Crush Control Read Online Free Page B

note and left school early today. That was Max’s brilliant idea—the day we dodged out of fourth grade to go home and build a teepee in his backyard from tree branches and a canvas tarp. Only the tree limbs I selected, entwined with such pretty shiny leaves, were actually covered in poison ivy. That night, while Mom and Maria dabbed pink splatters of calamine lotion all over our bodies, they told us that our discomfort was our punishment. They tried to hide it, but they were laughing a little, because that’s just how Max and I were—always together, always adventurous, and always having fun.
    But after we moved to Vegas, things changed. I changed. I was no longer the fizzy, fun-loving girl that I had been. I was like when a bottle of old Coke turned stale. No fizz, no excitement. I was the same person, sure, just like Coke is still Coke, but due to time and circumstances, I’d become stagnant. Definitely not the best version of myself. I was in need of a big boost to shake my life back up, and I hoped Max would be the one thing that could do that.
    All these years, Max and I stayed in touch. There was just some undeniable connection that came from growing up together. Day after day, we shared stories and jokes and the details of our ordinary lives—until one night the fall of my eighth grade year, when something extraordinary happened.
    I was tucked in bed, the comforter pulled high over the cornflower blue gown that I hadn’t yet taken off. “Logan dumped me,” I garbled to Max on the phone. “Right there, in the middle of Becca’s bat mitzvah, right in front of everyone. He said I was boring and that I studied too much.” I sniffled. “And he called me a prude. Then he made out with Macy Hollister in the middle of the dance floor. In front of everyone—in front of everyone’s parents.” Tears spilled down my cheeks and dampened my pillow.
    What happened next forever changed the course of our friendship.
    â€œIf that guy is too blind to see how incredible you are,” Max said, “if he can’t see how smart and capable and fun and beautiful you are, then he’s so not worth it.”
    I was stunned into silence. Max, maybe a little embarrassed, changed the subject to some new song he was learning to play on the drums. Eventually, when I was no longer weepy, we hung up. I lay there for hours while the tears dried, the realization dawned on me. Even though I wasn’t the most popular girl or the smartest girl or even close to the prettiest girl—even though I had weird, unfixable eyes and a boring, forgettable face and no real talent at all—Max still thought I was beautiful. Incredible. Despite all of it. Or maybe because of it.
    And from that day on, I no longer viewed Max as my best friend from Georgia. Suddenly he became so much more. I spent hours imagining how after high school we’d reunite and navigate our way from friends to something more. When we were in person, our real story would unfold. Max would take me in his arms and sing, I could write the preface on how we met; so the world would never forget.... Then the world discovers as my book ends; how to make two lovers of friends. Of course Max didn’t listen to a lot of Harry Connick Jr. In fact, he often made fun of me for my music preferences, but whatever—he’d sing something that would propel us from friendship into the whirlwind romance that destiny had in store for us. So maybe our destiny was to start now in high school at seventeen in Georgia. That thought exhilarated me.
    Now, in our new home, I grabbed my phone off the kitchen table and texted Max that we were here and he should come over. Seven minutes later I heard the rumble of a loud muffler motoring up our driveway. I flung open the door and stood on our new front porch wondering exactly what to do. I hadn’t seen him in five years—the last time we visited—but now he was here, in