My (Not So) Perfect Plan (Believe In Us #2)

EIGHT

CLAIRE

“Yes, okay. I admit it. I’m a coward. There. That make you happy?” I pause in the process of painting my toenails a shade that cannot naturally be found on this earth. Tamara has the biggest collection of nail polish any of us have ever seen, and since we’re at her house while my friends attempt to help me unravel what happened Monday afternoon, glittery green toenails it is.

Normally, I would have had to beg, bribe, or steal to be able to get with my friends on a week night, but after seeing how miserable I’ve been for the past two days, my parents relented and allowed me to spend the night at Tamara’s house.

“No, it doesn’t make us happy,” Rachel says. They both scowl at me.

“Maybe he screwed up with Tina, you’ll never know unless you trust him, but maybe he didn’t,” Tamara said. “You’re letting fear rule your life in a way your parents never have. You already have pending acceptance letters from two different unis. What more do you want? How is dating him going to change anything?”

I almost laugh at Tamara. Dating Evan Carmichael would change everything.

“You make it sound like it wouldn’t matter if it was Evan or that gamer in our computers class – um, Jerome or whatever it is,” I say. “This is different. It’s Evan, who I have liked since second grade and who happens to have the biggest witch in the school as his psycho fan club. He’s a ladies man and a flirt, which makes dating him a bad idea. But the more I’m around him, the more I lose strength and lose focus.”

“Find the balance,” Rachel says. She reaches across the bed to gather me into a hug, careful of the nail polish and my drying toes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know your plan is important to you, but have you ever considered maybe rewriting your plan to include a love life?”

I shake my head. There is just no room in my heart or my head for sentimentality. At least not right now. Not if I am going to be smart and focus on the dream.

I dread seeing Evan at school again. I haven’t heard from him ever since I ‘broke up’ with him. Looking back, I wish I had handled it differently. Like, not dumping all this extra stress on him right after he woke up from surgery. Pretty sure his mom probably hates me for doing that to him. I wouldn’t blame her, I kinda hate myself for doing that to him.

The truth was, I panicked. Saturday night I had driven to Tina’s, hoping to surprise Evan with my unexpected arrival. But instead of him waiting for me like a guy who actually has his heart attached, he and Tina were almost smooching on the porch. I asked Tamara to keep driving instead of be humiliated for being the cuckhold.

By Monday, the gossip had transitioned to some freshman who walked in on Derek doing the nasty with her little sister’s college age baby sitter. I was happy not to be the gossip du jour, but that hadn’t stopped Tina from going claws in bat crap crazy on me. Every chance she got, she was manipulating, humiliating, or straight up lying about me – to the point that in a single day, I had racked up several sets of demerits from teachers.

So I panicked. Between knowing that Evan didn’t really want me for me, that he just wanted a warm body to touch and hold, and the fact that Tina was ready to crucify me over this, everything felt like it was on the brink of tumbling down. I was desperate, so after school I called all the people necessary – Joanna at PT, Mr. Henderson (who promised to switch my Trig tutor), and Evan’s mom (who I promised to return the money since I was backing out before the job was done).

Mrs. Carmichael wasn’t pleased, as I expected she wouldn’t be, but she seemed to understand that personal issues were preventing me from continuing to work with Evan. She insisted that I keep what I was paid, since it was hourly and wished me the best, which made me feel like a dog.

What I hadn’t counted on was the look of complete devastation that had been so apparent on Evan’s face when I told him what I was doing. I hadn’t counted on the hurt in his eyes staying with me day and night. Or the way his face closed up and left me feeling cold and dead inside.

I felt like I betrayed him, even though, I shouldn’t have felt like that. Hadn’t he betrayed me with Tina? And why was it so wrong to do what I needed to do for myself?

He still has many months of recovery, but knowing that he will be back in school within a few days, that I’ll have to see him, blows. I had written up a thank you note to him for helping me get my driver’s license, but it sounded so cold and impersonal. I left the note in his truck, locked the door, and gave the keys to his mom, which meant taking the note back was out of the question.

I got back into my regular schedule of school and home or school and physical therapy. I try to distract myself by throwing myself into fall gala planning and do my darnedest to avoid Tina. The fall gala is only a month away, but there is so much I still want to do with it. My fellow committee members, like Steph and Harmony, catch onto my enthusiasm and rope the theater department into creating some pretty elaborate Venetian inspired backdrops for the ‘A Night in Venice’ theme we’ve settled on.

