Meet Cute Diary Read online

“—but were you drinking the other night? With that guy?” Brian says.

  I shrug. “Does it matter?”

  “You’re a teenager, you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, but this isn’t like you. I mean, you’re a nerd, not a partier.”

  I roll my eyes. That’s so something Brian would say, but really, he’s the last person who should be judging me considering he’s been going to parties since he was like thirteen. “Sounds like the pot calling the kernel black.”

  “First of all,” Brian says, “it’s kettle. Second of all, I’m not judging you, okay? I just think it’s kind of concerning that you start hanging out with some guy you just met and suddenly he’s got you doing things you would never do on your own.”

  But that’s the whole point! Drew’s getting me to branch out, to try things I’ve always been scared of doing before. That’s a good thing.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say.

  “Okay, I trust you,” he says, but he has that same but you better not let me down tone our mom always uses. “Anyway, how’s the curry?”

  I shrug. “Not bad,” I say, and he smiles because he knows that’s about the highest praise I’ll ever give him. “Where’d you get the recipe?” I ask.

  “From Mom.”

  I freeze, the spoon halfway to my mouth. It was bad enough when he was throwing around all these Food Network recipes to please Maggie, but our mom’s recipe? Food is sacred in our family. She might as well have passed down the family engagement ring!

  “I’ll clear out of the living room when your boyfriend gets here,” he says, grabbing his own bowl. “I don’t want to think about what y’all are up to.”

  “We’re not like that,” I say.

  Well, not yet anyway.

  “Yeah, okay,” Brian says. “I totally believe that.”

  But the truth is, I’m trying to take things slow. Or, well, slower than my body probably wants. The problem with building the perfect relationship is that the foundation has to be set before all the fun stuff can happen, and everyone knows what happens when you don’t let concrete dry properly before diving in. I have to carefully navigate us through the Trip if we’re going to stand a chance in the long run, and that means not rushing into anything too serious until we’ve both taken the plunge.

  Well, that, and I’m not even sure I’m ready to be physical with a boy at all. I’ve only ever dated one person, and it was before I knew I was a boy, and it was super awkward, and I hated every second of it. And I know so many people who’ve already had several relationships, fallen in love, had sex—but I also know a good number who haven’t. I just hate feeling like there’s some timeline trying to tell me when I have to get to each new step. It feels like everyone’s taking the elevator up to some secret penthouse party, and I’m not even allowed to take a peek.

  And if everyone goes up before I do, will they lock the doors?

  “Whatever you two do,” Brian says, “just be careful, okay?”

  “Dad already gave me the protection talk,” I say.

  Brian laughs, stepping over to me and ruffling my hair while I swat him away. “I just meant, you know, tread carefully. I don’t want to be stuck picking up the pieces if this guy breaks your heart.”

  And I know that’s Brian’s way of saying he would do exactly that should Drew not end up being the perfect guy I’m pretty certain he is, and maybe I should thank him, but my mind is already trying to piece together the perfect look for tonight.

  And then a thought occurs to me, one I will likely regret later even though I know I have no other choice. “Hey, Brian,” I say, “you wanna help me with my hair?”

  By the time Drew starts knocking on the front door, I’m clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a button-down. Usually I’d top it with a vest or something else to make it especially suave, but I don’t want to look like I tried too hard. After all, Drew’s visiting me at home, which means I need to have just enough of a casual look going on that he thinks he caught me off guard, like I wasn’t waiting too eagerly for him.

  “Oh, Drew,” I say once I’ve opened the door and motioned him inside. “I hadn’t expected you so early.”

  He laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I thought about going home to change after work, but I didn’t want to waste any time.”

  I smile. “You know, you don’t have to work so hard to keep up appearances while we’re alone.”

  That’s a ploy, of course. This gives him the opening to say, I know, but every time I think of you, my heart races so fast I can’t possibly imagine letting you go.

  “Your brother’s home, isn’t he?” Drew says. “Don’t want to slip up.”

