The Opportunist
Page 8

“You’re going.” Cammie stood up, hands on her hips.
I sucked in the corners of my mouth and shook my head-‘no’.
“OLIVIA! You ruined the most important game of the season for him! You owe him.”
I sort of did.
“Fine. FINE!!” I shouted, meeting her tone. I grabbed a hoodie from my closet and violently pulled it over my head. “But this is it, okay?” I said, stabbing my finger at her. “I’m meeting him in the library, and then I don’t want to hear another word about it from you or him or that damn cheerleading squad!”
Cammie beamed. “Make sure you remember every detail and try to mention my name.”
I slammed the door on my way out.
At nine thirty on Friday night, the Dart Library was practically a ghost town. A crusty-faced woman was standing behind the checkout counter glaring at two freshmen who were making out. I passed a picture of Laura Helberman on the wall with information to contact authorities if she was seen. She was pretty in a Daisy Duke kind of way. Blonde hair, lots of mascara, and puckered lips that looked like they had just sucked on a lollipop. She had been missing for sixteen days and her story was being covered by Nancy Grace—my hero.
I sighed. I was early. I decided to take a stroll to the fiction section to see if there was anything worth checking out.
Caleb found me there a few minutes later.
“Hello, Olivia,” he strolled up to me with such ridiculous confidence that I wanted to stick my foot out and trip him.
“Caleb,” I nodded at him curtly.
He was wearing a black pea coat over an expensive looking cream sweater. My heart did a little gallop. I disciplined my heart, calmed it down and turned to face him. His hands were tucked causally into the pockets of his corduroys. Very GQ. I had expected him to show up in one of those silly basketball jackets and a dingy pair of jeans.
“Why are you so dressed up?” I snapped, adding a novel to the growing pile of books on the table.
“How do you find time to read?” he asked, picking up the book and examining the cover. I wasn’t going to tell him that I didn’t have a life and that I read my weekends away. I sent him a scalding look and hoped that he would drop the subject. The stupid jock had probably never read a book cover to cover. I was about to tell him so when he walked down the aisle next to me and came back carrying a chunky novel in his hand.
“Try this. It’s my favorite book.”
I looked at him warily before plucking it from his fingers.
Great Expectations. I had never read it.
“You’re kidding?”
He grinned.
“Do you think that because I play basketball, I’m illiterate?”
I sniffed. That is exactly what I thought.
“Why did you ask me to come here?”
“I thought that you might be more comfortable meeting me here.” He perched himself on the edge of a table. “Did you think that I wouldn’t want to collect on our bet?”
I was noticing an accent for the first time. British, I thought but I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it had the same effect on me as vodka.
“I asked you to miss the shot. I didn’t say I would go out with you if you did.”
“Really? I don’t quite remember it that way.” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, pretending to be confused. I was the only one allowed to be sarcastic.
“You will go out with me, Olivia, because as much as you hate to admit it, you were wrong about me.”
My mouth opened and closed. My wit! Where was my wit?
“I…uhhh…”
“No,” he cut me off. “No excuses. I’m taking you out on a date.”
“Okay.” I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply. “A deal’s a deal.”
Cammie was going to love me for this. Love me!
“Wednesday, eight o’ clock.” He stood. I backed up a step. He was so tall.
He started walking away and then stopped.
“Olivia?”
“What?” I snapped.
“I’m going to kiss you. Just so you know.”
I heard his laughter echo across the library as he left. Over my dead body. Why did he have to be so good looking? And why did my name sound so pretty when he said it?
I snatched up my books and went to checkout.
Chapter Four
I was afraid of him. He was outplaying me, plucking all of my weapons from my fingers and making me feel like a toothless tiger. My solution was to hide in my room until Wednesday to avoid a run-in with him. Cammie kept me alive on frozen burritos and her private stash of Boston Baked Beans. I read Great Expectations, which as it turned out was really good. I Googled the rules of basketball so I cold fully understand what had happened when he missed that shot.
When the day of the date finally arrived, I was almost looking forward to it, almost. Cammie set up a grooming station at her study desk (which unfortunately had never been used for studying), and I sat obediently like a chimp, while she groomed me. She picked at my hair, buffed my nails, and dabbed obscene smelling potions on my face. When she started lecturing me on safe sex, I jammed my headphones into my ears and turned the volume on high.
At exactly seven fifty-five, there was a polite tap, tap, tap on the door. Cammie jumped up and down, her face grotesquely frozen in silent screams.
“He’s actually going to be in our room!” she hissed, dancing over to the door. She ran a tube of pink gloss over her lips before unlatching the door.
I stood back while slutty mother freshman let our date in.
“Oh, hello,” she said casually. “I’m Cammie,” she offered him her hand and he shook it smiling politely. When his eyes found me he did a double take. I looked nice. Cammie had outdone herself. I was wearing jeans and a slinky cashmere sweater that slipped off one shoulder. My hair, as usual, hung in ropey waves to my waist, but Cammie had taken the time to style a poof and spritz it with sinful amounts of hairspray.
“Well, let’s go then,” I said, walking past him and out into the hall. I turned to watch him say goodbye to Cammie.
“I won’t have her back too late,” I heard him say.
“Oh, keep her out as long as you like,” she said in her southern drawl, “She needs a firm hand so don’t be afraid to use one.” She looked directly at me with that last statement. I made plans to sabotage her English Comp paper when I got back.