Celebrities Don’t Date Bookworms (Texting the Boyband #1)

Chapter 6

six

“Why don’t you girls head to the food court while I pay for the shirts?” Mom smiled at us knowingly—the only part about the mall that I liked was the food.

“Thanks, Ana!” Sloane said. Yes, she was on a first name basis with my mom, while I still called hers “Mrs. Evans” after more than ten years of knowing each other. I wasn’t bitter about it. Note the sarcasm.

Sloane grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the long line that had practically taken over the back half of the clothing store. I’d told my mom that going to the mall on a Saturday afternoon was a bad idea, but she refused to listen to me. She kept insisting that I absolutely needed to get a new uniform shirt before school on Monday (as if I didn’t have like five others), and she wouldn’t listen when I said we could come after school one day when there would be fewer people.

Sloane expertly weaved us between racks of clothing and around mannequins until we finally walked through the door and into the airy, large hallway of the mall. It felt like the volume got turned up as we made our way into the yelling crowds of people.

“I’m totally craving a soft pretzel right now,” Sloane said. “Mind if we go there first?”

“Sure,” I said. I was well used to Sloane’s random cravings by now. I was happy for her to just lead wherever she wanted to go, and I followed behind, just happy to be included. The fewer decisions I had to make in my life, the better.

“I’m so glad your mom is making you get new shirts for school,” Sloane said. She shook her head. “You probably would have worn the stained ones to school.”

“Would that be an issue?” I asked with a laugh. “I do that all the time.”

“Well, yes, but it was different before.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “It was before you met the mega hot boy band member who will be in all our classes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sloane, we’ve talked about this. He’s not going to be in our classes. And even if he is, he won’t be paying any attention to me or whether my shirt has a stain on it.”

The chances of him being in at least one of my classes was actually pretty high, considering how small our school was, but I refused to say that aloud. I knew that if I did, I would just be tempting fate.

“I don’t know,” Sloane said in a sing-song voice. “He seemed pretty into you in the coffee shop. ”

“You’re crazy,” I said. It didn’t matter how he felt anyway—I knew that I wasn’t interested in him. I couldn’t care less how he felt about my shirts because I couldn’t care less about him. I’d already felt that before, but I extra felt it after my call with Bay last night. That call reminded me that there actually were boys out there who were nice, and sweet, and… not pompous celebrities. And any time someone tried to sway me otherwise, I just had to remember that.

“Crazy enough to believe in true love,” Sloane said, and winked. I shook my head but didn’t argue.

As we reached the line by the pretzel shop, Sloane went up on her tiptoes to see around the people in front of us. It took her less than five seconds to catch the eye of the girl working there, Layla, and she held up two fingers. Layla nodded back and got to work making our usual order.

“I’ll never stop finding it weird that you have connections everywhere,” I said to Sloane. At pretty much every store we ever stepped into, Sloane knew someone working there and could convince them to give her special treatment. In this case, she knew Layla from the cheerleading squad, and because she only ever got the plain pretzel, all she had to do was tell her the number of them she wanted, and the order got put in without us even needing to wait in line. That way, by the time we paid, the food was ready.

“Cheerleaders stick together,” Sloane said with a shrug. “Anyway, back to your boy problem?—”

“I don’t have a boy problem?—”

“Honey, I’m saying this with love,” Sloane said, putting her hands on my shoulders, “but you aren’t the best judge of that.”

“Hey,” I said indignantly, but without much conviction in my voice. She was right; when it came to boys, I was completely hopeless. A boy once asked me to go to the school dance with him, and I was so awkward that I just stood there and stared at him silently until he left, assuming I wasn’t interested. I was never able to live that one down.

“Excuse me,” somebody said from behind us. “Do I know you?”

The British accent made me freeze, my mind immediately going back to my conversation with Bay last night. For a second, I thought it was him, and that he recognized me, but I quickly realized that couldn’t be the case. Bay had no idea what I looked like. Sure, boys my age with British accents weren’t incredibly common here, but he certainly wasn’t the only one. Actually, now that I thought about it, there were at least five boys in my grade who had British accents, which was not an insignificant amount.

