Charisma Read Online Free PDF Page A

than
let’s mingle
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    She pats my shoulder. “We’ll start easy. There’s Abby and the swim teammers.”
    We make our way to the sliding glass doors where they huddle. I talk to these girls at every practice, so they should fall into my “safe” territory. In theory. But something about parties—or nearly any kind of social gathering, for that matter—fills my belly with barbed wire. I gulp at my beer, arrange my facial muscles into what I hope is a smile, and gulp some more. My cup empties too soon. Evie seizes it and runs off for a refill even though I tell her not to. While she’s gone, I pretend to keep up with the stories, the jokes, and the flirting with the boys who’ve joined us. But it’s overwhelming and I feel the way I always do around a crowd—as if it’s a living creature with a thousand limbs that move in sync to a rhythm I can’t hear.
    What is wrong with me?
    When Evie returns I take another sip, hating myself for needing a crutch. Especially a stupid one. Exposure, smexposure.
    Evie’s shoulders abruptly pull back and her body goes on full alert. I follow her gaze to the foyer, where Rafe Sellers, a tall guy with shoulder-length black hair and the promise of a UCLA soccer scholarship, has arrived.
    I tug her sleeve. “It’s okay if you go talk to him.” She’s not the only one who can push a best friend toward progress.
    She bites her lip, reminding me that much of her bravado is an act of willpower learned as a little girl, when our classmates would tease about her family eating chicken feet. Back then, she hid in corners too, but, over the years, she ventured out and has been dragging me along ever since.
    She says, “Eventually, he might come over this way.”
    He probably would. Evie and Rafe have been flirting for months, even though they haven’t taken things further. Which makes him brain dead as far as I’m concerned. What guy wouldn’t be crazy about my amazing, gorgeous friend?
    I will not be the one to spoil her fun. “Go. I’ll be fine here, really.” I take another swig of beer to prove it.
    â€œYou sure?”
    I wipe the corner of my mouth. “If I change my mind, I’ve got the code, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
    She nods to herself, still unsure, despite the invisible tether that pulls her toward the kitchen, where Rafe and his buddies disappear.
    I push her gently. “Now who’s chickening out?”
    She takes a deep breath and flutters off. I turn to the folks around me and try to think of something to add to their conversation about naked bicycle riders at the solstice parade. But, really, what can I say, besides maybe suggesting strategically placed talcum powder?
    I sip, nod, and check my phone. We’ve only been here for twenty-five minutes? I burp. Hmm, better slow down on the beer.
    Abby O’Keefe, twirling a red curl around her finger, asks me about working at the pool. I open my mouth to respond, and that’s when I catch sight of the latest party arrivals. My breath hiccups. Jack is here.
    Abby laughs. “Wow, you’ve got it bad.”
    I stand there, unable to form a rational response. Somehow, I blocked the possibility Jack would be here too. Which was stupid. Or denial. I’m a pro in that department. For years I held on to the pathetic belief that Dad didn’t really die in a diving accident; it was all a massive mistake.
    Abby’s face gets serious. “I’m going to help you.” She waves toward Jack. What is it about me that launches my friends into pimp mode?
    Finally, I get a word out. “No.” As much as I like Jack, when actually confronted with the real live version, all of my systems scream, “Hide!” But my protest is too late. He heads our way, his gaze locked on mine. All I can do is hope my eyes aren’t too glassy and that I’m not blushing too hard. More denial.
    As he