Foes & Cons by Carrie Aarons (english books to improve english txt) 📕

a pros and cons list anymore; I don’t need to run scared from the feelings I have for my best friend. Er, former best friend.

By the time I’m done, I hope she’s no longer my friend. I hope she’s the girl I get to call mine.

I hope she’s the girl I can finally convince to fall in love with me, just like we should have two years ago.

21

Blair

I’m tempting fate by studying in my dad’s storefront today, but it’s calming in here.

The dark tones of the design, the classical music that Thomas likes to sketch to, the worn leather chairs and low coffee table that I spread all my textbooks out on … it reminds of a simpler time.

A time when my heart wasn’t so confused, when my head wasn’t constantly spinning. If I’m not thinking about Sawyer and our fight, or my feelings for him, I’m worrying about my advanced placement tests or college applications. I’m fretting about leaving Dad and the only home I’ve ever known, or loathing that my mom is seemingly trying to come around again.

Winter break is just a week away, and I just hit submit on my four college applications. I sent up a little prayer when I did so, even though I’m not religious at all. Sayossett College and Brockden University are my top choices, their political science programs being two of the best on the East Coast, but there is a lot of competition to get in.

So here I am, burying my worries in my high school homework while I hide in the familiarity of Dad’s office. Thomas is hard at work at his desk in the back, and Dad is closer to the front at his desk. He’s been on and off phone calls with clients, and I’m snuggled up on one of the big cognac leather chairs with a cup of tea. Outside, a light snow coats our New Jersey small town, and I’m reminded of why this is my favorite time of the year. Growing up in a town like Chester, the Christmas holidays are magic. Twinkling lights, local carolers in the street, the Main Street Christmas parade, the way everything just feels more magical in the month of December.

The bell over the shop door jingles, and I know who walks in just by the shift in the air. Tingles of awareness shoot up my spine, making the base of my neck feel wobbly. My stomach is dipping like I’ve just taken the first drop on a roller coaster, and I kind of want to bolt.

But I make myself sit, rooted to the spot, my head not rising from my textbooks. I’m pretending to read, so ridiculously that I focus on the word Washington about forty times in an effort to appear entrenched in my history homework.

“Good to see you, son.” My dad stands, and out of the corner of my eye I see him heartily shaking hands with Sawyer.

“I didn’t think you were popping by today.” Thomas walks into the main part of the shop/office and smiles, the love of a father who just wants to spend the last moments of high school time with his son evident on his face.

“Can’t I come see my old man? And possibly buy him dinner?” Sawyer says this so innocently.

In the two years since we stopped being friends, he has barely come in here after school. I know this because I spend many an afternoon here. Even more rare? Him coming in to buy his dad dinner. Something is up, I smell it from a mile away.

“How generous of you.” Thomas beams, always taking most people at face value. “What’re you thinking?”

I still haven’t looked up, though I feel his gaze all over me. It makes me hot, and I have to discreetly shift in my overstuffed chair because breath is suddenly hard to come up for.

“Actually, I was thinking I could buy us all dinner. I know how much you like the Indian place, Blair. Want to come help me carry some stuff back?”

And there it is, the manipulative play he was aiming at. He knows that by asking me to help, in front of our fathers, I can’t really cause a scene. Plus, he knows a delicious takeout meal is a way to get on my good side.

I look up, scowling, and see Dad and Thomas exchange a strange, worrisome look. It’s the first time they’re witnessing their children talking amicably to each other in over two years, so now wonder they’re surprised. I’d like to tell Sawyer off right now, especially since he ran out of my house the other week, blaming me for how everything went down.

We haven’t spoken since that day, and I’ve been nearly gnawing my fingernails to the quick over it. I feel guilty, hurt, flayed open all over again. I deeply regret having invaded his privacy, but the pain of that list hit me all over again when I finally confessed everything to him. Knowing that he knows what I read makes the wound almost fresh, and I know we have to talk, but I’m avoiding it for as long as I can.

Seems that Sawyer is forcing my hand, always writing the script for both of us. He wants to talk, so apparently, it’s time to talk.

“Sure.” I don’t let any hint of emotion seep into my voice.

I stand and grab my coat before I follow him out onto Main Street. The cold bursts through the door, catching up my hair and invading all the nooks and crannies of my bones. I hug myself, trying to fight the shiver.

“Shit, should we have just stayed at the office?” Sawyer looks at me with concern, because he knows that I know we’re not out here just to get food.

“It’s fine. Whatever you have to say, I don’t want them to overhear.” I’m cautious and weary, and I’m pretty sure it shows.

“Do you want to pick up the food first?” He’s hedging, avoiding, and