Cameo Read Online Free

face. “We weren’t even dating!” I yelled.
    â€œI just want you to know what happened. I would never not call a girl. Especially one like you. … Look, I lost your number in my locker or something the day of my last final. I just couldn’t find it. I called everyone I knew, but apparently you weren’t social—at least that’s what one of my boys said.”
    Jason wanted to say who said it. I could see it in his face. Was he blaming me for him not calling me? Can we say arrogant ?!
    â€œSo it would have been better for several other boys at school to have my number? Hmm. What kind of girls do you deal with?”
    Jason shook his head. “Nah, it’s not like that. That was rude. I’m sorry.”
    â€œSo what ideas do you have for the project? Me being a social recluse and all, I don’t get out much. But I do fill up on CNBC. What’s your source? Sports Illustrated ?” I said.
    â€œI didn’t think of any on the way here,” he said, disappointed that his lack of a topic suggestion proved me right, that he was behind the ball.
    My eyes searched his face. I had promised myself I wouldn’t be a jaded cliché. You know, girl’s boyfriend breaks up with her, and girl hates all boys. He was looking at me but not the way I wanted him to. “I was wrong,” I said.
    â€œThat was big of you.”
    Now I was the one who was shocked. That was something I would totally say. I laughed lightly under my breath.
    â€œUm … I’ll do some research on the current economic conditions. … Gas prices, retail sales, stock market points,” Jason said.
    â€œI’ll check into real estate prices, analyst opinions, and federal reserve interest rate news,” I said.
    He was taking detailed notes. He looked at me, then down at my hands, as if he expected me to do the same.
    â€œLet’s say we’ll collect one year’s worth of research,” I added.
    â€œAll right.” He sighed as if he was relieved. “I’ll do some tonight.”
    â€œMe, too,” I said. I pushed my chair back, and he flew out of his seat. He pulled my seat out a little more.
    â€œI got it,” he said.
    â€œIt’s already out.”
    He held his hand out.
    â€œI can get out of my seat by myself. This isn’t 1890.”
    Yet again he looked at me, disappointed.
    â€œBut thank you.”
    How could this guy make me feel so … so unnecessarily sarcastic? The problem with knowing you’re being sarcastic is feeling like you’re missing out on his reaction if you’d been nice. It’s a good thing I didn’t have to admit these feelings to anyone out loud. He trailed just three steps behind me all the way to the front door.
    â€œSo I’ll see you tomorrow. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m not inviting myself. Um, but I will be here tomorrow, if that’s the plan,” he said.
    So I wasn’t the only one feeling like she was under a microscope. I turned to him, and he kept moving toward me. Before I knew it, he was all up in my area.
    I confess. It took all the strength I had to reach for the door at that moment. He put his hands out in between us like he didn’t want us to touch or to run into each other. “Uh, sorry. You just stopped.”
    â€œAm I to blame for everything?” I asked.
    He just shook his head and smiled. “Later.”
    He touched my shoulder like I was a football buddy, then my blood started to boil. Wait, that’s basketball buddy. It’s all coming back to me. I remembered why exactly I hated his type and why I should not get excited at the sentiment of his touch even if it was masked as a chummy goodbye. I slowly slid his hand off my shoulder. I didn’t want to accuse him of wanting me again. At this point, who cared?
    â€œGoodbye.” I closed the door behind him. Too bad that wasn’t the last of him.
    Less than a minute