The venue is booked, the caterers booked, and the meeting with the DJ to work out the play list for the evening is set up as well, along with the entertainment – tango dancers hired from a local dance studio, a comedian and magician duo that have recently started gaining popularity in Dallas.

Starting next week, we’ll be getting the entire senior and junior class helping sell a limited number of 300 tickets for the gala. At $100 a ticket, the seats aren’t cheap, but considering the cause and what they are getting out of it, we hope attendees will consider it worthwhile.

On Friday morning, Evan’s first day back, I rip open a large envelope as I hang out near the parking lot, watching for Evan’s truck. Even though I hate the thought that he despises me now, my heart still wants to know that he’s okay. Thick packets of tickets held together with rubber bands slide into my lap. I squeal with excitement. They look as amazing as I had hoped they would. I would have to give a shout out to Raven for the graphics when I did my thank you speech.

The deep growl of Evan’s truck has me slouching while trying to see at the same time, like a turtle with part of its head out of its shell. Turns out, he’s not in my line of sight at all because Josh Hinsley’s stupid hippie van is blocking my view. When I do finally see him, he’s using his crutches and a smile touches my mouth as I see that the toes on his hurt leg are just barely taking some body weight.

“Good job, Evan,” I whisper, though there is no one there but me to hear it.

The only class Evan and I share is trigonometry. I am already close to failing that class, so I really, really have to try and focus, which will be all the more difficult with the guy I’ve been crushing on for so long (and who apparently thought I was lust-worthy?) is in the same room with me. I feel so self-conscious and all thumbs, and that all increases by about a thousand times when he swings in on his crutches and deposits himself in an out of the way desk Mr. Henderson must have moved there just for him.

I feel like a Charlie Brown character with the teacher making all these sounds that kind of sound similar to words but actually are only so much gibberish. I just can’t think. I really hope whoever Mr. Henderson picked to tutor me, he ends up being a good tutor.

Right as the bell rings Mr. Henderson asks both Evan and I to stay. My heart sinks and my eyes involuntarily dart over to the corner where Evan rises to his feet and gets his crutches figured out. My fingers itch to hold his bag while he does so, but I keep my hands by my side as I go up to Mr. Henderson’s desk.

“Ah, Miss Brown. You requested a tutor change.” My cheeks blaze red. Why couldn’t he have mentioned this to Evan when I’m not standing right here? My eyes dart over to him, but his face is still this impassive mask. Out of nowhere the thought occurs to me that I should poke him in the face and see if he’s an android or a robot because he’s so clinical, and unfeeling. “Unfortunately I don’t have anyone else qualified to tutor you. I thought we might perhaps get together and work out why you feel Mr. Carmichael is unsuitable to tutor you.”

“Yes, I, too, would be interested to hear what Miss Brown finds unsuitable in my tutoring methods.” Evan’s words seem all polite and soft spoken interest, a genuine hope for self-improvement, but I’m not fooled. Leveled as they are at me, with a challenge and defiance in his eyes that has me thinking we aren’t just talking about tutoring, I don’t know what to say.

“He’s fine,” I say. “I – I just have a lot going on right now. I thought maybe if we could find a tutor that wasn’t quite so handsy – I mean, hands on, that might work as a compromise.”

Mr. Henderson furls his brow and looks down at his desk as if the answer is in the wood grains. Above his head, Evan sends me a look of disbelief and disgust that tells me just what he thought of my request.

“I’m afraid Mr. Carmichael here is all we have who is willing to commit tutoring hours,” Mr. Henderson says. “You’ll need to catch up on understanding the notes for this past chapter relatively quickly. You have a big test on Friday. Can you make it work, Miss Brown?”

Since Mr. Henderson isn’t leaving me a choice, I have no option but to give in. I nod my head and send an apologetic glance toward Evan, but he ignores it. After we get our tardy notes from Mr. Henderson, Evan precedes me out the door. He’s surprisingly fast on his crutches now and I have to speed-walk up to him to tug on his elbow. He stops, but doesn’t turn around, making it very clear that he doesn’t want to speak to me.

