Unmaking Hunter Kennedy (16 page)

“Holy shit! You can’t be serious.”

Vere had frozen in the entryway and was scanning his face. Her brows had drawn down, causing a little crease to form in the center of her forehead. She spoke in a low—almost desperate sounding—whisper. “Lower your voice, and yes, I am serious. They’ve got tons of options here. If anyone comes near, turn your head and pull down that cap?
Okay?
”

“Jesus, okay. Why are you freaking out?”

“You—the darn eyes—look like moonbeams or light sabers under these lights.” She paused and shook her head.

Hunter teased, “Is this your twisted way of calling me handsome again? Don’t worry, I’ve got sunglasses.” He laughed, pulling them out. “Ironically, blue light sabers are for the good guys. Don’t let the color fool you.”

“Oh shut up, would you?” She closed in on him, way too close and peered up at his eyes while he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the little line of peach milkshake running near that damn perfect upper lip.

“I swear I can still see the color behind your sunglasses. There aren’t going to be eye-glasses dark enough. We’re going to have to pay double
and
probably special order you a trash bag to cover your whole face.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky I’ll suffocate to death and then we won’t have to do this?”

“Don’t joke about stuff like that. Don’t. Ever.” She sucked in a breath, her anger apparently evaporating as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry. I’m being totally mean to you again. What is it about you that makes me act crazy?”

Safe behind the glasses, Hunter shot a longing glance at that line of peach milkshake again. “It’s not you. It’s me. I habitually drive people nuts. I’ll stop baiting you. I’m doing it on purpose. I’ll stop.”

“Good.” She stalked ahead and gestured to the clothes. “This place sells specialized ranch clothing. It’s not cheap. We can also hit the thrift store near by to keep costs down. You’re going to need shoes, and everything. If it’s too much, my mom and dad will help buy the glasses, I’m sure. And Dad will never let you pay for the retainer, so you’re good there.”

“What?”

She frowned. “This project is going to break you.”

He shook his head at her in wonder. No girl had ever worried about him spending money before. Most had expected he would spend tons of it, and mostly on them. She’d also paid for their milkshakes!

Hunter basked in this new, unfamiliar feeling.

Vere was actually watching
over
him instead of
watching
him like everyone else did. He liked it. Her. A lot.

“Look. I’m good for the money, okay? I get paid. Tons.”

“Oh...yeah. DUH.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

She froze.

He could feel her arm tense up, so he loosened his grip but did not let go.

“Vere. Um. You have something on your face.” He turned her toward him as gently as he possibly could. He sensed that he’d freaked her out, but now that he’d committed he’d have to follow through, or she’d think he was a freak for grabbing her hand like this. He reached forward to wipe the stripe of ice-cream away, resisting the temptation to explore the shape of her upper lip with his thumb.

“Food on my face? Could you not have brought it up sooner? I’m such a disaster.” She closed her eyes but not before Hunter read pure mortification shooting through the brown-green depths of her eyes.

“One small strip of milkshake does not scream
disaster
. You’d do the same for me, right? I’m a disaster too.” He pointed to spot where a whole peach slice had hit and left a mark. “Look at the blob on my shirt.”

She opened one eye and found the spot, seeming to relax when she confirmed he wasn’t lying, and then closed it again while he worked the dried ice cream off her upper lip.

“Helping people with food-face is the mark of a truly
nice
person you know? This could ruin your reputation.”

“What happens after the milk-shake-shop, stays at the milk-shake-shop.” She didn’t answer, so he went on. “Why do you close your eyes all the time?” he asked, studying the ginger-brown curve of her lashes.

Eyes still scrunched, she grimaced. “I’m trying not to blush. In case you haven’t noticed, my face, off and on, catches on fire. Especially in extremely awkward situations. LIKE THIS.”

Hunter let her go and stepped back. “I like it when you change colors. It’s charming.”