Sloane’s eyes focused on the boy, and her eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out who he was. Out of curiosity, I spun around too. I wondered whether he actually knew me or if he just said that to get me to turn around. Or, more likely, to get Sloane to turn around. She was the one that boys did double-takes for. But no—he was looking straight at me, and staring like he knew exactly who I was. Of course, it was easier for him than it was for me. While I was dressed properly for the early fall weather in a tank top and pants, he was covered almost head-to-toe, including a beanie and sunglasses. Even if I did know him, I wouldn’t have recognized him then.

“You’re the girl from Starbucks!” he said enthusiastically.

“Um…” I took an awkward step back, trying not to be too obvious about it. While I was sure he was probably harmless, I wasn’t looking to get harassed or kidnapped today, and putting some distance between myself and a random boy who looked like he was hiding his identity and seemed a little too comfortable around me was probably a good idea.

“The girl I spilled coffee on yesterday,” the boy said. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, my gosh!” Sloane said. “You’re?—”

That was all she got out before the boy desperately put a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming.

“Please don’t say it,” he said. “Please. I just wanted a normal mall day without getting mobbed.”

A minute ago, I would have tried to kick him or something in Sloane’s defense, but now I understood what was going on, and why he looked like that: he was Hudson Shaw.

Why is this my life?

Hudson slowly let go of Sloane’s mouth, relaxing when she stayed silent. Then he turned his attention back to me.

“Again, I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I promise I didn’t mean to spill coffee on you. I wasn’ t looking, and?—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t even care.”

That was a lie. I actually did care quite a bit. But I was willing to say whatever it took to get him to leave us alone. Sure, I’d thought he was cute when I didn’t know who he was. But now that I knew he was famous—and after that act of covering Sloane’s mouth like he was so arrogant to think that if someone dared breathe his name, then he would be mobbed—I wanted to put some distance between us.

“Please let me pay you back,” he begged. He looked at the store we were in line for. “Or at least let me buy you a pretzel. Then we can call it even.”

“I…” I shook my head as he reached for his wallet. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“I owe you,” he insisted.

“You really don’t,” I said. “It was my fault for spilling the coffee. I shouldn’t have walked with the lid off.”

“And I should have looked up before I moved,” he said. “If I wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have spilled it.”

Why was he so insistent about this?

“I don’t want your money,” I said. I wasn’t sure why it would feel so wrong to let him pay me back, but it did. There was something gross about knowing he was a millionaire and able to do that when I couldn’t. Maybe that should have been a reason for me to say yes, but I just couldn’t.

“There you are, girls!” I almost let out a sigh of relief as I looked over and saw my mom walking towards us. She came up and put an arm around my shoulders, looking at Hudson curiously. “Who’s your friend?”

“He’s not my friend,” I murmured, but she probably didn’t hear me because Sloane said louder,

“This is Hudson! He’s starting at our school on Monday.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Mom said. “It’s nice to meet you, Hudson. I’m sure you’ll love Summerfield.”

“I’m sure I will too,” Hudson said with a polite smile. My mom’s face lit up as she heard his accent.

“You’re British!” She said. “Isn’t that great? Have you ever heard of the boy band Take Five? They’re just my favorite, and a couple of them are British too, and?—”

I groaned, cutting her off. “We get it, Mom. You like the stupid band.”

“Don’t be rude,” Mom said. “Maybe Hudson here does like them.”

“Well, actually—” Hudson said.

“I’m sure Hudson has somewhere else he needs to be!” I said before Hudson could tell my mother all about how much he liked Take Five. If my mom found out who he was, she would never let it go. She would probably insist that I needed to befriend him and bring him around enough until she got an autograph. In fact, she would probably secretly hope we would fall in love, like Sloane.

“Unfortunately, I do,” Hudson said. “I’m meeting some friends. But it was lovely to meet you, Mrs…”

“White,” Mom supplied. She held a hand out for him to shake, which he did immediately. “ Ana White.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. White,” Hudson said. I wonder how much PR training he had gotten. Was this his real personality or just all that training being put to use? He nodded at me. “And I’ll see you at school.”

“Yes, you will,” Sloane said deviously. I glared at her. I had no idea what she was up to, but I knew I didn’t like it.

“What a nice boy,” Mom said once Hudson walked away. “If he’s in your classes, you should offer to show him around.”

“He’ll get assigned a guide,” I said. “It’s school policy. There’s a whole club.”

“Well, then you should offer,” Mom said. “Don’t you think it will make him more comfortable to be shown around by somebody he knows?”

Fat chance. If only she knew how many girls would be volunteering before me.