On the Fence

“I have one,” he announced. “You hate girls who wear sparkly words across their butts.”

I laughed. “How could you possibly know that?” I had never said that pet peeve out loud.

“Because I see the look on your face when a girl with the word juicy on her butt is walking in front of us. It’s pretty funny.”

“Yes, it’s true. I’m not a fan.” I raised a finger in the air even though he couldn’t see me. “Never date a girl who feels the need to make her butt a billboard.”

He gave a little humming noise.

“What?”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever given an opinion about who I should date. What else should I avoid?”

“I don’t know your type of girls, Braden.” Girly girls were so far out of my circle of friends that I didn’t even begin to try to understand them. “I have no idea what makes a girl undateable. Truthfully, I’m not even sure a girl with a sparkly announcement on her butt isn’t worthy, seeing as how I’ve never spent more than one minute talking to a girl like that.”

“I’m sure Gage will bring one home eventually, and then you can find out.”

I laughed. “True.”

“What did you mean by that, anyway?”

“By what?”

“That you don’t know my type of girls?”

“I hang out with athletes.”

“And?”

I paused, a little surprised. Was he saying he would date my teammates if I set him up? It had been a while since Braden had a girlfriend, but I was pretty sure his last one knew more about nail patterns than defensive patterns. “And . . . I guess I don’t know your type.”

He chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”

My cheeks prickled and goose bumps formed on my arms. I didn’t let my mind follow that implication down any of the paths it seemed to want to go. That didn’t mean anything. It really didn’t. He just meant that I knew him well, so I knew exactly the type of girl he would date. And I did. One who did her hair and knew how to pick out cute clothes and didn’t wear running shoes everywhere.

Braden cleared his throat. “Do you have a match for my fact, or did I win?”

It took me a minute to remember what his fact was. I had to backtrack to the sparkly-words-across-the-butt comment. “You honestly think you’re going to win that easily?” So did his fact mean that in order to match I had to figure out something he hated about guys? I pictured Braden at school. Even though he was a jock he was fairly inclusive. “Okay, so since I don’t really hate girls with the word juicy on their butts, I just think it’s a poor fashion choice, I’m going to match with loafers.”

“Loafers?”

“You think guys shouldn’t wear loafers.”

He gave a breathy laugh. “I’ll give you credit for that one.”

“But . . .”

“But what?”

“But it’s not quite right. So if it’s not poor fashion, what is it about loafers that you don’t like?”

“It’s not so much the loafers as it is the guys wearing the loafers.”

“Oh, really?” That was news to me. “What about them?”

“They’re usually rich, preppy snobs who think the world owes them something. Frat types.”

“Wow, all that from a pair of shoes? Are you generalizing, Braden?”

“Maybe. Just be wary of useless shoes, Charlie. What someone wears on their feet says a lot about them.”

I looked down at my bare feet and wiggled my toes. I wondered if that rule applied to girls, too, or just guys. “Noted. So no dating guys who drink V8, wear loafers or too-short jeans—”

“Who set the too-short jeans rule?”

“Gage.”

“Good call.” I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “How many rules has he given you?”

“Too many. I don’t remember half of them.” Most of them were jokes, I knew, but it was hard to feel like any guy would ever measure up to my brothers’ ridiculous guidelines.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping notes for you. I’ll add that one to the list.”

I laughed.

Braden let out a large yawn. “Okay. I better get to bed or you’re going to school me in soccer tomorrow.”

I smiled. Considering how crappy I felt when I came outside, I was surprised at how my insides seemed to soar. “Make sure you wear the right shoes.”

“Always.”

Chapter 10

“Here she comes.” Linda pointed at the door and a girl who carried a bag big enough to hold ten soccer balls. That was all makeup? “She’s a little chatty, by the way.”

The door swung open, and the girl and her big bag came through it. She looked about my age. “Hello!” the girl said as she approached. “I almost got lost even though I’ve been here before and Old Town is tiny. For some reason I just thought you were past Fifth instead of Fourth and I was so turned around that I thought I was going to miss our time. I sent out a flyer and we should be packed this morning. I’m so excited. Where should I set up? That counter looks good. I’ll just unload there. You have a backed stool like we talked about, right?”

A little chatty? She must’ve spoken at the rate of five hundred words a minute. She looked at me. “You must be Charlie. I’m Amber. Oh, look at you, you left yourself completely blank for me, no false lashes or anything. And I even get to shape your brows? This is going to be great.” She stepped closer and studied my face. “You have the perfect skin and bone structure for this. We are going to sell lots of makeup today.”

Did she have to breathe like the rest of us? Because I didn’t hear a single breath during her speech. Deep-sea divers could train themselves to hold their breath for seven minutes at a time. Were Olympic-caliber talkers the same way?

Linda laughed like she was very amused with Amber.

“So we have about thirty minutes before the class starts. If we move some of these racks of clothes off to the side, we could set up some chairs here in the middle. Did the chairs get delivered? I called yesterday to make sure they were set to arrive this morning, but I don’t see them.”

“They’re in the back,” Linda said.

“I’ll start bringing them out.” I needed a break. She was exhausting.

“Thank you so much. I’ll get the makeup ready.”