“Shut up. You promised not to bait me.” She opened her eyes, her expression shooting bullets, and crossed her arms in front of her. “Luckily, when you make me mad, it doesn’t happen. And calling the blushing
charming
makes me mad! It’s anything but that. Now let’s get back to the topic of money. How are you going to pay?”

He swallowed, trying not to remember the soft feel of her skin. “I have a huge budget for this unmaking, and a credit card to boot. I don’t want you worrying about me. About that. God. Never about that.”

“I can’t help it. If you’re my friend, I’m going to worry about every bit of you. A perk of being in my friend zone. Just in case, we’ll stick to the sale racks when we can. Deal?”

Hunter laughed. “I’ve never even seen a sale rack. Do they really put little red stickers to show the price has been marked lower, or is that just on TV?”

“Wow. You’re truly clueless, aren’t you?”

He laughed out loud, unable to stop himself because she’d used his own thoughts about
her
, right back on him! “How could you, a girl who’s apparently never even stepped outside Colorado, think I’m clueless?”

“As if. I’ve been to Utah, Kansas, Idaho, New Mexico and Disneyland, loser.”

He laughed louder which seemed to make her mad again.

“What? Stop laughing so loudly. The voice,
DUH
. Someone is going notice you before you’re properly disguised! None of this is funny, and we’re running out of time.” She paused and glared. “And...I’ve also been to Michigan, for a wedding, so don’t make me deck you.”

He couldn’t control the next belly laugh that burst forth.

He let it envelop him. It felt so awesome to let loose.

For some reason, hanging out with Vere had made him happy. Better, he couldn’t remember having this much fun, ever.

Hands on her hips now, she squinted and looked as though she wanted to do battle. “You are totally doing that on purpose. Do you really need the attention from strangers that badly?”

She pulled the brim of his cap down halfway over his nose as she dragged him by the arm full speed toward the back of the clothing section. “Not another loud sound comes out of your mouth until after we’ve got your disguise figured out.”

14: clueless

VERE

As a joke, Vere held up a bright orange,
RodeoDare
brand western shirt. One with paisley-purple piping, white fringe from the armpits to the cuffs with rhinestone buttons and fringe all over the back too. “How about this?” she whispered with a look that warned him to whisper back.

Dustin blinked once and peered at the shirt, his face impassive. “I’m an extra large. That’s too small. Do they have another size?”

His perfectly contrite whisper meant that he was apparently trying to appease her after his laugh attack. But his lack of response to the ugly shirt astonished her. “I’m kidding about this shirt. Can’t you tell?” she hissed.

“No. I can’t tell. Don’t joke around. Pick what you think is appropriate. Is that shirt not a good choice? It looks like decent disguise material to me.”

She tossed the hideous rodeo shirt back onto the rack and felt guilty for trying to tease him. “Clueless. Like I said.”

He shook his head and she saw humor return to his gaze. “Don’t even start up again. How about you pick what you wear? Let’s start with a few things you are drawn to. Then we can build from there.”

He gingerly fingered some of the shirts on the round rack. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never picked my own clothes.”

He seemed stumped by the different options, and she could see confusion and bewilderment cross his face.

“Never?”

“Nope. I have a personal shopper. The stuff shows up in my room. My mom or stylist decide what outfit goes on me each day.”

“Whoa. You’re like a Persian prince!”

“Not even. I have no harem and worse, no butler or valet type helps zip me into the ugly outfits they pick for me.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed to a stack of flannel plaid button down shirts. “Do you like these?”

He shrugged not even giving the shirts half a glance. “I’ll like them if you like them?”

Vere was floored again. He had no opinions at all! About anything, or at least he didn’t seem to know how to discuss them.

Vere shot a hand up to check her bun, tightening the rubber band so it wouldn’t slip. She caught him watching her as though intrigued with how she made her bun or something, and she almost had another blush attack. She looked away, embarrassed, remembering the feel of his hand on her upper lip, his other hand holding hers as he’d wiped away that ice cream.

Her stomach flooded with little butterflies.

Ugh. Focus. Kill the butterflies.

Those were not real hands, only the hands of your new best guy friend. Perfectly appropriate that he would get the ice cream off your face.

