At Face Value by Emily Franklin Read Free Book Online Page B

the idea of romance?”
    I blush as soon as she says “romance.” Not so much because the word is inherently embarrassing but because I immediately connect romance with Eddie, and that whole thing is definitely blushworthy. I’m just not the crush kind of person—at least, I haven’t been. “Sure. Romance would be nice.”
    “So, that’s one point for going.”
    “Night of Knights is hardly romantic—I mean, you’ve got the pom-pom squad gowned like Maid Marian, the theater crew doing their Shakespearean over-the-top drama. When you combine that with the potential for indirect injury …” I trail off, distracted by the memory of Eddie bashing my magnus nasus and the picture in front of me (having given into my yearbook-drooling urge). I stare at two-dimensional Eddie, in lust and love.
    “Can I just tell you my last reason?” Leyla asks. Her dad yells in the background for her to get off the phone. “I gotta
    “Wait—just give it up—what’s the last push, your final selling point for what is sure to be a thrilling evening of high school high jinks?”
    “I’ve got a big-time secret. If you come with me to Knights, I’ll tell you!” Leyla is a master of this kind of thing, garnered from her days cheerleading with the Gossips and their queen, Wendy.
    “If you think I’m going to fall for some lame …”
    “You know you’re a sucker for a scoop—think of this as the big headline for fall.” Then Leyla screams, “Just a second!”
    “I take it that was meant for your dad … listen, I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not making any promises.” We hang up without a formal goodbye. I tuck my legs up to my chest and close the yearbook. Even without Eddie in front of me, I can still see him. And I can still see my retro red clock, which tells me it’s late and time for bed.
    In the morning, my dad brings me breakfast on a tray and leaves it outside my room. He knocks twice to let me know the food’s there. It’s not that he treats me like his little princess or anything, it’s that he owes me breakfast delivered to my door for the entire semester. This past summer, he made the colossal mistake of betting me about meaningless musical trivia. Dorky though my recall for artists, release dates, and cover versions may be, it’s still a strength, and even Dad knew it was a slight risk.
    We were out at the Beach Shack (which is, oddly, a lakeside restaurant), and over the outside speakers came “Always Something There to Remind Me.”
    “I love this song!” I said.
    “This is way before your time,” Dad said. Mom nodded as she munched the salsa and chips. “I was in grad school when this came out.”
    “You mean, when this cover version came out.”
    “This is a cover?” Mom asked. Despite liking music, she has no interest in who sings what or the name of songs or even getting the lyrics right.
    “This is Naked Eyes,” I said, pressing my point.
    “Right. The original artist,” Dad said. “I remember because it was all New Wave and one of the teaching assistants thought it was drivel and I agreed.”
    “Well, you don’t have to like it, but you have to admit it’s a cover. Burt Bacharach wrote the original.” I locked eyes with him. “Not a cover.” My voice gets steely when I’m sure of something, when I’m about to engage in verbal combat.
    Dad shook his head and reached for a chip, and then the waitress brought my root beer in the bottle. Trying to be casual, I put the bottle to my mouth. But because my nose sticks so far out, it’s really hard to drink like that. I usually ask for a straw or look around for a wide-mouthed cup, but I’d forgotten. Maybe Dad felt bad for me, or maybe he really didn’t know as much musical trivia as me, but he flagged down the waitress, got a straw, and handed it to me. Then he said, “I bet you’re wrong.”
    “I’ll bet you,” I said. I didn’t mention I’d just, coincidentally, put the original song on a summer mix for Leyla.