Free Crush du Jour by Micol Ostow Page B

too many different directions. Different catastrophic directions. I was a catastrophe magnet. I hadn’t even done any SAT prep since before the Fantastic Fourth. I was now, officially, a slacker. It was a newexperience for me. I didn’t much care for it, to be honest.
    I took a deep breath. It was time to spill my guts to my best friend.
    “I’m kind of a mess,” I said.
    Anna snorted. “Well, yeah. That’s sort of obvious.”
    Awesome. Good to know. Ouch. “Right. That’s me. Messy.”
    Anna stopped in front of the bus stop. At this hour we probably had at least a short wait. By now I was beyond fading—I was wilting. It didn’t help that it was five thousand degrees outside and about a bazillion percent humidity. My hair was flipping out at the ends insanely.
    Even my hair was spazzy these days. I didn’t know who Seth dated—or even if or when he dated—but I’m willing to bet that his date would have perfect, stick-straight tresses. The straight-tressed girls were the ones who usually got the guy in the end.
    It was a good thing I had sworn off flirting this summer.
    “I was referring to your archnemesis, Callie, and her plans for world domination,” Anna clarified.
    I swallowed nervously. “Isn’t ’archnemesis’ a little bit extreme?” (It wasn’t. I knew that. I was just going for a healthy dose of denial.)
    “Oh, I don’t think so. She hates your guts,” Anna continued cheerfully. “I wasn’t kidding about you watching your back. She looks like the type to start a chick fight. I bet she’s a hair puller.”
    “You’re probably right,” I agreed glumly. “But seriously? I have no idea why she’s so pissy. I would say that she just got frustrated having me shadow her, but she kind of despised me even before that—like, from the moment she first saw me. And, I mean, it’s not like we’re in competition or anything.”
    If we were in competition? Callie would win. Keep in mind: caramel-colored hair. This is something that people—restaurant customers, managers, and other random, boy-type people—respond to.
    “Maybe you’re not competing with her, but let me tell you, she’s definitely competing with you,” Anna said, pressing her lips together knowingly.
    ”Why?” I sputtered. “That’s insane.” Like my hair. Exhibit A: spazzy hair?
    “No,” Anna corrected me shortly. “What ’s insane is that she and Damien dated for, like five minutes back in May and she’s gone completely Swimfan on him since then. According to him, they didn’t click. But I guess that’s not the way she saw it.”
    I went through the pop-culture catalog in my brain. Swimfan equaled a blond chick becoming totally obsessed with a guy on her high school swim team. They made out in a pool and then she started stalking him.
    Unfortunately, when practiced by an attractive teen of the female persuasion, stalking could be kind of hot to a guy. Which meant that I really needed to stay out of Callie’s way.
    Man, Anna was good. She could get the dirt on anyone or anything. I think it was her even composure; unlike me, she was chatty, warm, and huggy. It comforted people, prompted them to let their guard down. She should have been working for the tabloids.
    “I like good gossip as much as the next romantically starved teenager,” I said, “but I’m still not sure how any of this connects to me.”
    She stared at me like my hair had suddenly turned magenta. “You’re kidding, right?”
    I wasn’t kidding. “If I were kidding, wouldn’t I say something that’s actually funny?” I pointed out.
    She shook her head and clucked her tongue at me, as if suggesting I was just too simple to understand even the most basic of concepts. “Damien. Wants. You.”
    I tilted my head to the left and hopped up and down like I had water in my ear.
    “I’m sorry, I think I heard you wrong,” I said, after I’d righted myself again. “It sounded like you said that Damien wants me.”
    I was still getting the