Falling for Forever (Before Forever) Page 4

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I can’t help my irritation. She’s so comfortable, and she’s been at this school a matter of hours. “I thought you were moving to L.A.”

  She looks up at me with her big, emerald green eyes, her eyebrows creased together. “How would you know about L.A.?”

  A lump travels down my chest. Why did I have to say that? “Well, weren’t you?”

  Her confused expression morphs into a proud one. She pokes me in the leg. “You asked someone about me, didn’t you?”

  I make a face. “God, no.”

  She gives a little grin. “Mmm-hmm.”

  I close my eyes in frustration. “Just…what’s another song for the assignment?”

  She shrugs. “How about you name one.”

  My mind whirls for a song…any song. I’m a goddamned Wikipedia of songs, and I can’t think of one single song written in ABABCB. There must be millions of them.

  She lets out an exhaustive sigh, looking at the clock above the door. “How about ‘Forbidden’ by Eye Candy?”

  I play the song in my head, and she’s right. It’s straight up and correct, so I write it down.

  She crosses her legs casually. “‘Spank’ by Dane Donovan.”

  “Okay,” I say, way too loud, attracting the attention of the pair working next to us. I lower my voice. “Just let me think, will you?”

  The bell rings, and she stands up off the beanbag. “You think too long.”

  People start to head out the door when Mr. Weston shouts, “If you couldn’t finish the assignment, might I suggest you spend extended lunch finishing with your partner here at school before you can get home to the internet for help. And keep in mind I’m familiar with the Wikipedia site for song structure and all its given examples.”

  She looks at me. “Extended lunch?”

  I gather my books, and we head out to the hallway. “We get an hour and fifteen for lunch.”

  “Ugh. We have to sit in the stinky cafeteria for an hour and fifteen minutes?” she asks.

  “No, we can go wherever we want.”

  She looks up at me in confusion. “Like in the school?”

  “Like in the world…as long as we’re back by twelve thirty.”

  She stops me in the hallway, grabbing my arm. “Are you serious?” She looks at me like I hold the key to Narnia.

  “Yeah. Seniors can.”

  A smile splits open her face, illuminating her eyes. “Let’s go.” She pinches my arm and practically skips toward the front doors.

  She just assumes I’m going to follow her like a puppy. No freaking way. I turn around and head toward my locker on the main hallway. Bianca and her cotillion girls are talking to some guys at the locker across from mine. When Bianca sees me, her lip curls up like a rodent has just crawled over her shoe. I have no idea what I ever did to that girl to make her look at me like that every time she sees me.

  She waltzes over to my locker. “Hi, Miles.”

  “Hey.” I shove my books in.

  “We were just talking about you. Wondering what you’re going to do for tryouts.” She looks me up and down. “You have so many talents.”

  I’d take it as a compliment if she weren’t looking at me like something she stepped in. “You’ll have to wait for tryouts like everyone else.”

  She steps back, lifting a hand in the air. “Oh yes. Let’s all wait, breathlessly.” She keeps stepping backward, her gaze trained on me like she’s trying to psych me out. Good luck with that.

  Jenna appears next to me. “Don’t you want to finish this assignment?”

  “I have lunch plans.”

  “With who?” she asks.

  “Myself.”

  She tosses her books on top of mine just as I’m about to close the door. “Glad to hear you’re free.”

  She heads off down the hallway, and I let out an exhausted breath as I follow behind her, taking my time. I wouldn’t mind getting this assignment done, and she is new. I think of my mom. She’d be pissed if I were rude…even with good reason.

  Jenna waits for me at the end of the hall, tapping her wrist like it’s got a watch on it. It’s like she’s forgotten all about our confrontation from Saturday night, and that’s just assuming she doesn’t remember me at all from that day at the auditions.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “The food trucks usually set up on Twelfth.”

  She grabs my arm. “Oh my god. Do you think the grilled cheese truck will be there? I’m dying. I’ve never been there, and I’ve always wanted one.”

  With the gleam in her eye, you’d think she was getting ready to go to Disneyland. “Yeah. It’s usually there.”

  “Yes!” She does a little dance move and then continues on her way. “So what’s up with everyone holding their books? Does nobody have a backpack or a messenger bag?”

  “We’re not allowed. Security reasons.”

  “Ah, so nobody hides a bomb in their bag? Welcome to the big city, huh?” she asks.

  “Nashville isn’t that big,” I say.

  “It’s a lot bigger than Cliff Ridge. Where are you from?”

  “I grew up here.”

  “A local.” She nudges me in the side with a grin. “Sexy.”

  This is so irritating. I’m trying to hold on to the anger that has been swirling around inside me ever since that day she stole my spot, and she’s acting like we’re best friends. She’s nuts if she thinks I’m forgiving her and we’re moving on just like that. I push the front door open and stand against it so she can walk through.

  “Thank you, sir,” she says with a swirling hand motion and then pirouettes down the walk.

  I follow her, trying to figure her out. She’s not like any girl I’ve been around. On the one hand, she needs everyone to know who she is and what she’s capable of, but on the other hand, she seems not to care what anyone thinks of her.

