A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(2)

The second the question leaves her lips, four girls from the end of the  line shout out "Purple!" Taryn picks her favorite of the bunch, a quiet  girl named Megan, who skips forward to claim her ticket.

"Second question: Who won the race yesterday?"

There's a longer pause this time, mostly because everyone who was at the  race yesterday is already standing behind us with tickets in their  hands. Conner and Kyle Marley begin coughing, and eventually a few of  the boys clustered near Taryn pick up on their hint. The first one  guesses Conner, but he's wrong. The next boy guesses Kyle and is awarded  the ticket.         

     



 

"Question number three...whose house is this?" I smirk at her question,  but keep my face low so I don't give anything away. It's funny how many  of the kids have no idea where they're at. They just know they had to be  here.

This answer takes longer, and Taryn starts to make a ticking sound, as  if time is running out. Finally, a shy girl in a dress raises her hand,  and Taryn nods at her to speak. "Is it … your house?" she asks. Taryn  tilts her head to the side and bunches her face before looking at me. I  raise my hand in the air as if I'm stretching, then point a finger to  myself, over my head. "Oh, I mean … it's … it's hers. It's her house!" the  girl quickly corrects. She doesn't even know my name, which irritates me  a little, but it doesn't seem to bother Taryn. She pulls one of the  tickets from the can and hands it over. I guess I don't know that girl's  name either, so at least it's even.

"Two left. Who's going to win this one? Hmmmmm, let's see," she says,  hopping down from the crate and taking a few steps along the line.  Everyone is incredibly quiet, waiting for her next question.

"I know! Question number four," she smirks, glancing at me, then facing the line again. "Who was Joss's first boyfriend?"

"Taryn!" I shout, my eyes wide and my mouth a hard line. That same burn  from before-when everyone was staring at me in class-is back on my  cheeks. I hear a few giggles, and I turn quickly to try to find where  they're coming from. I'm mad that I'm not wearing my hair up today,  instead the dirty-blond strings stick to my bare arms and neck. It was  hot out, and I wore my favorite yellow tank top, but I was running late  for school this morning, so I forget to pull my hair back. I look  tougher with my hair that way, and right now-I want to look tough.

The giggling continues, but eventually one of the boys from the end of  the line shouts out Kyle's name, and Taryn hands him a ticket. Kyle  chuckles, muttering something about how it was only a dare at his  birthday party a few months ago, and how I kiss like a duck. I kissed  him on the cheek because Taryn pushed me into it, and I hated every  second of that day where everyone called me his girlfriend. I never want  to be anyone's girlfriend again-especially Kyle Marley's. I turn around  and kick him in the shin.

"Owwwww!" he whines. He quits talking about me, and my duck lips, though. I secretly hope his shin is bleeding under his jeans.

Oblivious to the drama she fueled, Taryn continues with the giveaway,  holding the final ticket above her head. My stomach feels sick from the  embarrassment moments before, and I take the can away from her so I have  something to hold in my hands. I lean against the brick wall of my yard  and pull some of the ends of my hair in front of my face to look at the  split ends.

"Last chance. All you need to tell me is Joss's middle name," Taryn says  to an oddly quiet alleyway full of kids. I don't like that she's using  me, but I know she wants to make this question hard. I'm not sure anyone  will know it, besides Taryn, so my guess is that the last ticket will  just go unused.

I push off from the wall and slide my feet slowly in her direction,  drawing a line in the dirt along the way as I drag the heel of my shoe  forward. I turn to Taryn and meet her gaze, her left cheek pulled high  into a smirk.

"Five seconds left," she says, ticking again … like a bomb.

I reach out to take the ticket from her, and the second it meets my  fingers, one syllable destroys what we thought was the perfect plan.

"Grace," Christopher says, reaching his hand up and pulling the ticket  promptly from my hold. He never looks up, and he pokes the small paper  into his front pocket along with his hand as he moves to the opposite  side of the wall to stand next to the other racers.

