“I told him that you’re completely different now.”
I glanced across the darkened front seat. “You did?”
“Yep. I told him that you sing less now and that you’re kind of considered a hot girl at school.”
My weirdo heart felt warm. “I’m considered a hot girl?”
“Probably. I mean, you’re not ugly, so it’s possible. I don’t
know.” Wes kept his eyes on the road and sounded irritated. “I don’t make it a habit to discuss you unless it’s in the context of ‘Guess what my goofball neighbor did,’ so I actually have no idea. I was just trying to change his impression of you.”
I rolled my eyes and felt ridiculously bummed that he’d made that up.
“But here’s your problem.” He put on his blinker and slowed as we approached a yellow light. “As I was doing my best to convince him that you’re no longer a little weirdy, he took it the wrong way and said, like, ‘So you DO like Liz. I knew it.’ ”
“Oh no.” Shit, shit, shit!
“Oh yes.” He looked over at me after stopping for the red light. “He thinks we’re into each other.”
“No!” I dropped my head back onto the headrest and pictured Michael’s face as he’d smiled and watched Wes and me. He thought I was into Wes, and it was entirely my fault. I’d started the rumor, for the love of God. “He’ll never ask me to prom if he thinks you like me.”
“Probably not.”