Friends don’t let friends have food face.

“We’re going to have to turn this into a game,” Vere said.

She brought the ‘Rick’s Chicks’ tee-shirt forward and hung it in front of them. “What does this shirt remind you of?”

“Chicks? And not the baby kind.”

“Ha. Ha.” She sighed, pretending he was not funny. “If you saw a
guy
wearing this, plus the retainer you ordered, then what would you think?”

“Extreme but intriguing dork?”

“Exactly what I thought! It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

He smiled, chuckling a little. “I suppose there are no specific products I would have to memorize in order to qualify for that, huh?”

“Nope. Dorks are dorks. It’s all in the perception of others! I want you to pick what kind of dork you want to be. You could make this fun, like being in a play.
Dustin McHugh
is your character, and you’re going to have to live in his pants and walk in his shoes—so to speak. So start with pants.”

His brows shot up and he looked slightly scandalized. “What?
Girl
, you are freaking me out. Stop talking about my pants!”

Vere sighed, and double rolled her eyes. “Do you see my patience levels going away? What kind of pants do you want to wear for the next few weeks?”

He looked away. “Vere. I can’t do this. Just choose some dork pants for me.” He pulled off his cap and rand a hand through his hair.

“Nope. I want you to
pick
. Walk around. See what’s here and go with your first gut feeling.”

“You aren’t going to help me at all?”

He looked pitiful and lost, but Vere held firm. “I’m here to make sure whatever you chose fits within proper dork limits, that’s all. The rest is going to be up to you. It’s like my drama coach says: Be the character, don’t ever let the character be you,” she quipped. “That’s bad acting.”

“
Be all the dork that I can be?
” he tried.

Her turn. “
Hamlet: To dork, or not to dork, that is the question.
” She smiled proudly, thinking of another. “
The apparel ‘oft proclaims the man!
”

He chuckled. “Hamlet again, but this time with an English accent:
Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
”

“You weren’t lying about getting A’s in Lit.”

They shared a smile.

“And who knows Hamlet this well? Dorks like me!” He grinned wider.

She beamed back. “Yes! My new
BGF
is an awesome Hamlet quote guy! You’ll have to pull that messed-up accent on my best friend Jenna, too. I can’t wait to see her face when you launch into that accent!” She giggled.

After that, Hunter seemed to head into the clothing racks with purpose. He wandered until finally stopping dead in front of the ‘Tough Mountain’ clothing display.

Holding up a pair of dark gold, heavy canvas pants with huge, square front pockets and a large compass sewn into a front belt pull, he beamed. “My gut says these are the pants I want to live in for the next few weeks.”

Vere walked over to get a closer look and had to laugh. “Oh yeah. You’re totally on to something.” She read the Tough Mountain label aloud. “Heavyweight canvas clothing. Sewn from the exact same patterns used by pioneers but with a modern technological twist for
today’s man
.”

“Today’s dorky-man!”

“What’s the technology?” she asked.

“The compass?” He frowned. “Maybe these giant buttons?”

She surveyed the racks of various overalls, pants, jackets, vests and shorts. All served up in Tough Mountain’s four distinct colors: brown, gold, orange, and tan. “It’s perfect. Really. It’s all stuff for ranch hands or lumberjacks. I think the telephone-pole guys wear it, fire-fighters, and those burly highway dudes who fix pot holes!”

“Translation being, no human teenager would be caught dead in this stuff?”

She nodded. “Exactly. So awesome.”

“I’m getting one of everything in each color! I’ll have a compass on every piece.” Dustin fingered the heavy front pocket on one of the vests. “Look at all the gadget spots, and metal zippers, and double stitching everywhere. It looks bullet proof! I hate to admit this, but I actually do love it, and I mean for real! Some of this would look so cool on stage.”

“Shh. Don’t bring that up. It is pretty cool, but in all the wrong ways for high school.” Vere frowned, knowing it was also very expensive, but she didn’t say anything about that. She’d have to trust what he’d said about the money.