Free Heart Shaped Rock by Laura Roppe Page B

smile that could melt the polar ice caps—not that they need any help melting these days, so I hear.
    “See? She’s good,” C-Bomb shouts. “Let’s go.”
    “Okay, okay.” Dean looks at his watch again. “Yeah, you’re right, man, we’re cutting it super close. Let’s jam. I’ll see ya soon, Shaynee.” He winks at me and my insides turn to mush—confirming unequivocally that, despite all my big talk from earlier, I really am just like every other weak-kneed girl on the planet, after all.
    Dean and C-Bomb jog to the patio, where Dean quickly scoops up his helmet and leather jacket from a chair, and then Dean and C-Bomb run down Bay Street.
    Jared clears his throat and moves even closer to me—so close his body brushes against my arm. I can feel his Tootsie Rolls begging me to look at him, but I can’t take my eyes off Dean’s back. Just before Dean descends into the shadows beyond the street lamp, he turns back and waves. And even from a distance, I can make out his white teeth and bright blue eyes shining through the darkness.
     

Chapter 7
     
    After Tiffany drops Kellan off at his car, she turns to me, her eyes ablaze. “Tell me everything. You were smiling ear to ear when I saw you with Jared. What the heck did he say to you?”
    I can’t help but grin like a fool. “I wasn’t smiling about Jared. I met Motorcycle Boy at the party.” This last part comes out as a shout.
    “ You met Motorcycle Boy? The one with the ‘beautiful blue eyes?’”
    “The one and only.”
    “And was the rest of his face as good-lookin’ as his eyes?”
    I blush. I can’t even answer her. I look out the car window to compose myself.
    “Oooooh, wow. That cute, huh?”
    My blush deepens. I giggle. Who the hell am I right now?
    “He’s in a band,” I say. “He’s a singer.” I suddenly remember my Wednesday night obligation and my stomach somersaults. “Oh my God, you have to come with me.” I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. “I promised to come see his band on Wednesday night.”
    Tiffany’s jaw drops. “Wow, Peaches is going on a date.”
    “No, no. It’s not a date. I lost a bet. Never mind. You’ve gotta come. Please.”
    Tiffany groans. “I can’t. On Wednesday night, my dad’s getting some hoity-toity award for all the charity work he does.” Tiffany’s dad is a surgeon. “My mom’s already threatened to disown me if I bail. I guess it’s a biggie.”
    I’m crestfallen. “Please, Tiff. Your mom will understand.”
    Tiffany grimaces. “I’m not so much worried about my mom getting pissed at me as I know this award’s important to my dad... ” She looks at me sheepishly.
    “What if I get one of my panic attacks and you’re not there to talk me off the ledge? What if he sees me totally wig out?”
    “You know what? Never mind. I’ll ask my dad. I’m sure he’ll understand when I tell him it’s for you.”
    Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m everybody’s favorite charity case, aren’t I? “No,” I say sternly. “It’s fine.”
    Tiffany looks alarmed. “No, really. I think he’ll understand. He’s the one who keeps reminding me to...” She trails off.
    There’s an awkward silence.
    To what? Do more charity work? “It’s okay, Tiff. Go to your dad’s thing. He deserves to have you there. I mean it. You can’t miss your dad’s fancy award to watch a metal-scream-emo-punk band with Little Orphan Shaynee.”
    “It’s not like that,” Tiffany says. “I just meant he keeps reminding me to pay extra attention—”
    “Tiffany. It’s okay.” I muster a smile to soften the edge in my voice. “If I have a panic attack and start freaking out, I’ll just fit in with all the other groupies at the foot of the stage. He won’t even notice.”
    She inhales sharply.
    “Really. I’ll be fine.”
    “Well, okay then.” Her mouth is a thin line.
    We drive in silence for a few minutes.
    “So, Motorcycle Boy’s hot?”
    I purse my lips and furrow my brow,