and I—”
    “I don’t have to look at anything!” She leaned forward on the table, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “You should have stayed out of this, Oliver. It’s none of your business!”
    And with that, the fight went out of me. What was I doing? She obviously didn’t want my help. I let out a heavy breath, nausea roiling in my stomach. “You’re right.”
    “Oliver, you just don’t understand—”
    I held up a hand and got up from the table. “No, I understand perfectly. I get it.” I gathered up the script and wadded it in a ball. “I butted in where I shouldn’t have.”
    “Oliver—”
    The bell rang, and we both jumped.
    “I’ve got to go,” I muttered. “See you around.”
    I turned and fled, and Ainsley said nothing.
    Perfect .
       
    The nausea and regret haunted me through the rest of the school day. All I could think about was how I could have handled the situation differently . . . better.
    Sure, part of me was still annoyed that Ainsley had refused to listen. And part of me was incredibly frustrated that she let Ian dictate her decisions in that regard.
    But yeah. I felt bad for yelling at her. And I wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with that. I was pretty sure Ainsley was mad at me, too, and even if I apologized for how I acted, I couldn’t find it in myself to say I was sorry for trying to help—or for encouraging her to stand up for herself.
    So I did what any teenage guy would do in such a situation.
    I avoided her.
    It wasn’t too hard, actually. I hardly saw her the rest of the day, which led me to believe perhaps she was instigating the same game plan. And I got another reprieve, at least until the next day, because I was excused from play practice for the day.
    I had an appointment. A very important appointment.
    “You ready for this?” Dr. Schulz grinned at me as he flicked on the light over the dental chair. “We could wait another week, if you want.”
    “I’m ready,” I said. I’d been waiting