  Eh, not the response I was going for, but this is probably better. I don’t want us to become too cliché or predictable.

  I drag him over to the couch and sit him down. I’ve already got my phone mirrored through the TV, and once his ass hits the cushions, I press play on the romantic little playlist I churned out for us. Really, it’s hard to find the perfect romantic songs with everyone singing about unrequited love, bad breakups, and sex. I spent a solid hour sifting through people’s “coffee shop” playlists until I found enough sickly sweet slow tunes to last us a few hours.

  I’m open to the idea of staring into his eyes for eternity, but I know that might be weird since we aren’t really a couple.

  “Are you hungry?” I say. “My brother cooks. Or I could get you a drink or—”

  “No,” he says, grabbing my hand and guiding me down to the couch. “Don’t worry about it. I just want to spend time with you.”

  The words catch me off guard. God, they sound like something I’d write in the Diary, words so perfect you can’t help but swoon.

  “Well, you’ve got me,” I say.

  “Noah, I—” But his voice cuts off like those are the only two words he knows. I can feel him leaning into me, and I’m leaning back, waiting for him to tell me that he’s waited for someone like me his whole life, and there’s nothing he wants more than to make us permanent.

  And then he’s kissing me, his lips exploring mine like . . . like . . . eh, forget it. I don’t have time to think up fancy analogies. I’m swimming in his kiss, and everything disappears. I don’t know how this plays into our fake dating scenario. Is it training for more public kissing, just getting us into the zone? Or is it just in case Brian steps out of his room?

  But really, it doesn’t matter, because sitting there on that couch, the Diary starts to slip away. I don’t know if he feels it too, but there’s a real hunger behind my kisses, real electricity stringing around us and tying us together, whatever titles we throw over the whole thing.

  This one isn’t for the Diary. This one’s for me.

  Hello? Rebecca?? I need to tell you about my date! CALL ME!

  Delivered

  The next morning, Brian wakes me up early and takes me to work with him even though I haven’t actually gotten hired yet. “It’ll be easier for you to catch up if you’re already there. Plus, once they meet you, I’m sure they’ll be more inclined to hire you.”

  “Because I’m too beautiful to resist?” I say.

  He groans. “Maybe just let me do the talking, okay?”

  The “camp” isn’t really what I was expecting. No fancy log cabin with a draping Welcome to Camp sign hanging over the front door. No husky lumberjack cutting wood out front in flannel. No kids wearing corny moose caps as they run toward the nonexistent lake, waiting to jump off the barely stable pier into murky green water. Actually, it’s not even so much as an actual campground. It’s just a big, blocky community center at the base of the mountains, broken up into three equally boring white buildings and more parking lot than actual greenery around.

  “All the really outdoorsy activities are held off-site, and everyone just takes a bus,” he says.

  “Ugh, that’s disappointing. I thought I’d at least get pictures of myself kayaking down a waterfall for my blog.”

  “You realize you’re not
here to have fun, right?”

  “Hm?”

  We enter the little office area, where a couple of older people are standing around. And I mean older—latter fifties, maybe? Where are all the hot guys in their early twenties and Speedos?

  No one really looks up as we step inside, and I cringe at the thought that they might actually be busy. I mean, this is a summer camp, right? All you have to do is let the kids run around and make sure they don’t drown or something. Sounds easy enough.

  “Hey, Georgette,” Brian says to the woman shuffling pamphlets behind a long wooden table. She’s got this horrendous green eye shadow on that washes her out, but there’s also cute little kitties on the collar of her shirt, so I guess they cancel out. “This is my brother, Noah. He’s looking to get a job for the summer if there’s any room.”

  Brian’s voice is all sweet, one of those voices that I’m sure grandmas love. I’m half expecting Georgette to race around the table and pinch his cheeks.

  “How old is he?” she asks, not even looking up from her work.

  “Sixteen.”

