Heartthrobs Don’t Date Wallflowers (Texting the Boyband)

Chapter 3

three

Music blared from my speaker, practically shaking the whole house, as I continued with my closet clean-out the next day.

Because my life was now officially boring enough for me to be cleaning out my closet on a Saturday afternoon.

I rummaged through the chaos, pulling out everything from my favorite old band tees to the dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding three years ago. I held up the dress, which was probably about two sizes too small by now, and snorted. Maybe I shouldn’t have just stuffed everything in moving boxes and promised myself that future me would deal with it once I moved into the new house.

Spoiler alert: future me didn’t want to deal with it.

I tossed the dress into the “donate” pile, which was starting to grow larger than my “keep” pile. Probably because half of the clothes were ones that reminded me of my ex and I didn’t want his bad energy in this new house.

I bobbed my head to the music as I spun back around to the closet and started pulling more clothes out. With every piece I pulled out, I felt lighter, like I was shedding old skin. I flipped through a few more hangers, making quick decisions.

“Keep.” I cradled a cozy sweater that I practically lived in during winter, hugging it to my chest like it was a long-lost friend. “Definitely keep. No way in heck am I letting you go.”

I threw it on the right pile and grabbed a pair of ripped jeans that I swore I hadn’t seen since middle school. I promised myself I would become cooler once I started high school and would wear them—that clearly hadn’t worked out.

The music thumped louder, and I couldn’t resist the urge to dance a little. I let my body sway side to side, imagining I was on a stage instead of a cluttered bedroom. I struck a ridiculous pose in the mirror, pretending to hold a microphone and screaming along to the lyrics in the mirror.

“And I will always love you!” I belted out, laughing at my own terrible voice. I mimicked a dramatic hair flip, chin looking over one shoulder and giggling as I winked at myself in the mirror. I pretended stage lights were hot on my skin and a roaring crowd was cheering as I twirled around completely lost in the moment. Now, like any great concert, I needed a costume change. I grabbed the first thing I could find—an old sundress with faded pink hearts that was big enough to just pull on over my current outfit. I twirled in front of the mirror, as if I was in a fashion show.

“What do we think?” I asked myself. I spun around again, watching it flare out at the waist. Yeah, not my style. “Donate. I’m never going to wear you.”

Next, I switched to a pair of high-waisted jeans and a cropped band tee, again just pulling them on over the shorts and tank top I was wearing. I wasn’t committed enough to this cleanup to bother actually changing. I struck a confident pose, hands on my hips, making a pouty face like I was a model. The face looked terrible but the outfit was nice.

“This is totally a keeper,” I announced, nodding at myself. I grabbed an oversized hoodie next, slipping it on over my t-shirt. I leaned against the wall and frowned at myself in the mirror, trying to channel a casual vibe and totally failing. “Nope, can’t pull it off. Next!”

I rummaged for a few more pieces, trying on an old sweater that was just a bit too big and a pair of combat boots. I tried to hit a dramatic pose, but my foot landed on a stray sock and I almost fell backwards.

“Whoa!” I yelped, barely catching myself on the edge of my desk before sending my notebook flying. I groaned and bent over to grab it from where it had fallen in my donate pile. As much as I’d love to donate all my school supplies and pretend that I wouldn’t be needing them on Monday, I knew that would only end in me having to go back to Staples to get more.

I brushed it off as I stood back up and glanced out the window—and came eye to eye with a boy in the house next door.

A very cute boy with dark hair and eyes, and small dimples that showed as he grinned at me.

Because as my luck would have it, our windows lined up perfectly, with only his house’s garage roof separating us. Meaning I could see right into his room and he?—

He could see everything I’d been doing for the past half hour.

My heart froze mid-beat, and I swear I forgot how to breathe. He wasn’t just glancing, either—he was staring, and from the smirk on his face, he’d definitely seen the whole performance. The terrible singing, the dramatic twirls, the ridiculous poses. Every single embarrassing second of it.

Heat rushed to my face as I stood there, completely frozen, not sure whether to dive behind my desk or just act like this was totally normal behavior. Like everyone spent their Saturday afternoons putting on impromptu fashion shows and dancing like a superstar for their bedroom windows.

I gave him an awkward wave. You know, like that would somehow make this less humiliating.

To my surprise, his mouth curled into a smirk, and he waved back—slow, like he was enjoying my humiliation. Great. I’d just given him the best entertainment of his day.

Without thinking, I bolted to the side of my room, pressing my back against the wall like I was in some kind of spy movie .

What was I supposed to do now? Never look out that window again?

I stood there for a full minute, trying to will the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. But, of course, that didn’t happen. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I slowly peeked back through the window, bracing for the worst.

And there he was. Still standing there, only now he was holding up a notebook, with something scrawled across the page in thick, black Sharpie.

Looking good

I blinked. My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing for a second. There was no way that was real. But no—there it was, in all its ridiculous glory, with him grinning like this was the funniest thing in the world.

My face burned, probably redder than a tomato at this point. I stared at the note, then at him, my mind racing for a response. Should I laugh it off? Ignore him? Move to a different country?

Great. This was my life now. The girl who gets caught dancing like an idiot by the cute boy next door.

And he was cute. Like, unfairly cute. His dark hair was a bit messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed, the kind that looked effortlessly good without trying. It fell in soft waves, a little longer than most guys around here wore it, brushing just past his eyebrows. And his eyes—dark, almost black—stood out against his tan skin.

