He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 2 - Is It Really So Strange?

- Clay -

For the third day in a row, I woke up from a dream about Emmett. It was nothing noteworthy. We were just hanging out, doing fun things. In the most recent, we rode go-karts. We were in the same car and both of us had steering wheels. The only way to make the car move was for us to work together. It was so bizarre, yet so fun. I regretted waking up so soon.

After my morning routine, I opened my bedroom door, which led to the kitchen. My bedroom was once our formal dining room. My parents had it renovated when they had my baby brother two years ago. They wanted the baby upstairs with them, and there were only three rooms up there. I gave up my room so my little sister could keep hers. I say gave up, but I had no choice. My parents didn't want thirteen-year-old Rachel alone on the ground floor. The dining room wasn't as big as my old bedroom, but my parents added a small private bathroom, so I wouldn't have to trek up and down the stairs all the time. It also featured the added benefit of a private entrance, since the dining room opened out onto the back patio. Sneaking in and out got so much easier. For that, I would gladly sacrifice the extra square footage.

The kitchen was empty. No surprise there. It was eleven o'clock on a Thursday. My parents were both at work. Teddy off at daycare. And Rachel probably went out with her friends, enjoying the last days of summer vacation.

I searched the refrigerator for something to eat. Nothing spoke to me, so I shut the door and grabbed a power bar, going back to my room.

Growing bored with Netflix and YouTube after twenty minutes of each, I pulled out my phone and texted Jackson to ask if he was free. We could hit the batting cages and grab a burger from that place across the street. I could really use the distraction to get my mind off how shitty I still felt about breaking up with Summer.

JACKSON: Sorry dude. Can't. Working on my car with my pops.

So much for that plan.

I had other friends I could call. But Duke and Mark were both doing summer training, readying for the upcoming football season. Brandon didn't get home from his family's trip to their lake house until tonight. And, to be honest, I didn't really feel like seeing Tyler at the moment. He was probably off fishing, anyway.

Emmett's face popped into my mind. His green eyes with just a hint of golden brown around the pupil. Thick black hair gelled and coifed to messy perfection. Olive skin that was all natural. No amount of sun or fake tanner could give someone that perfect tone. And he had such a soothing voice. He pulled me back from the edges of a panic attack with just a few words and a well-timed joke.

On a whim, I opened Instagram and went to Jackson's feed to find a post with Carrie. From there, I searched Carrie's followers for Emmett. All I knew about him was last his name: Noble. Carrie made a comment about it being ironic given his dishonorable behavior, rubbing her nose in our victory. Only one result. I clicked on it. The profile was private. Because of course it was.

I couldn't let it go at that, so I asked Jackson for Carrie's number. My only other link to Emmett.

JACKSON: Why?

I could picture the confusion contorting my best friend's face.

CLAY: She mentioned some hot girl she knew the other day. Thought I could get her to hook me up.

I wondered why I felt the need to lie. Jackson wouldn't care that I wanted to talk to Emmett.

Could it be the gay thing? It couldn't be that. If it bothered me, why would I want to talk to him? Why would I be dreaming about hanging out with him?

JACKSON: Awesome. Glad you're not taking a year to get over Summer, like you did Dinah.

It wasn't a fucking year. It was nine months. Nine months in which I was blissfully unattached. Until Summer happened. Both the girl and the season.

A moment later, Carrie's contact information appeared. It never occurred to me how many Rs were in her name until I saw it spelled out in text: Carrie Herrera. It was a weird thing to fixate on but my brain just did that sometimes with the most random shit.

I clicked the number and confirmed on the pop-up, asking if I wanted to call it.

Three rings later, something crunched on the other end of the line. "Hello?" The word sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.

"Um, hey, Carrie. I-It's... It's Clay."

More crunching. "Oh. Hi." She sounded slightly less inconvenienced than previously.

"I need a favor."

"Is this about Jackson?" There was a touch of confusion in her voice. Understandable, given that I'd never once called her in the year and a half she'd been dating my best friend.

"Um, no." I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. Why was my heart suddenly pounding? My body was reacting like I was doing something dangerous or wrong. "I just wondered if you could give me your friend's number."

"Which friend. I have many."

Apparently, Emmett and Carrie shared the boastful trait. Or confident, as Emmett called it.

"The one from the other night. Um, you know, bowling?" For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to say the name. I hadn't forgotten. Emmett had been on my mind for days. Especially since I broke up with Summer the day after our talk. I reminded myself of his words every time I remembered the hurt in her face and felt like human garbage. I did what was best for her.

"You mean Emmett?" Her confusion had doubled.

"Uh, was that his name? I thought it was Elliot."

What are you doing, stupid?

Why was I acting like this?

"Uh-huh." It didn't sound like she believed me. I didn't blame her. Especially because I'd said his name more than once that night. I was making this needlessly complicated. "Well, it's Emmett. And sure. I guess. Should I text it to this number?"

"Yeah. That'd be great!" I felt a small thrill at my accomplishment. Though I didn't know why. "Thanks, Carrie."

"Whatever." She hung up without another word.

When the text popped up, I opened my messages and saw that she'd only sent his number, along with a single word.

CARRIE: EMMETT

The all caps seemed a bit passive aggressive, but maybe she was protective of her friend.

I stared at the number. Just ten little digits shining in bold blue. My thumb hovered over it, wondering what I would say. What would Emmett say?

With a nervous pit in my stomach, I tapped the number and it started to ring.