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  “What’s wrong with ‘Charlotte’?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just long, formal. Does it bother you that I want to call you something else?”

  “It just seems . . .” Strangely intimate for him to have a unique name for me. “I don’t know. But a princess is named after me, so there will probably be a whole slew of Charlottes in a few years.” And if I win gold at the Olympics, some über-fans might name their kids after me too. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you changed the subject.”

  He slips a single finger beneath the curtain of my hair and moves it aside, back over my shoulder. A pleasant shiver courses through me.

  “What do you want to know?” he asks quietly.

  “Why did you break up?”

  He looks off into the distance. “We started dating freshman year. We were both athletes. It seemed a good fit. She was different then. Not so . . . interested in the spotlight. We’d just started high school. No one knew who we were.”

  I can see that. Three middle schools meld into Jefferson High. It means there are a lot of new people to meet.

  He lies back down, his gaze on the stars. “She’s good at soccer. Really good. I have a talent for wrestling. Soon people knew who we were, and everything became a big deal. She wanted to be popular, talked about. Being with me became more about my trophies than about me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her success—soccer captain, student council president. But we just weren’t in sync anymore. She wouldn’t come out here with me to look at the stars, because it’s too dark for anyone to see that she’s out here with me looking at the stars.”

  He shifts his gaze over to me. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

  It does. It makes so much sense. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t tell people I’m an elite gymnast. “She seems to want you to get back together.”

  “It’s not me specifically. If the quarterback broke up with his girlfriend, Kristine would be after him. Football is way more popular than wrestling.”

  I’m not sure if it’s true that Kristine would throw Bobby over for a football player. Bobby—wrestler or not—is nice, fun to be with. I unfold my legs and stretch back out over the hood of the car, resting my back against the windshield.

  “I’m glad you broke up if you weren’t happy,” I say.

  “I wasn’t miserable, but we weren’t right for each other anymore. Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

  I laugh. “The no dating, remember? Makes it hard.” And the focus on training for the Olympics.

  “That doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone you liked.”

  “No one.” I stop just short of confessing that I like him. Flirting is one thing. Giving him hope where there is none—What am I thinking? I’m probably reading way too much into his asking for my number and giving me a ride.

  “There!” he suddenly says, pointing off to the right. “Did you see it?”

  “No.” I can’t hide my disappointment. “I was looking in the opposite direction.”

  “Okay, don’t focus on any one part of the sky. Just relax and look at all of it.”

  “It’s so amazingly big.”

  “Immense. I always feel so small when I’m out here.”

  “Do you do this often?”

  “When there’s something special like a meteor shower or an eclipse. Hold on.” He pulls out his phone.

  “Is it time to go?” I ask.

  “Not yet. I’ve set an alarm, but I’m checking an app that will tell me . . . Yes!” He turns off his phone, shifts closer to me. I can feel the warmth generated by his body. “Keep your eyes on that portion of the sky. You’re going to see a bright light moving fast. Not a shooting star but—right there. Follow the line of my finger. Do you see it?”

  “I do. Is it a plane?”

  “It’s the space station.” I hear the awe in his voice.

  “Wow! That’s awesome.”

  “Yep. Circles the earth every ninety minutes. It isn’t always visible to us. We got lucky tonight. Right place, right time.”

  “It’s almost better than a shooting star,” I say.

  “Nothing’s better than a shooting star.”

  The space station disappears over the horizon. Just as it does, I see a streak of light arcing across the sky.

  “Oh, there’s a shooting star!” I cry.

  “Make a wish,” he orders.

  So many things to wish for. Making the Olympic team. Gold in Montreal. Gwen making the team, her bringing home gold. Raising my government grade. Zoe getting to actually date Michael.

  I turn to look at Bobby. He’s watching me. Our faces are so close, so close. I want more light so that I can see what he’s thinking, see if he’s looking at me as intensely as I’m looking at him.

  “I wish I didn’t have to be home by ten thirty,” I say.

  His grin flashes in the pale moonlight. “You shouldn’t have said it out loud. A wish doesn’t come true if you say it out loud.”

  It doesn’t always come true if you only think it either. Because before the star burned out, before I told him what I’d wished, I actually silently wished that he would kiss me.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon I pick up the phone when it rings even though I know I shouldn’t. There are student council notes to type and tests to study for. But as interesting as cellular respiration is, I’ve got to steal a break.

  “Hey, Gwennie,” I say, massaging my temple with my free hand. My studying would be going better if I didn’t keep thinking about Bobby. He had me home with two minutes to spare last night. More than a dozen times I’ve thought about texting him just to thank him again for the ride, secretly hoping it would lead to his texting me back or, better yet, calling me. Pathetic.

  “You’re not going to believe it!” Gwen’s voice is practically thrumming with excitement.

  “You somehow made the Olympic team without having to go to trials?”

  “No!” She laughs. “Are you going to guess for real, or should I just tell you?”

  “Um . . . you won a million dollars?”

  “No. But I feel about as happy as I would if I’d won a bunch of money.”