“Look, I asked to switch tutors because I figured it would be easier on the both of us. You aren’t very happy with me and I… well, whatever.”

He doesn’t say anything, just lifts an eyebrow at me. “That all?”

“And I’m sorry,” I blurt out. The other eyebrow shoots up. My heart is pounding in my chest, not only from my proximity to him, but also because I’m admitting I screwed up. There’s not a whole lot of times in my life where I’ve been in a position to do that. “It was really bad timing with the, um, whatever you want to call it. I should have waited until you were in a better place before leaving you in the lurch.”

“Look, Claire, I don’t need you, okay? You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves.” With every point he makes he’s leaning closer and closer to me. “I’m not some little boy who needed someone’s hand to hold.” The lockers are at my back and I have nowhere else to go. “You could have saved your pity, because that’s all it was, right?” A wicked grin turns the corners of his lips up and I swallow in trepidation. The smell of him is turbulent and overpowering, raw, piney, and masculine.

“In fact, if I wanted to,” he steps closer, crowding me even more. His head comes down until his lips hover right above mine, “I’m pretty sure I could make you beg to take me back as a tutor .”

My lips ache for his kiss and I shut my eyes, shame and confusion and need all swirling around inside me. I tremble and open my eyes again. The same desire is reflected in his darkened gaze.

“Please,” I whisper without thought.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice low and husky. He turns away from me and swings down the hall on his crutches. I sag back and use the lockers to hold me up. I shake my head, trying to clear away the stupor he just put me in. This was just terrible. My plan was going up in smoke.

I slide onto my seat at the lunch table I share with Raven and Tamara. Rachel has a different lunch and usually spends her time writing poetry out by the bleachers. I’m still freaking out inside at whatever it was that happened with Evan in the hallway, but I’m trying to play it down so I don’t seem like a total spaz.

“How did Trig go with Evan there?” Tamara asks.

“Why do we care that Evan was there again?” Raven asks, brushing a shock of black hair out of his eye. I don’t think he actually wants it out of his eyes, it’s just an emo thing to do.

“Don’t worry. Girl drama,” Tamara says, pulling the lid off the salad she bought. “Spill, honey.”

“It sucked. I couldn’t keep my mind on anything and I don’t understand it. I am going to fail that class. I just know it,” I grumble.

“I thought you have a tutor,” Raven says. He finishes peeling his orange and tosses a slice in his mouth.

I get to work eating my basket of chicken strips and fries. It’s not healthy, but I felt the need for comfort food today. “I do. Evan. Hence, drama.”

“Um, okaaay….?” Raven says.

“Come on, Raven. Evan? The Evan? Evan that Claire’s been crushing on since second grade?” Tamara says. She stuffs a tomato in her mouth and rotates her hand at me to continue.

“I did something really stupid.” I spend the next twenty minutes catching them up on all the drama that my life has turned into, including his Tina moment and my jerk move to not-dump-him right after his surgery.

Tamara is cringing by the end of it and waving her fork at me over her empty salad container. “Honey, that was horrible. True. But you apologized and that moment in the hall. Mmmmm…You can’t tell me he didn’t want some of your sumpin-sumpin.”

Raven looks over at Tamara like she’s crazy while he finishes off a can of coke. “Or maybe he’s just a player and wanted to let Claire know that he still has his mojo in place. Think about it. His ego has taken a major hit by the fact that he can’t pursue his dream. If he was enjoying Claire’s attention and then she ups and drops him, he’ll be hurting even more. It’s more likely that he liked having Claire around for how she made him feel, instead of liking her for her.”

“So the question is, does he like you for you or does he like you for what you do for him?” Tamara says, as if it’s the most mystical, profound question in the world.

“Um, hi guys. I don’t know if we’ve met before. My name is Claire Brown. I’m a skinny, plain, dweeb girl who has no life, buys her clothes from thrift stores, and has to stay nose to grindstone in order to make sure I achieve success and get out of the dump I’m living in.”

Tamara arches a brow at me.

“What?” I ask, dropping my eyes to my cold food. “Apparently you guys needed to remember who you are talking about when you speak of a guy like Evan and a girl like me.”

