Not His Type

Nathan Cross. The sound of that name struck a chord in me that was never supposed to be touched.

Because somehow-against all logic -he managed to

pull me, Clara James, into his orbit.

This was unacceptable.

Not because I'd sworn off boys-trust me, I wasn't immune to them. It was because over the years I prided myself on being amongst the few girls who didn't fall for his looks. Or his flirtatious words for that matter (though to be honest they were never directed at me anyway).

Cross was the school's notorious playboy, he had almost every girl wrapped around his finger.

Almost. Although I found him attractive I had yet to be swayed by his charms. Unlike Amy, who enjoyed blabbing about him 24/7. Apparently, it was an honor to kiss the likes of him.

"And oh my goodness, those soft lips of his.." Amy closed her eyes and sighed with bliss. "I felt like I was in heaven." When she opened them again, they were starry eyed, and I had to bite my tongue from reminding her that she was just another name added to his ever-growing roster. But why waste breath?

Amy was too busy floating on cloud nine to hear me

anyway.

Amy was the daughter of my mom's best-friend.

Three months ago their house caught on fire, and while Mrs. Thomas used the insurance money to buy a nicer home a state away, Amy refused to switch schools senior year. My mom offered her our spare bedroom, and ever since then she's been invading my space. Our parents grew us like sisters, thinking we would naturally become best friends, but Amy and I couldn't be more different.

While I was a tom-boy, Amy was the quintessential girly-girl: shiny brown hair, big brown eyes, curves in all the "right" places. Any guy would think she was eye-candy. Especially when she wore tight spaghetti straps with a push-up bra that made her already ample cleavage impossible to ignore.

"... and then he picked me up and threw me on the bed!" Amy gushed, snapping me back into her monologue. She grinned as she pulled her red convertible into the school parking lot. If there was any benefit to having her stay over, it was that I no longer had to take the school bus.

"All I can say is he's really gifted."

"Shocking," I muttered dryly, twisting my long hair into a ponytail.

"You'd be surprised! There he is!" Amy squealed, catching sight of Forrest across the lot. She gave herself a quick once-over in the car's side view mirror. "Come on Clara, walk me over!"

"Can't you go there yourself?" I asked, already annoyed by her desperate antics. Amy had guys lining up for her attention, but of course she was fixated on the one who didn't care.

"Because you're friends with him. He's with his buddies right now. Please? You hang out with him all the time!"

"You have a boyfriend," I reminded her. James, her

football-player boyfriend was actually really cute.

"Please CJ!" she begged, clasping her hands together like a child, using my initials which was something I'vegottenused to over time.

"Fine," I gave in, walking ahead of her.

"Yes! And next time, could you wear something more appealing? Those baggy jeans and that hideous shirt do anything for your body. Or my status, for that matter."

"Thanks." I said, sarcastic.

We both knew I had no impact on her popularity. If anything, having a less-polished friend made her look prettier. I couldn't tell you the amount of times a guy used me to get closer to Amy. Once they met her they immediately fell for her coquettish smile and flirty demeanor.

"Your mom actually agrees with me," Amy went on, "She said you should be more like me. You know, dress feminine, try out for cheerleading. Like our moms did,"

I snorted. My mom and Amy have been pushing that agenda since middle school. Dressing girly? Skip.

Trying out for cheerleading? Even worse. My mother loved to remind me that cheerleading ran in the family grandma, great-grandma, the whole glittery legacy. She wanted me to keep the line going. But if the squad's reputation was anything to go by, that wasn't happening.

Everyone knew it was a madhouse of girls throwing themselves at football players, and then turning around to call other girls sluts for doing half as much.

No, thank you.

I wanted to stay away from all the drama for as long as possible. Rumor had it Amy had slept with ten football players, including three of the school's most sought-after boys: Theodore Scott, David Carson, and of course Cross. She only ever admitted Cross to me, the others remained speculation. Honestly, I didn't care enough to ask. Theodore and David were my friends too, and I preferred not to picture them hooking up with my childhood friend.

Last year the cheer squad offered me a spot, I declined saying that I didn't have any time, an excuse to avoid being around people I probably wouldn't get along with.

There was a reason I hung out with guys more than girls-less gossip, less backstabbing, less drama.

I'd had enough of it at a tender age in middle-school where I was bullied relentlessly by a group of preppy mean girls. Back then I swore off any femininity.

These days, I was more open-minded, but the tomboy

life fits too comfortably to give up.

As we neared the boys their attention shifted toward us-or rather, toward Amy. Aside from her boob-show, she was wearing a skirt that revealed her long, toned legs, curtesy of the endless hours she spent at the gym.

"Hey guys," Amy purred.

