Shut Out, Kody Keplinger [book recommendations for young adults txt] 📗

get trash-talked for doing the same thing. Or how my boyfriend seemed to think it was okay for him to put me second to this rivalry crap, but when I decided to do something about it, he wouldn’t take me seriously.

I was starting to think I just didn’t understand anything. Like there was some handbook to adolescence and dating and boys that was passed out in middle school on a day when I was absent or something. I wondered if other girls were as clueless about all this stuff as I was.

“Lissa, I’m clueless,” Chloe whispered as our computer teacher, Mrs. Moulton, walked past. For a second, I was really weirded out, totally thinking she’d heard my thoughts, but then she added, “What’s the difference between a bar graph and a line graph? And why does it even fucking matter? Help me over here!”

I laughed, relieved, and leaned over to help her with the assignment.

Things between Randy and me had been off since Monday night, when I’d told him about the sex strike. He wasn’t giving me the silent treatment or avoiding me, exactly. He was just being… distant. He wasn’t quite as touchy-feely as usual, maybe because

he’d finally realized it wouldn’t work, and he didn’t talk as much as he normally did when I was around.

It hurt to have Randy act so coldly toward me, but I hoped that meant the strike was working. That he was finally getting frustrated enough to do something about it. That all the boys were, and the war would end soon.

But at the moment, sitting next to him at lunch was becoming unnecessarily awkward—though I’m sure my behavior that day was no warmer; I could barely look Randy in the eye after the dream I’d had about Cash.

So after thirteen minutes of uneasy conversation had passed at the lunch table, I decided I’d had enough.

“So, Homecoming,” I said loudly, interrupting a conversation Randy was having with Shane. I was sure it wasn’t important, anyway. “It’s this Friday. We should make sure our plans are set.”

Randy looked at me, confused. “What plans?” he asked. “I mean… you have your dress or whatever, and I have the clothes you made me buy for it. What else is there to plan?”

“I think we should go to dinner first,” I told him. “Just you and me. Quiet and romantic, you know? We can eat and then head to the dance.”

“Sure,” Randy said. “Whatever you want. Just tell me where to take you when I pick you up. Your call.”

I scowled. Yeah, I thought. Because that’s romantic.

“Why don’t you pick?” I suggested. “And then surprise me.”

“Nah,” he said, poking his fork at a disgusting-looking pile of macaroni and cheese. “You said you don’t like surprises.”


“I don’t…. But you did a great job last time.”

“You just pick. I wouldn’t want to choose the wrong one and then piss you off or something.”

It’ll be over soon, I told myself, knowing the strike was the cause of Randy’s distance. The boys had figured out the plan. They knew there would be no action until the rivalry was over. The girls had the advantage. We had the power.

We were in control.

With a sweet smile and a chipper voice, I said, “Fine. I’ll pick a place in Oak Hill and get us a reservation for eight o’clock. It’ll be a great night.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he murmured, his voice right on the verge of sarcasm in a way that made me sure he was mentally adding, Even if I won’t get any.

That’s right, I thought back, as if he could hear me. You won’t.

Chloe came over later that day to help me plan the next sleepover while I made dinner.

“You think we need another one?” Chloe asked as she painted her nails at the kitchen table. I’d shoved a towel under her hands, worried she’d spill the polish. She’d selected an electric blue color that I would never be brave enough to wear. “I mean, we just had one, so why do we have to do it again?”

“I think we should have them on a regular basis,” I told her. “It’ll keep things consistent and organized. The other girls really enjoyed it. I think the unity may help us win.”

“Whatever.” Chloe sighed. “Just as long as we win soon. It’s

been two weeks already, and I’m seriously not a fan of this whole celibacy thing.”

“I know you’re not.” I plucked one of my mother’s old cookbooks from the stack on top of the fridge and sat down across from her. “But I’m glad you’re helping me.”

“Yeah, well, you owe me.”

I flipped open the cookbook and started looking for a recipe I might actually have a shot at concocting successfully. I was a decent cook, but not like my mother. She could whip up anything without even looking at a book. She was the type of person who followed the recipe once and then found ways to tweak it, make it her own, and make it better.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t had time to pass that knowledge on to me.

And God forbid my father or brother attempt to use the stove. The house would be in flames within moments. The idea of either of them making anything more complex than a tuna sandwich gave me nightmares.

“So you gonna have it here?” Chloe asked.

I cringed at the thought, and she laughed.

“Oh, come on. You’re supposed to be the leader here, Little Miss Bossy Pants. Step up.”