My eyes flash wide to Taryn's, and her mouth forms an O. "Say that's not  your name!" she whispers, but loudly enough that the few kids near us  hear. They all snicker because nobody really wants Christopher here.

"But it is my name. Taryn! Why'd you have to ask that?" I say, stepping  in closer to her. My heart is thumping as I look at the faces of the  kids around us, a few of them turning to leave now that he's in the  race.

"How was I supposed to know he'd know that? How does he know that?" she says, her eyebrows raised.

"I don't know! I never even talk to him!" I'm being loud now, and the  voices behind me have all quieted. I turn around with my lips pushed  together tightly to see Christopher standing against the wall, the final  ticket held in front of him. He's turning it over in both of his hands.         

     



 

"Let's get started," Taryn says, walking past me, through the gate into  my yard. The kids with tickets begin to follow her, and the ones who  have stayed to watch begin to climb up the top of the berm, sitting  along the block wall that lines the alley.

"Here," Christopher says behind me. We're alone in the alley, and I know  the other kids are going to make a joke about it. I turn halfway, not  wanting to completely look at him, and shrug for him to come on in.

"No, really. Here," he says again, his hand touching my shoulder. I  twitch from the feel and spin to face him, his hand holding the ticket  up for me to take. "I … I don't really want to race," he says, his eyes  focused on the ticket pressed between his thumb and index finger. His  lashes are long, and it keeps his eyes from my view, but I can tell from  the soft slope downward on his mouth that he's sad, and my stomach  drops seeing it.

His hands are dirty. His thumb has already left a smudge on the top of  the ticket. My eyes move down to his pants, and I notice he's wearing  new shoes-bright white Nikes that practically glow against the dingy  brown of the material on his legs.

"Are those new?" I ask. His eyes come up to mine slowly, and I notice  that they're glossy, kind of like mine are when I hear Mom and Dad  arguing at night and I try to drown out their voices with my blanket.  He's trying not to cry.

"Yeah, I got them yesterday," he says. His eyes are blue, like mine, but lighter.

I can hear Taryn calling racers to the line on the other side of the  wall, and I can feel my heartbeat in my stomach. I should take the  ticket and just let him go. He's still holding it out for me, his elbow  propped against his stomach as he holds his arm between us. But his eyes  are sad, and he got new shoes. He wore them today-here, to my house,  for my race, where he knew everyone would make fun of him. Where he knew  nobody really wanted him.

Nobody wants him.

"Keep your ticket," I say. His eyes widen. He's looking at me, but not  directly. It's like he can't. "I like your shoes," I say, wanting to say  something nice. He seems scared, and I don't feel very good about  myself because of it.

I can't face him anymore, so I pull the coffee can against my side and  sweep my hair over my other shoulder, hating the way it sticks to my  neck. When I look back at him before I turn to walk through my gate, I  catch his eyes on me, and I notice the small smile on his mouth, and it  makes me feel better. Suddenly, I feel faster-like I might win today.

"I'll see you in there. You'll be up soon," I say over my shoulder,  staring ahead again quickly, knowing that Christopher is watching me  walk away. I kind of like the way knowing that feels.

I will not tell Taryn any of this.

The rules for the races are simple. You have to gallop or skip. No  running allowed, and if you're caught, you can't argue about being  disqualified. Taryn and I are the judges, and we're honest. I've  disqualified her before, and she's called me out twice. The only person  who ever argues is Kyle. Sometimes, Taryn lets him through. Today,  though, he plays by the rules.

I win my race, beating out five new girls who have never been to our  races before. Taryn loses to Kyle's brother Conner, and he teases her  about it through the next six races, until he finally loses-to  Christopher.

I had no idea he was this fast. He hasn't been cheating. I know he  hasn't, because Taryn and I have watched him closely. After every race  he wins, Christopher walks away from the now-scattered chalk finish line  at the edge of my yard to the plastic box propped against my house  under the patio. He stomps his shoes a few times to shake away the dirt,  and then spends the rest of the time between races leaning forward,  trying to clean away the marks with his fingers.