Someone kicks me under the table and I yelp. Raven is looking over my shoulder with a expression like he swallowed an egg and only just now realized it. Tamara looks just as horrified and in the same direction. Knowing who must be standing behind me and heard everything I just said, I pinch my lips, scoot my food off to the side and begin banging my forehead on the table. I am losing my mind. The universe hates me.

“So, Claire, about the tutoring ….” Evan begins. He doesn’t bother sitting down. I sit up, wincing, my face on fire, and turn to him.

“Now that you have your license, do you want to stop by my house after school?” His words are nonchalant, cold, and impersonal. His gaze is directed out over the lunch room as if he couldn’t care less, or can’t even be bothered to look at me, which is probably true. I am literally the girl who was the ego-stroker. I could be the title of one of those trendy novels, The Girl Who Was The Ego-Stroker, only on the front there would be a picture of me and the only people who would read the book are guys desperately in need of ego-stroking. Ugh. I am disgusted with myself and for myself.

“The library here is fine,” I say.

“Cool.” Without another glance in my direction or any sign that he heard what I said or even a glimpse of emotion, he moves away from us toward the lunchroom doors. Tina stomps up to him and pouts, laying a hand on his arm as they move out of sight. Ugh, again. She is welcome to be his ego-stroker.

“Did you see that?” Tamara asks Raven as the bell rings and she gathers up her trash for the waste can.

“Yeah.” Raven shakes his head. “I guess that answered that question.”

I’ll say, I think to myself, but I don’t need to hear the answer confirmed by them. I was the one who knew from the very beginning that a guy who acted like that was only doing so because he wanted his ego stroked. And yet I managed to be stupid enough to start like , liking him. I don’t know why it is, but sometimes people being sympathetic has a way of making me feel even cruddier and more pathetic than I already feel.

We walk to our next class and the rest of the day passes in a blur. During committee meeting in one of my free periods, I pass out the tickets and sign up forms for senior students willing to help sell tickets to the gala and then emphasize how important it is that we keep records of who bought what and how much they paid. My hope is that some of the parents will be willing to donate more than the price of the ticket, thus bumping up the final campaign results.

Though I’ve been dreading spending another hour with Evan, I need the tutoring for the chapter we are going to be tested on in trig.

I’m waiting at a table in the library when I hear him come swinging in. I don’t look up because I’m obviously too busy sharpening a pencil, pulling out my book and notebook, and generally trying to look anywhere but at him.

He slings his back pack on the table and, after a beat, sits down.

“Claire,” he says by way of greeting.

“Carmichael.”

“It’s Evan. Only athletes call me Carmichael.”

I look over at him, preferring Carmichael just because Evan sounds so intimate. Color me old-fashioned. My face heats and I nod in recognition. “Okay, Evan .”

He slaps his hand on my trig book and flips it open to the chapter we’re working on. He’s all business, and as usual, he surprises me with his examples and trying to find different ways to explain concepts I don’t understand. I’m saddened by the brusque way he’s treating me when we had at least been friendly before he kissed me, but an hour flies by and before I know it, I have to rush away to get to my bike if I’m going to have a hope of getting to work at the PT clinic and changing on time.

At the entrance/exit to the street I’m waiting for traffic to fly by before riding across when the unmistakable sound of Evan’s truck pulling up next to me has me feeling all self-conscious. But I’m glad to see he’s driving again. It means his recovery is really going well.

“You’re going to be late for work, aren’t you?” he yells out the window, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black aviators that make my heart flutter.

I hesitate and then nod my head.

He nods to the back of the truck. “Throw your bike in the back and get in. I’ll give you a ride.”

He’s so perfunctory about it, like it’s no big deal and he’s just doing what anyone would do if they knew the circumstances and were in a position to help. I think only a second before giving in. It’s just a ride, right? How bad can it be?

I drag his tail gate down and wrestle my bike into the back, feeling even more self-conscious because I know he’s watching me in the rear view mirror. Finally, I get it in. I’m sweating by the time I’m buckled in the seat.

“Sorry, I would have helped you with the bike, but the knee can’t take it quite yet,” he says throwing the truck into drive and pulling across the street.

“What? No! Don’t apologize. I wasn’t expecting you to get out and be all prince charming, you know. It’s not like you owe me anything. I’m just really happy that I won’t be late for work. I hope to get a job there one day and I really don’t want them thinking I’m unreliable.” I pinch my lips together, realizing I’m babbling like an idiot because I’m nervous.