  “Seriously? Okay, then I know it has something to do with either gymnastics or your family.”

  “Very intuitive,” Gwen says. “It’s something about my family.”

  “They’re moving to Columbus!”

  “No. If that were true, I’d be pounding on your front door and doing back handsprings in your yard.”

  “Okay. So, tell me!”

  “My dad paid me a surprise visit this weekend, and . . . are you ready for this? He bought me a car!”

  “Seriously?” I cry. “That’s great!”

  “I know! No more having Mrs. Gundersen driving me to practice. I’m free, Charlie!”

  “I’m really happy for you, Gwen.” I won’t have time to take driver’s ed until after the Olympics. With homeschooling, Gwen was able to work it in, plus she was old enough to take the classes before our schedules got crazy busy. “What color is it?”

  “Look out your window.”

  “What!” I rush over to my window, pull back the curtain, and gaze out. Wearing jeans and a red top, Gwen is leaning against a red Mustang. “I’m coming down.”

  I slip on flip-flops and race down the stairs, shouting that Gwen is here. Before anyone can respond, I’m out the door. When I reach her, I give her a big hug. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know. Want to take a spin in it?”

  I think of the stack of books sitting on my desk. “Definitely. Let me okay it with Mom.”

  A few minutes later I’m sliding onto the leather seat, inhaling the new-car smell. “I have to be back in half an hour.”

  Gwen looks crestfallen. “Why? We can’t go anywhere in half an hour.”

  “There’s a park nearby. We can go there.”

  She starts the car and carefully pulls into the street.
“I thought Sunday was your relaxation time.”

  “I’m behind on my studies. And I went out last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Student council thing. I told you I was serving as secretary for extra credit in government.”

  “Honestly, Charlie. . . .”

  “I know, I know—but if it weren’t for school, I wouldn’t be meeting some cool new people.” As if on cue, my phone dings, and Gwen raises an eyebrow at me. I glance at the text, and my heart speeds up. It’s Bobby.

  Had fun last night.

  I hesitate, knowing I should ignore it. Now is my time with Gwen.

  “Who is it?” she asks. “You’re blushing.”

  “Bobby.”

  “That guy from the movie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is he texting you?”

  I quickly explain about last night, then say, “It’s no big deal,” even as I text him back.

  Me too.

  Want to grab a bite somewhere?

  I smile. Can’t. With a friend right now.

  Later.

  I slip my phone back into my shorts pocket.

  “You like him,” Gwen says.

  “Yeah, I do.” I can feel the disapproval shimmering off her. “Take a right up here. There’s a little park.”

  A few minutes later Gwen and I are sitting on swings, our feet planted, just rocking back and forth.

  “Did you notice I have a navigation system?” Gwen asks, and I’m glad we’re turning the conversation back to her car, which was the whole point of our outing.

  “No, I didn’t. That’s cool. You’ll never get lost.”

  “The map is on the console, but you didn’t notice it because you were distracted. I know you like him, but what if he causes you to be inattentive or all dreamy-like at competition? What are you not going to notice?”

  Groaning, with my foot I flick a pebble toward the grass. “I won’t be distracted, Gwennie. And at competition I won’t have my cell phone on me.”

  “But won’t you be wondering if there’s a text waiting for you? I would. If I had a guy interested in me, I’d be thinking about him all the time. My focus would be fractured, and I’d have this little nagging piece wondering what he was doing.”

  I shoot out of the swing, twist around, and face her. “Bobby is not going to distract me. We’re not dating. He hasn’t asked me out. He just gave me a ride.” Although the text he just sent was sort of asking me out. “And he doesn’t keep texting me when he knows I’m busy.” He’s respectful that way, never intruding.

  “So you’re going to tell him you’re busy preparing for the Olympic trials?”

  I dig my toe into the dirt. “No.”

  “We’ve worked so hard for this, Charlie. You know how any alteration in our routine can throw us off. And guys are unpredictable. You don’t want to end up like Coach Rachel.”

  She’s right, and yet . . .

  “He wouldn’t do anything to ruin my Olympic chances, Gwen.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” she asks. “What if you have a fight right before trials or—”

  “We’re not dating!” I exclaim, frustrated because I’d begun to think maybe we could. “I don’t even know if we’re friends.”

  “You don’t text people who aren’t your friends.”

  “If you met him—”

  “You won’t even let me meet Zoe.”

  With a growl I drop back down onto the swing. “He broke up with his girlfriend because she wanted so much attention. He doesn’t like a lot of attention.”

  “You’re going to have a lot of attention after the trials.”

  “If I make the team.”

  “He’s making you doubt.”

  “No, he’s not. I want it all. The regular life and the spotlight. I know I have to make sacrifices right now for the spotlight.”

  “We all do. My dad told me to go easy on school for a while. With trials so close, my parents want me to focus on gym.”

  I swallow as I think of my stack of books at home. “That’s probably good advice.”

  “If I can’t finish junior year now, it won’t be the end of the world. I can always come back to my studies in the summer . . . like, after the Olympics in August.”

