Better than Perfect (16 page)

He lowers the volume. “What about it?”

“You know Landon and I were supposed to drive together in his car, but plans changed. He's going on his own. I don't have anyone else to go with and I know my car won't make it, so I was thinking that maybe you could drive me in your car or let me borrow it.” I'm hoping he'll feel sympathetic enough to help me out.

“I can't. I've got to work. Find some other friends to go with, or don't go.” He turns the volume back up. “It's already costing me a fortune for the tuition, and it's only one damn week. I'll be more than happy to get my money back.”

“I want to go.” I
need
to go.

He holds his hands up. “Then figure it out. You know I think heading off to Texas in an attempt to get noticed by scouts is a waste of time. If you think you're going to be scouted and get a scholarship, think again. They don't recruit girls.”

“Katie Calhoun got recruited. She's a girl.”

“Katie Calhoun is probably going to be cut or hurt her first season. Mark my words,” he says.

I call Monika, but she's taking summer school and can't make it. I call Bree, but her acting agent just booked her for a short film
they're filming in Chicago this summer, so she's out. Trey has to work to save money for college, Jet has to stay home to help his dad open a new restaurant, and Victor's dad threatened to cut him off if he left town.

Everything right now seems hopeless.

Four days later I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to get to football camp when someone knocks on my bedroom door. “It's Derek. Open up.”

I open the door and stand there looking at a very annoyed teenage boy. “What's wrong?” I ask him.

“You.”

“What about me?”

He throws his hands up in the air. “You're no fun to live with anymore. What happened to the girl who used to make fun of my smoothies and called me a thug? What happened with the girl who yawned when I took my shirt off when she was in bed with me?”

“I wasn't in bed with you. I was cleaning your wounds.”

“I mean, c'mon, we set up a routine and now you're breakin' the rules. What's
up
with that?”

“You're mad because we're not arguing or butting heads?” I ask, completely confused at why he'd care if I paid him a lick of attention or not. We argue most of the time, so what's the big deal? Bree's been hanging around him all week while I've walked around completely depressed.

“Did you even realize that I've been takin' your damn dog for walks all week and he's been sleepin' in my room every night? Seriously, Ashtyn, I bet my left nut you wouldn't even notice if I changed his name to Duke.”

“Your left nut?” I ask. “Why not your right one? Guys never say they'll bet their right nut, only their left. Why is that?”

“Because all guys know their right nut is the dominant one, so bettin' the left one is a safe choice. Now don't change the subject and answer my question.”

That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I try to contain my amusement, but a laugh escapes my mouth. “You really believe your right nut is dominant? You're kidding me, right?”

He doesn't look amused. “Answer the question.”

I throw my hands up. “Give me a break, Derek. Can't I be depressed?”

“About what?”

You
.
Football
.
Everything
. I want to tell him the truth, but instead say, “None of your business.”

“Well, fine. You've had a few days since you and Landon broke up,” he says, agitation and annoyance in his voice. “Snap out of it already, it's annoyin'.”

“How about if I snap out of it when you read that letter from your grandmother.” There, that should get him off my back and divert his attention for the moment. Derek makes an about-face, heading back down the stairs. I follow him. “You're not about to get off that easy, Derek. You just want me to entertain you so you don't have to think about that letter. But not reading it is eating you inside, isn't it?”

“Nope, not even one little bit,” he says. “I haven't thought about that letter
or
my grandmother at all.”

“Liar. You want a challenge, I just gave you one.”

Derek almost trips over Falkor on the way to his room. “Talkin' about my grandmother or that letter is off-limits. Seriously, Ashtyn, I'm not goin' there. You have no clue what that woman is capable of.”

“Why are you afraid of an old lady?”

“I'm not afraid.” He tries to laugh it off, but I don't buy it for a second.

“You're acting like you are. She wants you to come see her before she dies, Derek. You need to go. She knows she made mistakes.”

“You're talkin' like you know the old hag,” he says as he opens the container of carob cookies that Bree made him. He takes one bite of Bree's cookies and winces as if they're made from dirt. “You know nothin' about her. You read that letter and think she's a poor, dyin' old lady that deserves to have her last wish granted. Fuck that.”

“So you're saying you have no problem denying an old lady her last dying wish? Really, Derek, you
are
heartless.”

He holds out the cookie container. “Want one? I warn you, they taste like a mixture between cardboard and mud.”

“Stop trying to change the subject, Derek.” His grandmother's letter made me cry. I wish I had a family member want to spend time with me as much as Derek's grandmother wants to spend time with him.

We're in the den now. Boxes line one side of the room. Derek's
suitcases and belongings are on the other. Derek's doing his best not to pay attention to that envelope now sitting on top of one of the boxes. I put it there because he needs to read it.

“When I told you I wanted you back the way you were, I didn't mean the annoyin' Ashtyn. I meant the Ashtyn who separated her Skittles, shoved an ice pack in my shorts, and didn't pine after her douche bag of a boyfriend just because he left her—”

“For your information, I'm not pining for Landon.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Ashtyn.”

“If talking about your grandmother is off-limits to me, talking about Landon is off-limits to you.” I don't want to tell him that Landon is playing for Fairfield as a revenge move on my teammates.

“Fine.”

“Fine. But you still need to read that letter.” I leave his room.

“And Landon is still a douche bag,” he exclaims.

I close the door and look at the envelope. Yesterday morning I was tempted to read it, burn it, and never think about it again.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stared at the damn thing for what seemed like forever.

While Ashtyn wants me to read the letter, Falkor doesn't seem to mind watching me do nothing except stare at it.

“Falkor, catch!” I toss the envelope to him like a Frisbee.

The dog watches the envelope land a few inches from his outstretched paws. He might actually be the most useless dog on the planet.