“Where to?” he asks, ignoring my verbal vomit. “The clinic, right?”

I nod my head.

“Just as well,” he mutters.

We pull into the parking lot and I’m surprised to see him getting out, pulling his crutches into position.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, confused.

He sends me a look that says, ‘What’s it to you? And you no longer have the right to ask me that, but you’re asking me that.’

“Never mind. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Thanks for the ride,” I turn and stride into the building feeling tears prick at the backs of my eyes. I know I don’t have any right to be upset at how he reacted. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To be able to focus on getting into college and sticking to the plan without the interference and distractions of people like Evan?

I change in a hurry, toss my hair up into a messy bun, and start my hours. I know Evan is somewhere in the facility for an hour, but I don’t see him, which has me thinking he called Joanna and had her move him to a different person.

When I clock out a little bit after 5:30, my bike is locked in the bike rack. I’m reminded of Evan’s generosity again. He didn’t have to offer me a ride or lock up my bike. He did it because even if he’s angry at me and a ladies man, deep down he’s actually a good guy. I have no doubt that someday he will make someone a great boyfriend. I’m just not convinced that time is now, or that the person he will be a great boyfriend for is me.

At home, mom is in the middle of making dinner. The rug rats are busy finishing up homework and the baby is babbling. I pick her up and cuddle her a few minutes before putting her down and greeting my mom who stands in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on Chicken Piccatta.

“How was school, honey?”

“Meh. It was school. I passed out the gala tickets to the committee members today so hopefully we get a lot of seniors to help with selling them.”

She nods and begins transferring food into serving dishes.

“That’s good. Your theme sounds exciting this year. Take this to the table, won’t you?” she asks, passing me a bowl of pasta. I take it to the table and then grab all the plates and silverware we need.

“Is dad going to be home on time?” I ask.

“That’s the plan. It’ll be nice for you to be home to eat with us. You are usually too busy with Evan these days. How is he?”

I shrug my shoulders as I get the baby set up in her high chair. Mom follows me to the table with a bowl of salad. “He’s recovering. I’m still doing trig tutoring with him after school, but PT transferred him to a different therapist. He’s back at school at least, so I guess that’s good.”

I hadn’t really told my mom or dad anything about what was going on with Evan and I. I don’t think they would have been as inclined to let me do the therapy sessions at his house and borrow his truck.

My dad’s truck pulls into the driveway and I call my siblings down to eat dinner.

“Hey, dad,” I say as he comes in. He hangs up his coat, turns, and smiles at me. Then he digs around in his pocket and tosses something in my direction. I attempt to catch it, but fumble spectacularly and it lands on the carpet. It’s a key.

“What’s this?” I ask, afraid to hope that it is what I think it might be.

“Oh, probably what you think it is,” he winks.

I jump for the sofa in front of the living room and pull open the curtain. Sitting behind my dad’s truck is a cute little red mazda. . I wave as Ken and Reznick, two of the guys my dad works with pull away in a truck. My eyes track back to the mazda. It’s definitely nothing fancy, but it’s got a working engine and four wheels, and it’s mine.

I squeal with excitement and then launch myself into my dad’s arms. We never discussed when I was going to get a car, or how. I figured I would need to save up for it and buy it myself.

“Thanks, dad!”

He squeezes me. “I don’t want you to grow up, but it looks like you’re doing it anyway, pumpkin. I guess it’s about time I recognize that fact,” he says into my hair. I can tell from how thick his voice is that this moment means more to him than I can comprehend.

After a few seconds he releases me and stands back. “It’s a stick shift, so you’re going to have to learn how to drive a stick. I would teach you, but I don’t have the time off work. And your mother doesn’t know how.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying to learn, though,” my mother interjects with a laugh.

“I finally had to give up,” my father smiles.

I have no idea which one of my friends drives stick, but I know one of them can teach me.

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll learn how to drive stick then.” I clap my hands with excitement. “Can I go check it out?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mom and dad watch as I run down the steps and out to the driveway. It’s pretty basic, to the point of having windows that have a hand crank instead of an electronic button, but it’s a car. A real car that can get me all over town. I rest my head on her top and decide I’m going to come up with a fantastic name for her, but I’m not going to rush it.