“Fine. I guess I could. But what about Dad and Logan?”

“I’m sure there will be some sort of sporting event on TV to keep your dad occupied,” she said. “And Logan… Well, I can distract him if you’d like.”

I gave Chloe a sharp look.

“I’m kidding. Sort of. I mean, yeah, your brother is hot, but I

wouldn’t do anything with him you wouldn’t approve of… unless I knew for sure we’d get away with it and you’d never have to find out and—”

“Chloe!”

“That time I really was kidding. Chill.”

“Not funny.”

“What? I can’t help who I fantasize about. You can’t help that you have kinky dreams involving unattainable soccer studs, so it isn’t my fault that my deep dark fantasy involves me, your brother, and a—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” I cried, covering my ears. “I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence! It’s bad enough that he’s flirting with my coworker.”

“He’s flirting with Cash? Now that’s hot.”

“What? No! Jenna, not Cash. Geez, Chloe.”

“Whoa,” she said. “Logan has a thing for the Wicked Witch of the Library? No fucking way.”

“He’s been flirting with her lately… and she definitely likes him.”

“Weird…. Maybe that means he has a thing for dominatrices. Whips and spiky heels and all that.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Why do you like torturing me?”

“Because you are torturing me with this whole no-sex thing.” Chloe sighed. “Lissa, I’m sexually frustrated.”

“Are you even old enough to know what sexual frustration feels like?”

“Now I am. And thanks to this strike, I know that when I’m

sexually frustrated, I like to punish others. You are the logical target here.”

“You’re evil.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Sometimes,” I muttered.

She blew me a kiss across the table and winked. “Seriously, though, it’ll be fine. Throwing the sleepover here, I mean. I’ll come over early on Saturday and help you set up before and clean up afterward, okay?”

“Really? Thanks.”

“Whatever. It gives me a good reason to get away from my mother. She’s decided to quit smoking again, so she’s crabby as hell.” Chloe stood up and walked around the table to stand behind me. “Now,” she said, leaning over my shoulder, “let’s figure out what you’re making for dinner. I’m starved, and I’ve decided you’re feeding me, too.”


chapter fourteen

On Thursday, I was taking my fifteen-minute break on the sofa in the back room of the library, eating an apple and reading, when Cash walked in. I kept my eyes on the page as heat crept up my neck. I’d been trying to avoid him since our shift started—it was almost impossible to look at him after that dream I’d had a couple nights earlier.

“Hey, Lissa,” he said, sitting down on the other side of the couch. “What are you reading?”

I didn’t answer, just lifted my book a few inches so he could see the title.

“H. P. Lovecraft’s short stories,” he said. “Nice. I didn’t know you were into sci-fi.”

I nodded. “Sometimes. I try to read every genre.”

“Cool. Have you gotten around to Lysistrata yet?”

“No,” I said, flipping the page. “Sorry. I wanted to finish this collection first.”

“All right,” Cash said, sounding a little disappointed. “I’m just curious to see what you think about it.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

I peeked over the top of my book and watched as Cash unwrapped a Snickers bar. He was just wearing a maroon T-shirt and faded blue jeans, but he still looked amazing. Feeling guilty for ogling him, I hurriedly turned my attention back to the book. Don’t think about him, I told myself, keeping my eyes trained on the page as I picked up my red pen. Don’t think about him…. Just keep reading….

“Lissa,” Cash said slowly, drawing out the A at the end of my name. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but… Did you just mark a typo in your book?”

I bit my lip. “No. Of course not. Why would you say that?”

“Because you just marked something on the page with a red ink pen—like the ones teachers use to check papers.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Lissa.”

“What?” I asked, ducking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Let me see,” he said, not bothering to hide his laughter. “I don’t believe you.”

“Cash, stop it!” I cried. He was already leaning over me, pulling the book gently from my hands. I tugged back, and we wrestled over it for a few minutes. Then Cash poked me in the side and I let out a burst of laughter. In my momentary distraction, he swiped the book from me.

“Cash,” I whined.

He shook his head, staring at page 124. “I can’t believe it! You

circled a misspelling. And you keep a red pen on you whenever you read?”

I ducked my head again and didn’t answer. Cash was sitting very close to me, his shoulder leaning against mine, our fingers nearly touching where we both held the book. My heart raced—from struggling to get the book back or his proximity, I wasn’t sure which.

Cash started flipping through the pages. “Damn,” he said. “This thing is covered in red.”

“It’s a newer edition,” I said, yanking