Seventeen: Frolic in the Freezer Section

Surprisingly, I’m able to make it into the second week of camp without any severe emotional (or physical) scarring.

            The whole Blake situation didn’t turn out too badly, either. Well, this is probably because he pretty much avoided all interaction with me afterward, returning his interest to his favorite point of attention – Cindy, and her double Ds.

            I’ve kind of got used to the lack of interest, actually, and learned to accept that Cindy DeLuna will always be the more perfect version of me, with her stupid neon bras and shiny flute (seriously – she will manage to drop that into any conversation. “So I was just playing my flute the other day,” or “That reminds me of the time at flute practice,” are heard so often I regularly get the feeling of wanting to shove said flute up her pretentious little butt).

            So you can imagine my mixed feelings when I am approached by a flustered looking Jenny, bearing the news that would either be the make or break of my love life. Kind of.

            “Bailey! Oh my gosh, I’m so glad I caught you!”

            I’m just on my way to the rec room for free time when she comes bounding up to me, slightly red in the face and short of breath. She looks stressed actually; there are dark circles under her eyes and a distinct lack of make-up on her face, which is usually present.

            “Yeah? What’s up?”

            A grimace shows me that it’s not good news. “We’ve had a bit of a crisis. See, one of our suppliers’ trucks has broken down, and so we’re missing a big delivery of stock. You know, stuff like toilet paper, soap, milk... we’re just generally missing a load of stuff.”

            “Oh, right.” Half of me wants to frown and query ‘So what does this have to do with me?’, but I don’t want to be rude to someone of a higher status than me. It’s quite within her power to recommend a pay decrease, which would definitely be unwelcome. Heck, after this summer, I think I deserve a freaking Nobel Prize or something.

            Wait... a Nobel Prize is for science, isn’t it?

            Ah, well. They should still give me one.

            “So...” Jenny shoots a hopeful look at me. She is fiddling with the collar of her dark blue polo, which is incredibly annoying. “I was kind of hoping you could do me a favor.”

            What I want to say is, “No, you can freaking shove your favor up your ass for shoving me with the crappiest cabin in the whole of camp,” but instead, my polite and respectful response is “Sure.”

            Which is probably wise. I’m not entirely sure why, but I’ve got a feeling the first option wouldn’t go down too well. You know, just a feeling.

            “Well, I was kind of hoping you could go down to the store and grab a couple of things...” Jenny says, closely studying my reaction. “It’s only a couple of miles out from here, and I’ll write you a list...”

            “Yeah, okay,” I say. There could be worse jobs, and it’s a chance to get out of this camp for a couple of hours. I think I’ve forgotten what civilization looks like.

            Instantly, Jenny’s face brightens, a grin spreading across her face and lifting her lightly freckled cheeks. “Thank you so much! Blake’s got his car here, so you two can go together...”

            Wait, what?

            Uh, she didn’t mention Blake before. That wasn’t part of the deal!

            I’m about to say something, but Jenny interrupts me with a smile and her next sentence. “I’ll jot down a list and give it to Blake,” she says, barely even giving me a chance to answer. I’m guessing she isn’t familiar with how a conversation works. “Hopefully it won’t take you guys too long. I’ll see you later, okay? Thanks, Bailey!”

            With that, she’s gone. Turned on her heel and sped off back to the main block. I watch after her for a few seconds, my intense half-glare boring into her auburn ponytail, as if this will somehow burn it off. That would be pretty cool, actually. I’d quite like the super ability to burn people’s hair off.

            I can think of a couple of scenarios where it would come in useful. Not naming any names... Cindy.

            But returning to the real matter on hand... I now have to ride in Blake’s car, which will probably be the most awkward and uncomfortable journey of my life... only to spend an afternoon with him.

            Pretending that spending four hours alone with the guy you stalked isn’t the most awkward thing ever done.

            What could go wrong?

***

            “That’s your car?”