  As we make our way to the trucks, the menu for the grilled cheese truck comes into view. She turns back toward me and grabs both my arms. “Grilled cheese,” she says in the voice of Cookie Monster, which forces me to smile even though I don’t want to. She bounds up to the window and places her order. After I place mine, we stand to the side and wait for our sandwiches.

  “They had this grilled cheese truck at the resort I stayed at this summer,” she says. “We ate there constantly. Just the smell takes me back.” She closes her eyes and inhales a huge breath.

  I look around like I don’t care what she’s saying, but I’m kind of curious. “Where did you go?” I ask, just so we’re not standing in silence.

  “Destin, Florida, with my best friend, Chloe. My parents had a summer tour gig so they dumped me off with her. Her dad lives down there with his fiancée.” She holds up a finger. “Wait, make that wife. They got married at the end of the summer.”

  She moves in close to me like she’s about to share the secret to the cure of cancer. I whiff her hair, which smells like green apple. “Chloe totally fell in love with her stepbrother,” she says. “It was all scandalous and fabulous.”

  “Okay,” I say. She’s either not picking up on my stand-off-ish vibe, or she doesn’t care.

  She investigates a fingernail. “He walked on at Georgia Tech. He’s a wide receiver.”

  I stand a little taller at the mention of football, feeling the need to chop some wood or spit some tobacco. I’m not a sports guy.

  She looks me up and down. “Too bad you didn’t get to her first. You’re way more her type than he is.”

  I’m trying to figure that last comment out when the girl in the truck calls our names for our sandwiches.

  After we get our food, Jenna plops down in the grass, and I follow suit, the cold ground assaulting my butt. Summer has been officially over for a couple of weeks now, but today is one of the first days it has really felt like fall.

  “I should have grabbed my jacket,” she says.

  I take a bite of my sandwich, and she does the same while she wraps her skinny litt
le arm around her waist. She shivers as a gust of wind bites into us.

  I think of my mom again and the expression she’d have on her face if she could see me now. I look down at my flannel shirt. “Do you want this?”

  She gives me a sly smile. “You’d give it to me and go au natural out here?”

  “I’ve got on a T-shirt underneath.”

  Her smile morphs into a grin, and she shrugs. “Okay.”

  I don’t know why I’m surprised she said yes. As I take off my shirt and hand it to her, I have to admit I feel a little less Ben Folds and little more Ben Affleck.

  “So why would your friend be attracted to me?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  She shrugs as she puts my shirt on, which looks way better on her than it does on me. She makes no pretense about pulling it to her nose and taking a whiff. I reel back through my brain to try to confirm I put on my deodorant this morning. She hints at a smile, like she likes what she smells, and my stomach warms a little at the idea.

  She studies my arms and then meets my gaze. “You’re cuter than you pretend to be.”

  My stomach heats a little more, and I get interested in my sandwich. “I don’t pretend to be anything.”

  She nods, giving me a look out of the corner of her eye. “Oh yeah, you do.” She takes a bite out of her sandwich.

  I put mine down. “What are you talking about?”

  She shakes her head as if putting a close to the subject. “I’ve changed my mind about Chloe liking you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say with a chuckle, because what?

  “I was lumping your music and hers all together, but I guess it’s separate.”

  “What’s my music?” I ask her, because she doesn’t know the first thing about me.

  “That techno electric crap.”

  “It’s not crap, and it’s not my music…not my only music at least.”

  “Then what is your music?” she asks.

  “I don’t like to pigeonhole myself to one specific genre.”

  “Then what’s your whole desert island thing?” she asks.

  “My what?”

  She does a hand motion. “You know. If you knew you were going to be stranded on a desert island what five albums would you load onto your phone?”

  That would take me three weeks to cipher through. “If I had my phone I wouldn’t be stranded, would I?” I say.

  She gives me a look. “No service.”

  I pick at my sandwich. “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “While you’re at it, think about three songs that fit into the AABA format.”

  “You seem to be better at that than me,” I say.

  She shrugs. “I just love music.”

  “Pop music,” I clarify.

  “That’s right. What’s wrong with that?”

  I pull off a piece of my sandwich. “Pop is just so…basic.”

  She turns her whole body toward me. “Did you just call me basic?”

  I shrug. It’s a dick move, but I can’t back down now.

  She sets her sandwich on her bag. “Okay. You want to know why Chloe wouldn’t be attracted to you?”

  I meet her eyes, enthralled with the reason why some girl I’ve never met and don’t know the first thing about wouldn’t be interested in me.

  “You’re nothing,” she says.

  My blood boils, and I turn toward her. “I’m what?”

  “You’re not alternative, you’re not preppy, you’re not a hipster, you’re not a jock, you’re not retro, you’re not emo, you’re not even a nerd.”

  I don’t know what to make of this. “Good,” I say. “I don’t want a label.”

  She shrugs. “Then, there you go.”

  I shake my head, frustration swelling inside me. I put my sandwich down again and rest my arms on my thighs. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  She cuts her eyes at me. “From Saturday night? Of course I remember you.”

  “I’m not talking about Saturday night.”

  She stares at me, and I hold her gaze, refusing to back down, but there’s not a hint of recognition in those huge green eyes of hers. She lifts an eyebrow. “Should I?”