  “Right.” For Gwen, setting assignments and tests aside is not a big deal. For me, on the other hand . . .

  I heave a sigh. At least if I can pull off the rest of this semester, I won’t have school hanging over my head when the Olympics start. I will be free and clear, totally focused. “Since ignoring school isn’t an option for me, I need to get home to study.”

  “That’s an additional reason why you don’t need a boyfriend pulling you in another direction right now,” she emphasizes.

  “No boyfriend.” Not that Bobby has said he wants that role in my life. Still, as we walk back to the car, I keep hoping to feel a buzz in my pocket, to get a text from Bobby.

  • • •

  When I walk into Alto’s classroom on Wednesday for the student council meeting, I notice two things straightaway. Bobby isn’t sitting by Kristine, and his arm is draped over the back of the seat of the empty desk beside him, as though he’s been saving it. He grins at me, straightens, and his arm falls away, an invitation for me to sit there. Two other seats are open. I have to choose.

  Ignoring Gwen’s warnings that are going off in my head, I take the seat beside Bobby. His grin grows; his dimple winks at me. I don’t even bother taking my lunch out of its sack, because my stomach is knotting up so tightly that I know I won’t be able to eat.

  The last two council members rush in and noisily take their chairs. Kristine calls the meeting to order, but she certainly doesn’t sound happy to do it.

  I call roll, pass out the minutes that I typed up—feel a sense of pride when they get a satisfactory nod from Alto and are approved by the council. I glance over at Bobby. He winks at me, and I refrain from adding that to the notes I’m taking for the next set of minutes.

  Kristine clears her throat harshly, and I give a little jump. When I look at her, she narrows her eyes back at me. “First order of business,” she says curtly, “is the venue for prom.”

  The motion to use the skating rink passes unanimously.

  “With that out of the way, I’m going to adjourn the meeting,” Kristine says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief as I close up my notebook. Typing up these minutes will be a snap. The short meeting gives me time to meet up with Zoe in the lunchroom so that I can quickly eat my sandwich and veggies.

  “We’ll use the time to break up into our individual committees to discuss plans. Food committee, back corner by the window. Decorating committee, opposite corner. Bobby, we’ll just meet here.”

  “We figured everything out Saturday night,” Bobby says. “I thought I could help out the food committee.”

  “We have a few things to discuss,” Kristine says.

  Bobby leans toward me, and his breath tickles my cheek as he says, “I have an idea for the food caterer. I’ll text you later.”

  I’m glad someone has an idea regarding food, because when I join my group, the guys on my committee are just exchanging video game strategies.

  “Uh, excuse me.” My interruption causes them to stare at me like I’ve sprouted three heads. “Shouldn’t we discuss food?”

  “Hot dogs,” Brandon says.

  “Really?”

  “We don’t care.” Alex’s words confirm my suspicions. “Just do whatever you want.”

  “But we’re supposed to decide together.”

  “We decided that whatever you want is what we want.” Brandon looks to the other two guys for confirmation. They nod.

  “But I might not even be on the student council by the time prom gets here,” I remind them. “I’m only temporary.”

  “I went to see Mandy yesterday,” Alex says. “I don’t think she’s coming back this year.”

  What? Wait! This was supposed to be for only a couple of week
s.

  When the bell rings, I stop to have a word with Mr. Alto. “So how is Mandy doing?” I ask. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “I don’t know if she will be back before school’s out—but if she does return, her mom wants her to take it easy. She’s resigned from the student council.”

  “So what does that mean? For me, specifically?”

  He smiles as though he’s about to tell me that I aced an exam. “It means you get to finish out her term.” He holds up the minutes. “These were excellent, by the way. I’m impressed, Charlotte.”

  “Impressed enough to give me an A in the class?”

  He chuckles. “Impressed enough to not give you a C.”

  I’m still reeling when I walk out into the hallway. Zoe is waiting for me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as we head for our lockers. “You look like you’re trying to process bad news.”

  “I’m not getting off student council anytime soon.”

  “Bummer.”

  “No, that’s just it. I’m not upset about it. That’s what I’m trying to process. It’s a little more fun than I thought it would be.” I’ve never had time to be this involved in any school club or organization. It’s giving me the sort of high school experience that I envisioned when I decided to return to public school in the first place.

  “Are you going to run for student council next year?” Zoe asks.

  Am I? If I make the Olympic team this year, everyone will know who I am by then. I’d probably win—but it would be Charlie winning, not Charlotte. People would vote for me because of my gymnastics record, not my school record. On the other hand, that will be a part of my life that I can’t escape. “I don’t know.”

  “If you run, I’ll run.”

  Smiling, I look at her. “Really?”

  “Sure. We could take over.”

  “It’s not a dictatorship.” Which I would have never said before I attended a meeting.

  “I know. I was just . . . Oh, looks like we’ll have to discuss this later.” She’s wearing a big smile. “Have fun.”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about, until I near my locker and see Bobby standing there. “Hey,” I say to him.

  “Hey. What did your committee decide about the food?”