            I stop in my tracks as Blake retrieves a key from his pocket and clicks it, causing the orange light to flash on a nearby silver BMW convertible. The glare from the sun makes it almost hard to look at, which tells me Blake probably spends way too long keeping up its shine. You know, in between keeping up his perfect abs.

            “Yeah...” Blake responds slowly, looking at me curiously. “What about it?”

            What about it? What about it? Is he being serious? Maybe he comes from a pretentious private school where everyone drives state of the art vehicles, but I most certainly do not. The best you’ll see in the parking lot back at my high school is an old Chevrolet.

            “Never mind,” I mumble.

            “Impressed?”

            “No,” I retort quickly, following him round the back of the car and slipping into the passenger seat. The soft leather sinks beneath my weight and I try not to let the feeling of excitement seep onto my facial expression. I don’t want to inflate Blake’s ego to a size greater than it already is.

            “The store’s only a few miles away,” he informs me, as he puts the vehicle into drive and exits the parking space with ease.

            “Right.”

            As the BMW gains speed, its roofless feature causes the wind to whip frantically through my hair. I’m pretty sure it’s going to resemble a bird’s nest when the car finally comes to a stop, but I’m feeling so elated I’m not really bothered. Sure, Blake isn’t my favorite person in the world at the moment, but it could be worse. I could be stuck with Cindy in a cramped Mini.

            I’ll just think of it that way.

            Well... this is awkward. I’d always known that silence wasn’t the most comfortable of situations, but this has risen to a whole new level. It only leaves me constantly pondering on whether I should be the one to speak up first, or if I should wait for one of Blake’s comments to break the silence that has settled between us.

            However, it doesn’t look like he’s planning on doing this any time soon, as his hands are fixed firmly on the steering wheel and he is staring straight ahead, as if concentrating greatly on the road ahead.

            Which, yeah, I’m all for. I don’t want to die in a car crash or anything like that, but come on... this road is empty. And straight. I know I’ve only just received my provisional license, but even I’m aware that a road like this doesn’t require such intense concentration. There are two options here: Blake’s either an extremely careful driver, or making a conscious effort to avoid conversing with me.

            I’m just taking a wild guess at which one it may be.

            Oh, to hell with it. I might as well make some (albeit probably feeble) attempt to ignite a conversation, even if I do only end up increasing on the awkwardness levels from before. Embarrassing myself seems to have become my forte (loose reference to a certain residence there), so I’m pretty sure I can’t make it any worse for myself.

            I’m probably wrong, but I’m ignoring the part of my brain that tells me so.

            “So...” I say casually, as if I’m oblivious to the great big ball of tension taking up residence in the back seat. “How’s your cabin’s practice coming along?”

            “Oh, that,” he responds, as if he had forgotten all about it. “It’s okay.”

            Wow, someone’s talkative. This is probably my fault, but the least he could do is put in a tiny bit of effort to make some sort of small talk. It wouldn’t kill him.

            Cue the second round of awkward silence.

            This is going to be one long journey.

***

            As it turns out, the camp isn’t in such a remote location as I first thought. Yeah, it might look like we’re in the middle of a picturesque woodland area, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of fresh trees… but there’s still a Wal-Mart just a few kilometers out.

            Who even builds a Wal-Mart here? I’m pretty sure hardly any people feel the need to go buy 2 for $2 packs of cheap meat or discount shampoo whilst in the midst of a forest.

            But apparently, they do, as shown by the near full parking lot.

            “Have you got the list?” I ask, as I hop out of the car as gracefully as I can manage.

            “Uh huh.”

            Would it kill him to be a little more social? Come on, I know I acted like a complete and utter stalker just a few days ago, but he should really be over that by now. He should be aware just from being around me that I’m not totally weird (okay, I kind of am, but that’s not the point).