  I toss my sandwich back in the brown paper bag. “Never mind.”

  “No, seriously. Have we met before or something? Or are you just recognizing me from—”

  I hold up both hands. “I’m not one of your stupid fans.” I stand, already pissed at myself for losing my cool. I just need to step away.

  She follows after me. “Got it. And I would have gotten it without the volume, for future reference.”

  I stop and turn to her, but I’m too irritated to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” I turn around and head back to the school.

  “Apology accepted.” She’s right on my heels. “Want to tell me how I should know you now?”

  “Not particularly,” I say under my breath.

  “I can guess if that’s better for you.”

  I shake my head and open the door to the school. I swing it wide so it doesn’t shut in her face, but I don’t hold it open and let her walk in before me like I should.

  “We met at a family reunion when we were ten, and we’re fourth cousins,” she says.

  I keep walking.

  “I know!” she shouts. “You once stopped in at the Flavor Freeze in Cliff Ridge on your way to Atlanta, and I left the cherry off your sundae.”

  I let out an exhaustive breath as I round the corner toward the piano conservatory.

  She runs around me and puts her hand to my chest, stopping me in the middle of the hallway. “We knew each other in a past life. We were a power couple who went from town to town robbing banks and leaving death and destruction in our wake.”

  I almost want to smile, but I stop myself. “That’s Bonnie and Clyde.”

  She shrugs. “You never know.” She backhands me lightly on the biceps. “So, how should I know you? Seriously?”

  I stare at her, willing her to remember. I can’t be that forgettable. I know I’m not the most memorable guy in the world, but I need her to remember this. “Think about it.”

  She makes a face. “Ugh. It hurts when I do that.” She lowers her chin. “I’m kidding. I am thinking. I just can’t remember.”

  “Why don’t you think about it and get back to me.” I skirt around her and head into the piano conservatory where the people who are playing have their earphones on, so it’s quiet.

  “I’ll do that!” she shouts from the hallway, and I give her one last look before I put my own headphones on.

  Chapter Five

  Jenna

  I don’t take off Miles’s shirt for the rest of the day…partially because I’m cold in this school and partially because I don’t want to. I guess you could say I’m trying him on for the day.

  I keep sniffing it. I don’t think he wears cologne, but there’s a hint of body wash mixed with the laundry detergent smell. And then there’s his smell. The guy smell. I don’t know how to define it other than to say when I take a long whiff of it, my heart expands.

  I’ve been digging deep into my brain to remember him from wherever he says we should know each other, and I’m coming up empty. He doesn’t like me, so I must have pissed him off at some point, and it must have been here in Nashville, because it’s not like he hangs out in Cliff Ridge.

  I don’t come here a lot, but I did used to live here. I’m wondering if I went to school with him at some point when we were little or maybe middle school. I moved to Cliff Ridge freshman year, so that’s very possible. Did I do something to torture him in middle school? God, I would remember something like that. And I’m a lot of things, but I’m no mean girl.

  Seventh period is Debate, which I can totally handle. Nicolette also has this class with me, and she’s sort of taking me under her wing, which is nice of her. But I won’t stay there long.

  The hot guy from the guitar conservatory is in here, too, and he comes up and
says hi before class starts. He asks me all these questions about Sensation, especially about the performances. How did I look so natural up there? Did I have stage experience before that? How did I choose my songs? This guy is really good for my ego.

  The final bell rings, and I grab my books. Nicolette is at my desk before I can gather everything. “Well, your first day’s in the books.” She giggles. “No pun intended.”

  I lift my eyebrows in what I hope is an encouraging smile, as I see she’s embarrassed at her own lame joke. We head toward the hallway.

  She scratches her head. “So do you dance? I mean…I know you dance, but, like, serious dance?”

  “Serious? Like ballet and tap and stuff, no. Why?”

  She stops me. “I know this is really soon, but Greta, Jasmine, and I have been working on an act for the talent show, and we really need a fourth. What do you think?” She peers at me with this hopeful look that’s so desperate I want to pet her head.

  “Talent show?” I ask.

  “You haven’t heard about the December Talent Show?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s a huge deal. The prize winner or winners get to split twenty-five thousand dollars’ cash at graduation, or it doubles if you apply it toward college or some form of education.”

  “Are you shitting me?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Not at all. It’s for seniors only and everybody and their brother tries out for it.”

  “You have to try out for this talent show?” I ask.

  She nods. “Oh yeah. It’s a humongous feat to make it past tryouts even.”

  My mind reels with this new information. Twenty-five thousand dollars would get me a long way in L.A.

  “So, what do you say?” she asks.

  “Hmm? Oh, about the dance thing?” I ask.

  She nods hopefully.

  I shut one eye in apology. “Actually, I’d probably want to enter as a singer instead. I’d have a much better shot of winning. I’m not the best dancer.”

  “Oh, but we would help you. We’d have you whipped into one of us in no time!”

  I scrunch up my face. “But I kinda don’t want to have to split the prize money, you know?”

  Her expression falls. “Oh, sure.” She plasters on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and nods. “Of course.”