  She looks up at that and seems to catch sight of me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “We don’t typically hire teenagers.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first, though, right?” Brian says. “Noah’s a really hard worker, and he’ll apply himself fully.”

  She glances between the two of us slowly, meticulously, like she’s a cat choosing which of us to claw up first. Finally, she says, “You’re actually in luck. One of our volunteer junior counselors dropped out yesterday, which means our only chance to replace them is gonna be with a paid hire. You good with four- to seven-year-olds?”

  I’m surprised she hadn’t already called me a kid, but I just say, “Yeah, I love kids!”

  I’m sure Brian can see through my lies pretty easily, but he just smiles at Georgette. She glances from Brian to me again before saying, “I don’t have time to give you an interview, but we can start you up and let your supervisor decide if you’re a fit. That’ll save us some time anyway. You’ll get a weekly stipend if you stay.”

  I wanna say A weekly stipend? That’s it? Instead, I just smile and say, “Thanks!”

  Georgette passes me a pamphlet with the words Bicormac Springs Summer Camp across the front, then turns to Brian and says, “Can you take him to the rec center?”

  “Yup,” Brian says, quickly steering me through the door as the smile falls from my face.

  “What was all that?” I ask.

  Brian laughs. “Georgette’s not the friendliest, but she’s got a pretty good heart as far as I can tell. I wanted to streamline this so I can actually get to work.”

  “I thought this was just orientation,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, it is, but I’m doing CPR training. You know, because I’m old enough to be trusted with something other than babysitting a bunch of six-year-olds.”

  I roll my eyes. “Joy.”

  The rec center is probably the biggest space here. It’s the worst kept from the outside—the white paint peeling and the grass surrounding it looking pretty brown—but on the inside it looks kinda like a high school gym, from the bleachers to the semi-padded walls. The floor feels like a basketball court but the lines aren’t marked. There’s some space against the far wall lined with tables, and there’s like four people bustling around carrying stuff in from a ramp near the bleachers.

  “Okay,” Brian says, patting me on the shoulder. “Best of luck, bro. See you after work.”

  He slips out of the rec center, and I stand there awkwardly for a moment as I consider where to go. There aren’t a whole lot of people in the room period, let alone a whole welcome group of kids my age waiting to introduce me to my assignment. Actually, between the people filtering in and out of the center and the couple of people standing around cleaning or whatever, the only person who looks to be close to my age is some kid sitting off at one of the far tables paging through a stack of papers.

  It’s kind of a long walk, but I suck it up and head in his direction. Here’s hoping he can tell me what I’m in for, or, at the very least, here’s hoping those papers are a welcome guide plus a map.

  As I get closer to the table, I realize the guy looks kinda grumpy and unfriendly, which is rather unfortunate since he’s actually really pretty—high cheekbones, a light layer of freckles, really expressive lips. I step up to the table and say, “Hi,” throwing in a wave for added effect. “Um, I was wondering if you know where I’m supposed to go. I’m new, and—”

  And then he opens his mouth, but it’s not words that come out. It’s vomit. All over me.

  I scream, which is really the only rational reaction, and as the wetness slowly drips down my leg, I expect people to rush over and try to save me, but no one bats an eye.

  The kid finally seems to acknowledge that I’m wearing his breakfast, and he says, “Oh my God.”

  “You’re saying oh my God, but you’re not the one covered in someone else’s bile!” I shriek.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says, but I’m already backing up to make sure he doesn’t have another serving waiting.

  He grabs a walkie-talkie off the table and speaks into it, saying, “Bev, can you bring some towels and, um, soap?”

  “Soap?” I say. “How is that gonna help?”

  “I—I don’t know,” he says. He tells me to wait there while he gets someone to clean up the scene, but I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to escape the death glare I’m throwing him.

  So I stand there like the world’s most disgusting art exhibit, trying not think about it, for another five minutes before a woman—I’m assuming Bev—shows up with some towels and drags me out back to hose me off. And now, on top of ruining one of the best additions to my new wardrobe, I’m shivering out in the Colorado cold smelling like soggy fabric and I don’t even know what else.

