I’ve been working on edits for Boomerang Boyfriend, the 3rd book in the Boyfriend Chronicles. Here is a scene from Delia’s point of view. I hope you enjoy it.

 

Monday morning came way too early. I was grateful for the blue and green plaid Wilton school uniform because it took much less effort than putting together an outfit on my own.

As I drove to school, I tried to figure out what was going on with Aiden. Maybe I was expecting too much. My mom told me no guy was perfect. The best you could do was find a guy who made you happy 70 percent of the time. When I asked about the other 30 percent she told me that was the percentage of time you wanted to hit him in the head with a frying pan.

I was beginning to think my mother was a wise woman. Then again, I didn’t even know if Aiden was my boyfriend. We’d started hanging out since our best friends were dating. Now he always seemed to be wherever I went. In the plus column, he was always happy to see me. Maybe I should straight up ask him what was going on, but given his shy-boy personality that type of pressure might make him cut and run.

I pulled into the Wilton School parking lot and parked in the first available space. As I crossed the asphalt, the crisp fall air made me smile. The campus looked like one of those Ivy League colleges you see in movies. The buildings were made of old brick and blocks of granite. There was even a Big Ben-type clock in the middle of a grassy quad.

Zoe waved at me from our normal spot next to the clock. Of course, Aiden and Grant were there, too.

Aiden took one look at me and said, “Did playing Pie Princess all weekend wear you out?”

What did he mean? I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you implying I look bad this morning?”

“Not bad,” he tilted his head and studied my face. “Just less awake.”

Zoe held a cup of coffee out toward me. “This should help.”

“Thank you.” I sipped the life-giving brew and waited for my brain to fully engage.

“I know what it is,” Aiden said. “You normally wear more eye makeup.”

“True.” I yawned. Trying to draw perfect mega-winged eyeliner hadn’t seemed worth it this morning, so I’d gone with something less involved. “Maybe this is my new low maintenance style.”

“I like it. It makes you look less intimidating,” Aiden said.

“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped.

“Never mind.” He took a step backward. “You’re still scary.”

The bell rang, and he took off for class. I turned to Zoe and Grant. “I might be a little crabby this morning, but why would he think I’m scary?”

“He likes everything to fit into nice neat mathematical equations,” Grant said.

“And you’re unpredictable,” Zoe said. “I think it attracts him and freaks him out at the same time. But they do say opposites attract, so maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Well, right now it’s a ticking-me-off thing.”

“Come on,” she said. “We better get to class.”

###

At lunch, Aiden pulled a flat wooden box out of his backpack and offered it to me. “I bought this at the school fundraising auction and I meant to give it to you awhile ago, but I kept forgetting to bring it. Today you can think of it as a peace offering since I upset you this morning.”

I had no idea what to say, so I opened the box. It was full of what had to be more than a hundred Prismacolor pencils, graphite pencils, and paint markers. “You bought this for me?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “When it went up for bid, I thought of you.”

“Thank you.” On impulse I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and went back to eating his lunch.

Giving me a gift certainly seemed like a boyfriend-type thing to do. Instead of questioning his motives, maybe I should just relax and enjoy his company. That was probably the more rational thing to do.

“So how’d your strudel event turn out Sunday?” I asked.

“The apple strudel was good, but the rest of the day wasn’t great.”

“Why not?”

He took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with a napkin before putting them back on. “My dad’s a lawyer so he sees everything as black and white. I disagreed with him about something, and he came unglued. Apparently, being his son means I’m supposed to agree with all of his opinions.”

“That sucks. What did you argue about?”

Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about what you can do with those pencils and why there are so many different kinds.”

I used to wonder why Adien wanted to know things, but now I knew it was part of his personality. He liked to understand things and analyze them. It was cool in a geeky sort of way.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” I grabbed a graphite pencil and a piece of paper and started to sketch him. I could add color later, if I wanted. For now I drew the angular planes of his face, his short wavy blond hair, and analytical brown eyes behind his glasses. Then I blended in the hair and shaded his cheekbones. “Graphite is cool because it’s soft, so the harder you press, the darker the color. Plus you can blend it to soften lines.”

“That’s amazing.” Aiden turned the picture so it faced him. “Is this how you see me?”

Weird question. “Uhm…that’s what you look like.”

“No, the guy in the drawing looks way more confident than I feel.”

“Let me see.” Zoe reached for the drawing and held it up so Grant could see, too. She looked at the sketch and then at Aiden. “That’s pretty much you.”

“I don’t think we ever see ourselves how other people see us,” I said.

“Why not?” Aiden asked.

“We all have baggage. When I look in the mirror I see my grandmother’s nose which she hated all her life. I think it’s a good fit for my face, but in the back of my head, I’ve always known she didn’t like it and wished she hadn’t passed it on to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose,” Aiden said.

“My grandmother’s sister was prettier than she was, or so everyone says. She died before I was born. My grandmother never felt good about herself because she wasn’t the “pretty sister”. If you asked anyone who met her, they’d say she was pretty, but she never felt that way about herself.”

“Sounds like your grandmother could use some counseling,” Aiden said.

“Probably, but no one from her generation would do something like that. She firmly believes unless you’re bleeding you aren’t hurt and if you aren’t projectile vomiting, you’re not really sick.”

“Your grandmother does not sound like a happy person.”

I put the graphite pencil back in the box. “She’s just a little strict in her beliefs.”

“A little strict?” Zoe said. “She used to scare the crap out of me when I was younger. She reminded me of the grandmothers from fairy tales who cooked children for supper.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t all have grandmother’s like yours,” I said. “She’s the coolest grandma ever.”