I head inside a few minutes later to eat with the family. It’s a noisy crowded affair with some fighting, some laughs, and a lot of reminders as to everything I am working toward. I want my siblings to make it.

After I finish my chores, I run upstairs to work on the rest of my homework, but I am too keyed up not to call Rachel and tell her what happened this afternoon.

“I think Jaxon drives stick. You want him to give you lessons on Friday afternoon?” she asks. “We could use the parking lot at school if you are okay with me leaving my car and Jaxon driving us to school in your car.”

“He wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she says.

She doesn’t have much to say about Evan, but I know she doesn’t care for the way I handled it, or the fact that there is no room in my plan for him.

We hang up and then I finish my homework, falling asleep on my trig textbook.

The week passes in a weird way – super fast when I want it to be slow and then super slow when I want it to be fast. And everything revolves around proximity to Evan. Nothing has gotten better, but I’ve slowly started to feel worse. I don’t know why but it seems like everything feels more and more out of sync even though when I look through my planner, everything is on track. My relationships with my friends is somewhat strained over our disagreement regarding Evan, but my relationship with my family is going strong and Joanna is really pleased with my work at the clinic. Even the gala seems to be going well as ticket sales grow.

Before I know it, Friday is here. In the morning, Rachel and Jaxon leave her car at my house and drive us to school in my car. Jaxon, being a guy who wants to test out the engine, pushes the limits and does all sorts of engine revving things that have me ready to say I didn’t care if wasn’t up to the standard of his car, it was good enough for me just because it ran.

Instead, when we pull into the school parking lot and get out, he nods his head at me. “Not bad. It’s a nice little car. It’s not a V8, but a decent V6 has more than enough power to get you where you need to go.”

I grin at him and let him pocket my keys, seeing as how he’s going to give me lessons after tutoring. For the rest of the day, my excitement is hard to contain, until Trig, which is still my most depressing class of the day.

After school, I wait in the library like I usually do. Evan and I have fallen into a strictly school work routine where we don’t even make small talk or ask anything personal. It’s hard for me not to comment on how great his progress has been, but I hold my tongue. Soon, he’ll be off the crutches, even if he won’t be able to do anything strenuous for the next five months.

We dive into it, and, like usual, by the end of the session my fingers are trembling from the strain of being in such close proximity to him and my heart is racing a million beats per minute. He’s leaning over the table working on some last minute stuff when my pencil flips somehow and hits him in the face, somewhere near his eye. I don’t know exactly where because I didn’t see when it came down, but Evan jumps with a cry and bends over holding his eye.

“Oh, my gosh! Evan!” I run around the table and crouch down in front of him, imagining all sorts of nasty, bloody, popped eyeball scenarios. I cover his hands with mine, not thinking about anything other than the injury he just sustained. “Are you all right? I am sooo sorry. I don’t even know what happened.”

He sits up, holding his injured eye with one hand, the other blazing at me, and then his good eye waters up and he drops his head back into his hand again like he can’t bear for me to see whatever it is he’s feeling. The fact that I’ve destroyed that trust between us kills me.

“Evan?” I ask, afraid that if I say more, I’ll make that dam break somehow and it’s obvious he doesn’t want me to see his emotion. But I can’t take knowing that I’ve caused him even more pain.

“I’ll be fine. Just go, Claire,” he says gruffly. I don’t want to leave, but he doesn’t say anything else and shifts his body away from me. I can take a hint so I pack up my books.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, and then turn and leave.

On the way out, my phone dings with a text. Rachel needs me to stop by her locker and pick up a notebook she left behind. I remember that Jaxon is waiting for me at my car and I start walking faster. I wasn’t able to fix my situation with Evan, but I could learn how to drive my own car.

I grab Rachel’s notebook and run out to the car. At first I think no one is out there, but then I see his silhouette in the front passenger seat.

My phone rings and I answer it as I swing the car door open and get in.

“Hey, Claire, sorry I had to bail on you,” Jaxon’s voice comes through the phone. Confused, I look across to the person sitting in the driver’s seat.

“You’re not Jaxon,” I breathe.

“No. No, I’m not,” he says.