  “Jeez,” Bev says, her voice a little nasally. “Rough start to the morning, huh?”

  And she chuckles, but I’m seething. I mean, besides the fact that this whole thing is so gross I’m worried breathing will make me nauseous, it’s absolutely humiliating. It’s my first day at a new job, and I’m already gonna be the butt of the jokes because Freckles couldn’t hold his lunch. I mean, hell, he should be the one out here turning into a fucking Popsicle, not me. And really, watching Bev have the time of her life as she reflects on how fortunate she is to not be me is really getting under my skin.

  Finally, I say, “Yeah, rough morning, but probably not as bad as that guy’s. They really let him come to work like that?”

  Bev shakes her head slowly. “Devin’ll have to go home for the day.”

  Oh, is that his name? Gross. I’m sure he comes from some wealthy white family, and he’s only here to kill time over the summer. And the more I think about that, the more inexplicably angry it makes me. I mean, come on. I didn’t even want to be here in the first place, and I only got the job because Brian pulled some strings.

  “Anyway, you should go back inside. We might have some spare pants in storage if you want to change out of yours.”

  “Thank you,” I say, because it’s the polite thing to say, but let’s be real here. My pants are suede, and she doesn’t have anything worth replacing them with.

  I get back to the rec center to find there’s more people than there were earlier. It’s kind of a relief to know that at least a sizable portion of the staff didn’t see my humiliation. I can only hope I can cover it up. Then I can work on getting paid so I can get back to my summer.

  Inbox (537)

  Redgreenmachine asked: Hey, Noah! Love the blog. Have you considered posting relationship advice?

  Unpinupgod asked: I know you’re probably busy with the new boyfriend, but when can we expect new posts? Weekly?

  Anonymous asked: Idk if you saw my ask last week, but I was wondering if you’ll be posting more pics soon?

  The day takes forever to end, before I finally get to climb back into Brian’s car and pretend I didn’t
just waste an entire day there. When I went back into the rec center, it was to find that Devin had already left. Shocking. Anyway, I went through “training,” which mostly just meant talking about the things I should and shouldn’t do with unruly kids, dealing with safety regulations or whatever, and going over the basics of what the camp offered, ninety percent of which I would be nowhere near because I wasn’t a legal adult with any special skills.

  And, of course, as if the camp stuff couldn’t get shittier, there’s absolutely no cell reception, so I don’t get a chance to look through Diary posts until I’m heading back to the car. People are really eating up my relationship with Drew, actually even more so than they did with the meet cutes. Engagements are sky-high, and people keep asking for more posts, so it’s only fair I deliver. Anything to show the troll that their attempt to bring me down really just raised me higher.

  Then I see what’s been causing the onslaught of positive messages—Drew tagged me in another post, this one a detailed recap of our date last night plus a picture of me grabbing drinks from the kitchen that I hadn’t even realized he took. The post is cute, and it’s driving a lot of Diary engagement, but it still hits me like a slap in the face. Well, a slap in the fantasies, I guess, since last night had been almost cute enough for me to believe our relationship wasn’t just a show for a bunch of internet fans.

  Brian greets me with a “Back on your phone already?” comment because he was obviously raised by cavemen and doesn’t understand that just because something is digital doesn’t make it less important than something in real life.

  I just grunt in response as I lay my phone faceup in my lap and buckle my seat belt.

  “Your pants okay?”

  I groan before finally looking up to meet his snide expression. “You heard?”

  He laughs. “Pretty sure everyone did. That story spread like wildfire.”

  I force down the heat rising in my cheeks and turn to stare out the window. Yeah, summer camp was a bad idea. I should’ve just applied to an Old Navy or something.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Brian says as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I mean, it made for a good laugh, but you’re not the first person to get puked on and you won’t be the last. Though you might be the first person to get puked on by another member of the staff.”