"Hey babe," said Theodore. His shaggy brown hair and honey-colored eyes didn't drive girls away; they clung to him like bees to honey.

David gave a tired wave, his gray eyes half-lidded under messy black hair. Judging by his look, he hadn't slept much-again.

Cross barely looked up from his phone. "Hey," he muttered, thumbs still scrolling over the screen. Amy's smile faltered. I didn't feel sorry for her. She knew Cross’s game: he played with a girl until he got bored, then disposed of them like an old video game. Their tenuous relationship snapped over a year ago, yet Amy still hovered like she was waiting for a comeback.

The bell rang, cutting through the crowd. Cross slid his phone into his pocket and walked past Amy without so much as a glance. Amy stood frozen, then darted off to find a cheer friend for a shoulder to cry on. I rolled my eyes. I knew this would happen. And I also knew she'd eventually shoot her shot again.

Some girls just love the heart-breaking chase.

"Hey CJ, is your sister single?" Theodore asked suddenly, eyes still tracking Amy from a distance.

"First off, she's not my sister. Second, no." I shook my head in disbelief. "She's with James. He's on your team, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he recalled, only for his gaze to then land on a short blonde across the hall. "Dang, look at Katie's boobs. Those D's are front and center.

David smirked. "I bet I can get her number faster than you can."

I shook my head at their antics. It's hard to tell which would luck out. Some girls fell for Theodore's swoony, whirlwind romance; others melted for David's quiet, easy-going warmth. Either way, Amy was already forgotten as they jogged off toward Katie.

"I need a new girl. Been holding back long enough," Cross said. His jet-black hair gleamed in the light, making his frost-blue eyes more dangerously beautiful.

I'd have to be blind to not notice how handsome he was. And if I were honest, there were moments- very private, secret moments--when I imagined what it would be like to run my fingers across his broad shoulders and feel those lips against mine.

"What's the matter, CJ? Volunteering for a night?" The corner of his mouth lifted, amusement flickering across his features.

I turned my head, realizing too late I was gawking. Heat rushed up my neck. "No thanks. I'm fine."

"Didn't look fine a second ago. Is that a drool?" He reached for the corner of my mouth, mocking me with a swipe of his thumb.

"I was not drooling!" I swatted his hand away. "And besides, it wasn't you I was staring at."

"Oh yeah, then who?" he asked, skepticism dripping from every word.

"T-the person behind you," I stuttered, blurting the first thing that came to my mind.

Forrest turned-and found himself staring at Robert Darin, currently preoccupied with picking a bugger out of his nose. After a triumphant second, Robert inspected his prize and promptly popped it into his mouth. I covered my lips in disgust, gagging. Suffice to say he was definitely not attractive.

"Everyone, Clara has something important to say to us," Forrest announced, getting our table's attention. Pizza was for lunch, and as usual our little group - Cross, Theodore, David and I sat dead center, drawing more attention than I was comfortable with.

"Cross, drop it." I hissed, glaring at him. He had been pestering me about the whole Robert Darin situation all morning. I refused to feed his ego by admitting anything.

"She likes Robert," Forrest snickered, savoring my irritation.

"Robert? As in Robert Darin?" David echoed, his brows rose. Forrest nodded and the whole table erupted in laughter. Unamused, my lips stayed pressed in a flat line.

"Didn't know you had a thing for Robert," Theodore managed between chuckles, naively believing Cross. "But hey, everyone's got their tastes."

"He's lying." I snapped, folding my arms.

Cross leaned forward, eyes glittering like he knew something I didn't. "So you admit it? You were staring at me instead?"

"Not every girl falls for you," I shot back. "And if you're planning to mess with me, don't even try it."

"Relax," Cross said smoothly, his voice dropping into that velvety tone he knew made girls falter. "I'm picky. You're not exactly my type, a little too boyish."

His gaze flicked over me in a slow sweep that made

my stomach twist. "You're safe."

Amy calling me boyish was one thing, but hearing

Cross say it...that stung.

"Screw you!"

He smirked. "I knew you wanted me. Don't get your hopes up, though. I'd never actually go out with you."

My fingers clenched the edge of the table, glaring at him so hard it hurt. My glare only made him grin wider, like he enjoyed pressing on a bruise just to see if I'd flinch.

"Careful," he murmured. "Keep looking at me like that and people might think you're obsessed."

"Ignore him," Theodore stepped in, cutting through the tension. He rested his head over my shoulder in a comforting way.

Cross lounged back in his chair, absolutely enjoying himself. "It's not like I called you ugly." His tone dripped with mock sincerity. "If it helps, I'd call you..a high average."

I scoffed at his pathetic attempt to soften the blow.

Jerk.

And to think he was right about one thing: I did find

him attractive.