BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (28)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Epilogue
  27. About the Author
  28. Copyright Page

I look up, startled, and when I glance back down at Cute Textbook Boy, he’s staring right at me. Uh-oh. Busted.

I look at him for a moment, embarrassed. He stares back, and after a second, he grins.

“Hey,” he says, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” I squeak back. I can’t believe he has finally noticed me. My arms feel suddenly weak.

Uh-oh, I think. Then I promptly drop the entire tray of ten icy drinks directly on him.

Chapter 12

You see, my problem is this:
I’m thinking of you,
Dreaming of the way you’ll kiss me.
I look in your eyes.
Can’t you see I’m looking for a sign?
I don’t know how you feel.
Baby, baby, no, no.

—“HOW YOU FEEL,” STAR BECK
ALBUM: SECRETS OF A STAR

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Chapter 12

“I . . . am . . . so . . . sorry.”

Thanks to my complete and utter humiliation, I can barely force the words out of my mouth. I know I’ve turned as red as the collared shirt I’m wearing as I stand there, open-mouthed, staring at Cute Textbook Boy, who is currently dripping with soda. He has ice in his wavy hair. Even his long eyelashes have droplets of soda hanging from them. The now-empty glasses are rolling around on the table and on the floor. And the whole restaurant is looking. I feel like I could die on the spot.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says finally, looking back up at me. He’s wearing kind of a half grin along with several gallons of soda.

Drip, drip, drip. The liquid drops off him in fat splotches. I’m mortified.

“No, I . . .,” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. “I am just so embarrassed. I’m not used to trays and . . .” I clamp my mouth shut after a moment as I realize that I’m babbling and that Cute Textbook Boy probably couldn’t care less how familiar I am with trays. He probably just cares that the crazy girl with the weird-colored hair and bad glasses stared at him strangely and then randomly threw a tray of sodas at him.

“Really, it’s fine,” he says, using his napkin to wipe his face. He shrugs. “I needed a shower anyhow.”

That’s when I notice that he doesn’t look angry. In fact, he’s actually laughing. And grinning at me with those white teeth and those crazy dimples.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal,” he says. He slides out of the booth. “Here, let me help you clean up.”

“N-n-no,” I stutter in surprise. Now he wants to help me? “I can do it,” I say quickly, bending down to start picking up glasses. “I’ve already gotten you wet enough.”

“I really don’t mind,” he says, bending down beside me and grabbing a glass.