Ashtyn called me out for being afraid of reading the letter.

I'm not afraid.

I was afraid of losing my mom. The day she sat me down and told me she had cancer, I was scared. Not one day went by after
that when I wasn't afraid. When her blood counts were low, I thought it was the end. When she got dizzy and sick after chemo, it freaked me out. When her hair fell out and she looked fragile, I felt helpless. When I held her frail hand in the hospital when she looked like a shell of her former self, I was destroyed.

I'm definitely not afraid of reading a letter from a grandmother who's a complete stranger.

Just do it already
.

I pick the envelope up and sit on my bed as I open it. The letter is written on heavy pink cardstock with my grandmother's initials embossed on the top in shiny gold lettering. I think the paper was sprayed with some sort of perfume, because it smells like a woman.

Just so I don't have to listen to Ashtyn nag me about it anymore, I unfold the letter and read it.

My dearest Derek,

I'm writing this letter to you with a heavy heart. I have just been diagnosed and have been reflecting upon the mistakes I've made in my life. There are things I need to make right before my imminent death. Since you are my one and only grandchild, it is imperative we meet after my treatment on June twentieth. It's my last, dying wish. There are things that you don't know—that you need to know—that you MUST know.

With Eternal Love,

Elizabeth Worthington (your grandmother)

Ashtyn was right . . . my grandmother is dying. She didn't specify what she's been diagnosed with. My mind is swirling with the possibilities. It's got to be bad since she didn't mention it. I wonder if it's lung cancer, like my mom had. My mom was one of those few unlucky souls who got lung cancer even though she didn't smoke a day in her life. Heredity and the environment were to blame, I guess.

Or maybe my grandmother has pancreatic cancer, which is a death sentence to anyone diagnosed with it.

Or some horrible, debilitating disease that's too painful to mention.

Shit, now I can't stop thinking about it.

Most teenagers would have probably been on a plane by now, rushing to their ailing granny's side. But most teenagers don't have Elizabeth Worthington as their grandmother, famous for thinking her social status is something to admire and aspire to. I'm sure she's realized by now that her blood isn't blue and no amount of money can buy health.

I read the letter two more times before placing it back in the envelope and telling myself to forget about it. I almost wish I hadn't read the thing. It's all Ashtyn's fault. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have to carry around guilt. I need to get my mind off it, or I'll be thinking about it all night.

One person has the ability to keep my mind off that letter.

Ashtyn is in her bedroom on her laptop. Her room is pink with painted flowers running up and down the walls. She's even got little hummingbird stuffed animals on her bed. Above her desk are posters of the Chicago Bears and an eight-by-ten picture
of someone named Katie Calhoun wearing a Texas football uniform.

“This is the girliest room I've ever been in. Just being in here makes my testosterone levels plunge.”

She jerks her head up from the computer. “That's a joke, right?”

“Kind of.” I clear my throat and lean back on her dresser. “I just wanted to tell you to be ready at seven tonight.”

“For what?”

“You lost the bet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I don't have to honor that bet because you said that the letter was an invitation to join the Olympic synchronized trampoline team. You lied.”

“That doesn't make any difference. You said there was no Olympic synchronized trampoline team, and I bet you that there was. It's cut and dried, Ashtyn. You lost. It's time to pay up, and tonight's the night.”

I'm sitting in my room, watching the clock. It's six thirty. I wasn't going to humor Derek and actually go on this nondate, but I don't want him thinking I'm backing out of my end of the deal. Derek probably expects me to dress up, but he'll realize pretty quickly that's not the case.

I'm sure I've got bags under my eyes and look like crap because I didn't sleep much last night, perfect for my nondate with Derek. Determined to go through with this, I stumble into the bathroom to get a hair tie so I can put my hair up . . . and come face-to-face with Derek. He's leaning over the sink shaving . . . with a towel wrapped low around his waist.

“You didn't lock the door.” I cover my eyes with my hand so I don't have to look at his ridiculously hot half-naked body.

“Is that what you're wearin' tonight, Sugar Pie? Sweats and a T-shirt?”

I keep my hand over my eyes. “Yes.”

I hear him rinse his razor in the sink. “Sexy.”

“I'm not trying to be sexy.”

“Ashtyn, look at me.”

“Why?” I get a tingly sensation in the middle of my stomach because we're so close and he's only dressed in a towel that shows off his “V” and I'm trying to keep my distance even though I don't want to. “You might want to pull up your towel. It's falling off.”

“It's not falling off unless you pull it off.”

“You wish.” I take my hand from my eyes. “I think you have a self-esteem problem.”

“Self-esteem problem?” He looks at me sideways, then chuckles. “Yeah, okay.”

“Derek,” I say in the most soft, feminine voice. “Admitting it is the first step to recovery.”

“I'm not sayin' I don't got problems, but self-esteem probably isn't one of 'em. I'm glad you're back to your old self. You wanna stand here and watch me shave, I'm cool with that. It'll boost whatever self-esteem you seem to think I'm lacking.”

“I don't want to watch you, Derek. I want a hair tie.” I reach around him and pull one out of the drawer. The smell of his freshly washed skin mixed with whatever cologne he's wearing envelops my senses. I wish he hadn't taken a shower as if he was getting ready for a real date. This isn't a real date. It's payment for losing a bet.

“Want to give me a hint where we're going?” I ask him so I can prepare myself for the worst.

“Nope. Don't you like surprises?”

I was surprised when my parents announced they were getting divorced. I was surprised when my mom packed up and left. I was surprised when Brandi disappeared with Nick. I look at him with a completely serious expression. “Not. At. All.”

“That's too bad.” He raises a brow and smiles mischievously. “I love surprises.”

I close the door and walk back to my room to wait until exactly seven before going downstairs for the nondate.