I was so caught up in wondering whether there was any possible way of salvaging this that it took me a couple minutes to put together exactly who he was.

The boy. Next door. You know, the house filled with celebrities.

I groaned. Of course. Why wouldn’t the universe decide that the most embarrassing moment of my life should be in front of an actual famous person?

And he was smirking at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Nope. I was not about to stick around for this.

My face burning, I bolted from the room, practically tripping over my own feet as I darted into the hall. I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it like that could somehow erase the last five minutes from existence.

I was never going near that window again. Ever.

I groaned and slid down, letting my feet come out in front of me. Sitting here, I was facing Poppy’s room, which looked so empty. She’d only been in this house for a total of three nights, over the long weekend in October, before she went back to school. I wished she was here so I could tell her about what just happened but since she wasn’t, I did the next best thing and pulled out my phone to text her.

Ivy

You will never believe what just happened

Poppy was pretty much the only person I ever texted, other than the very occasional text to my parents, so I didn’t check the thread before I hit send. And I only caught my mistake when it was too late. Way too late. The message was sent to—my eyes widened with mortification at the name on the top of the screen—Not Zesty.

What was it about me and accidentally texting this guy?

I watched in horror as the typing bubbles appeared.

Not Zesty

Oh yeah?

Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected him to answer. Even though we’d joked about it the other day, I assumed it was one of those things you said and never followed through on, like we should get coffee sometime. But he did and I couldn’t leave the conversation here so I sent the first thing I thought of.

Ivy

This is your official notice that you have been moved down one place on my hit list. Congratulations.

Not Zesty

Time to pull out the champagne and party

Ivy

But don’t think this means you’re safe forever

I’m good at holding a grudge

Not Zesty

Don’t worry I’ve got a good escape route planned

But I will remind you that I never actually did anything to you

Just when you’re talking about holding a grudge and all that

Ivy

Are you questioning my motives

Because I’ll have you know, that puts you high on the list again

Not Zesty

Not questioning anything I swear!!!

But I do have to ask

What other crimes could get me bumped back up the list

Ivy

Hmmmm

Not liking music is high up there

Not Zesty

Not liking music? That’s a war crime. I feel like we should be discussing this in a UN meeting or something.

Ivy

Exactly! I don’t trust people like that

Also, people who put pineapple on pizza

Not Zesty

...

Ivy

Wait

Not Zesty

This is awkward.

Ivy

No

NO

Not Zesty

Princess, I need you to stay calm.

Ivy

There is NO way you like pineapple on pizza

I’m moving you back up the hit list as we speak.

Not Zesty

Can we at least compromise? What if it’s only half the pizza? Or like… tiny, barely noticeable pieces?

Ivy

We don’t negotiate with criminals.

Not Zesty

Oh, come on, Princess. Haven’t you heard of forgiveness?

Ivy

I think we just hit a major red flag here

Maybe you deserve to be on top of the list after all.

Not Zesty

You know what? I’ll take my chances

If I have to go down for pineapple pizza, I’ll go down swinging.

Ivy

Brave. Very misguided, but brave

Not Zesty

Thank you, I’d say thats the story of my life

Ivy

So what other red flags should I know about?

Don’t tell me you also clap when the plane lands

Not Zesty

Wow. No. Never. But my dad does and I think I die a little inside every time.

Ivy

My mom claps and I just want to crawl under the seat.

Not Zesty

Okay, good. We’re still safe here

Anything else?

Just curious

Ivy

Well, if you’re curious…

People who spoil books or movies without a warning are up there

And anyone who chews with their mouth open

Shivers.

Not Zesty

Okay, I can confidently say I’m safe on those

Now what about your red flags?

I mean other than keeping a list of your enemies

Ivy

Excuse me that is a green flag

And as a whole, I’m a delight to be around, obviously

Not Zesty

Obviously.

But there must be something

Like... you probably steal blankets when watching movies with someone

Ivy

...No comment

Not Zesty

Knew it

Ivy

Fine, maybe I do hog the blankets

But to be fair, I’m cold all the time! It’s a survival tactic.

Not Zesty

That’s some mental gymnastics

Ivy

Well not to brag or anything but I did a whole 2 weeks of gymnastics camp as a kid

Not Zesty

OHHH can you do a backflip??

Ivy

THAT IS A SENSITIVE SUBJECT FOR ME

Not Zesty

I’M SORRY

(But I can do one)

Ivy

WELL GOOD FOR YOU ZESTY

WAY TO SHOW OFF

Not Zesty

It’s N O T Zesty

Get it right

Ivy

:’(

Not Zesty

WAIT NO I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE YOU CRY

CRAP

UHHHHH

IDK HOW TO DEAL WITH CRYING GIRLS

HOLD ON I’M GONNA FIND HUD

HE’LL KNOW WHAT TO DO

Ivy

Hud??

Whose Hud??

Not Zesty

What

Who said that

Ivy

You did

Not Zesty

No I didn’t

Ivy

Yes you did??

Not Zesty

oH would you look at that, I’m getting a phone call

Gtg BYE

Ivy

ZESTY

ZESTY GET BACK HERE

IF YOU DON’T ANSWER, YOU’RE AT THE TOP OF THE LIST AGAIN