The Starter Boyfriend by Tina Ferraro Page B

crazy reason, what came to my mind was not the dress, but Adam’s eyes. “I’ll get you a boutonnière, of course,” I added, then reminded myself that I still needed to find a pair of shoes. (And to never, ever think about Adam’s eyes ever again.)
    He nodded. “Last thing, I just want to make sure you’re coming to the game.”
    I looked his way, my thoughts knocking around.
    “The homecoming game?”
    “Oh, of course!” I said, realizing that in his world the Friday night homecoming football game was not only the game of the week, but pretty much of the season.
    “Okay, then.”
    Wait, what?
    “You can sit with your friends and everything,” he said, nodding at a group in passing. “But afterwards, the beach bonfire? It would be good if with you went with me. Since you’re my official homecoming date and everything.”
    I knew about the school-sponsored, rah-rah S.B. High event. Dads built a tower of driftwood in a beach fire pit that they set ablaze while moms served a late-night meal. Rumor had it that after the wood was burned and the parents went home, the cups in people’s hands were the only thing redder than the embers.
    “Perfect,” I lied and pushed a smile his way. Only to see him doing a hey-there-you point at some guy, which quickly turned into a private chuckle and then stopping in the doorway for some complicated handshake.
    After an impossibly long moment where I tried out various casual, I’m-totally-part-of-what’s-going-on-here poses, I had to admit that I wasn’t. Closer to the truth? He was done with me. Only unlike at the party, he hadn’t the decency to admit it. He might even have forgotten I was here.
    I gave a little wave and turned away, in case anyone was watching. While biting back some too-familiar anger at his rejection ploy, and a sardonic smile.
    Seriously, dealing with Randy Schiff was nothing. Thanks to my mother, I had already played this kind of defense in the big leagues.

 
     
    Chapter 10
     
     
    Moving up the classroom building steps, a bubble-gum scent closed in on me. I spied a blonde with dark eyes, dark roots and an even darker expression.
    “You, Courtney Walsh,” she spat, icing me with a glare, “are a moron!”
    My muscles tensed, while my brain went round-and-round with who, what, when, how, huh ? It brought to mind a board game I’d loved as a kid called “Guess Who?” where players asked questions to figure out their opponent’s identity. While I hadn’t had the box out in so long it was possible I’d last played with my mom, the collective knowledge from all those hours came rushing back to tell me I was in the presence of Randy’s ex—the one who’d been threatening girls to stay away from him.
    The mere fact my mother had come to mind again only made this situation rosier.
    “Jacy Papadopoulos,” I said, and paused to see if she’d correct me.
    Her eyes flared, but she didn’t correct me. “I saw you. Just now, walking off on him.” She kept up with me on the stairs, knee for knee. “Like he was nothing, like he was nobody. Like he wasn’t Randy Schiff .”
    I opened my mouth in a well-recognized: oh, puh-lease ! Either she had one of those conditions where she couldn’t read social cues, or I was pretty darned good at covering my feelings.
    She held my gaze and did a slow, disgusted tongue click.
    I squinted and wondered how long we could keep up this conversation without actually saying a word, when she broke ranks. “Don’t you realize how lucky you are to even get a shot with him?”
    Reaching the landing, and holding on to the hope that she was done lecturing me on how freaking fortunate I was to have a date with a guy who alternately bored and ignored me, I turned a cool cheek, intending to head to my locker. Only to feel her still at my side.
    Since holding my tongue clearly wasn’t working, I made a fast strategy change and looked her dead in the eye. “Look, Randy needed a date. You dumped him, then scared off the