            We enter the store without conversing any further, but it’s not as if this is a surprise. I blink in the bright light as we walk through the automatic doors, which causes a burnished glare on the white tiled floor beneath our feet. Despite only spending a week in camp, I had almost forgotten what a Wal-Mart actually looked like. However, now it comes flooding back to me: the bright lights emitting enough illumination to give anyone a headache, the excessive amount of towering shelves stacked high with cheap and bad quality products, not to mention the constant blaring music that seems to be stuck on repeat.

            Oh, what a pleasant place to be.

            If you couldn’t tell, I was being sarcastic.

            Blake grabs a trolley from the collection by the door and pushes it in my direction, letting go of the handle. “You can push it.”

            “Oh, thanks,” I mumble acerbically.

            As usual, I end up with the cart with the dodgy wheel, which makes it almost impossibly difficult to steer in the correct direction. It doesn’t help that Blake walks unnaturally fast, too, which only increases the difficulty of actually keeping up with him. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be getting; Jenny’s list is still crumpled somewhere in Blake’s pocket, and he hasn’t even bothered to glance at it once. Unless Blake somehow possesses x-ray vision, my best guess is that we’re just wandering aimlessly around.

            That’s just great.

            “Can I see the list?” I ask.

            Blake retrieves it from his back pocket and the piece of paper is thrown carelessly in my direction. I make a grab for it, which is successful, but also causes a spastic looking arm action, which earns an amused glance from the blonde guy next to me.

            “I caught it, didn’t I?” I say defensively. “Maybe if you didn’t chuck it at me like that…”

            I shake my head before turning my attention to the slip of paper in my hand. It’s pretty crumpled (probably because it’s been under Blake’s butt for the entire trip), but I recognize the italic scrawl as Jenny’s handwriting almost instantly.

            “Freaking hell,” I mutter, as my eyes scan over the lengthy list, which contains practically everything from twenty large packs of toilet roll to an even larger number of boxes of eggs. “Does she want us to buy up the whole store or something?”

            “There are two hundred kids at the camp, you know,” Blake says, matter-of-factly. “What do you expect?”

            “I expect that we won’t be able to fit it all into this cart.”

            He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a pessimist. We’ll easily fit everything in. And if we hurry up, we can get out of here quicker.” He pauses, glancing at the piece of paper I am clutching. “So what’s first on the list?”

            “Uh...” My eyes flicker to the top of the page, where the first required item has been scrawled. “Toilet roll.”

            Blake starts walking almost immediately. What is his problem? I mean, Wal-Mart’s not exactly my number one choice of places to be, but I don’t feel the need to travel at the pace of a 100m sprinter while I’m inside. I have a funny feeling it just may be because he wants to get away from me.

            Well, I’m flattered.

            When we reach the toiletry aisle, Blake pulls a few packs off the shelf and carelessly tosses them into the cart, not even bothering to check the brand or even to count them. Then, he hastens towards the next aisle, grabbing a couple of random items as he does so.

            I rush after him, desperately trying to maintain his pace, but with the dodgy wheel, it’s almost impossible. “Blake, wait up!” I call.

            He pauses, and then turns round. For some reason, he looks kind of... irritated. I don’t know what his problem is. Why isn’t he acting like his usual arrogant (yet gorgeous) self? I don’t like this side of him – it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.

            Which I have, but you know. We’re trying to work past that.

            “What?”

            I am slightly taken aback by the austerity of Blake’s voice. My eyes scan over his features, trying to read his bored expression that tells me absolutely nothing about what’s running through his mind. It would be so much easier if people were easy to read. You know, like I am. Well, I have never noticed this myself, but I get the impression from everyone being able to pinpoint my exact emotions after one look at my giveaway face.

            I clear my throat, suddenly realizing that Blake is waiting for a response on my behalf. “Uh... can you slow down a little?”

            He shrugs. “Whatever.”

            Following his one word answer, he spins round to his original position and continues walking, heading towards the freezer aisle. I’m not sure whether he has memorized the entire contents of the list in my hand and therefore knows what we are required to buy, or if he is just steering in random directions to avoid my company. I hope it’s the former, but it’s not likely.

            Because, let’s face it, how many males have actually fought to experience my presence?

            A grand total of... zero.

            At this point, I abandon the shopping cart and sprint after him, only stopping when I am in front of him. I stand here with my arms folded over my chest defensively, preventing him from advancing any further.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Blake,” I begin, in the most serious tone I can muster. It’s difficult, particularly under the intensity of Blake’s cold yet beautiful stare, but I manage. “What is your problem?”

            His piercing blue eyes narrow. “I don’t have a problem.”

            It takes a conscious effort not to scoff at him. “You blatantly do. You’re acting completely strange – walking ahead, not talking, just generally avoiding me...”

            “No, I’m not. You’re just imagining things.”

            “Blake!”

            “What?”

            “I just don’t ever know where I stand with you. One minute you act like you like me, kissing me... and then the next, you completely ignore me! You obviously have some kind of problem with me, and I want to know what that is.” I send him a look that I hope reads I’m waiting. Knowing me, it probably doesn’t.

            “Look, I swear I don’t have a problem,” Blake says. His voice is quietened, and his gaze has been averted to the floor.

            “Then what is it?”

            Freaking hell, I wish he’d just tell me. It would be so much simpler than standing in the middle of the freezer aisle in Wal-Mart with my arms crossed, trying to force a reasonable answer out of him. People are staring at us already. A messy looking toddler in a pushchair has even stopped mid-wail to gaze intently at us. God, are we really that interesting?

            Blake mumbles something which I don’t quite catch, but before I can ask him to repeat his sentence, I am cut off by the feeling of his hand under my chin.

            Bringing my face closer to his.

            Closing the gap between our lips.

            And, bam. That’s it. We’re kissing again. Inside my head, a thousand thoughts along the lines of ‘What the hell is happening?’ and ‘Why is he kissing me?’ are rapidly circling, but these are drowned out by the single loudest voice in there that is screaming with excitement.

            Unfortunately, my shock also means that I am frozen rigidly to the spot, unable to move. Yep, that’s right... I’m standing there, completely still, while Blake attempts to kiss me.

            Come on, lips, move! You can do this... you’ve done it twice before. But this time, the shock is overwhelming and has damaged my ability to kiss (not that I had much before, anyway). Oh, this is just great.

            Blake leans backwards slightly, setting a couple of centimeters distance between our lips. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you going to kiss me back?”

            “Sorry... um, yeah,” I breathe.

            Our lips meet for a second time, but this time I am (just about) ready. Well, as ready as Bailey Cunningham can ever be. I’m not completely qualified as a kissing expert yet, but I know roughly what to do.

            Tongues are a whole different matter, though.

            I’m all too aware that we are attracting quite a crowd, and the most interested of them all seems to be the toddler, who is still staring amazedly at us, probably wondering why we are exploring the insides of each other’s mouths in the freezer section of Wal-Mart.

            Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. How I have missed this. How did I spend those sixteen years of my life without kissing anybody? It’s freaking impossible, I swear.

            “Bailey.” Blake takes my hand when we finally part. His touch is so gentle, and the way his fingers caress my skin sends sparks flying across my skin. “I just don’t want anything serious right now...”

            Okay, maybe not the romantic speech I was hoping for, but you know. I can live with it. “That’s okay,” I say quickly. After all... I can live without a committed relationship with Blake, can’t I? As long as it means we can still make out, then I think I’ll survive.

            “And if you’re okay with that... then we can do this.”

            “Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

            I’m not entirely sure whether this is the truth, but come on. This is Blake Hudson we’re talking about. Probably the hottest guy I’m ever going to get to kiss. What harm can something not serious do?

            You know, apart from chapping my lips from excess kissing.

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Woo, a long chapter! Thanks to everyone who is reading this, it might not have been as popular as Serenity Falls, but the comments are so much better :D I love every single person who is reading this right now. Yes, you! Now make me even happier by dropping me a comment to say what you think :)

UNTIL NEXT TIME <3