31/08/12: This chapter has been edited.

Thanks so much to simply_juliet for the amazing banner on the side! :D

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“I’m sorry, Georgie. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Connor’s chocolate-colored eyes bore into mine, the intensity of his gaze melting my insides. His look is so sincere; miles away from the usual coldness that glazes his irises. It’s almost like I’m seeing a different person – one more likened to the innocent boy of my childhood.

“I...”

“Shh.” He cuts me off by pressing a finger to my lips; his touch is strangely airy, and I wonder if the apparent loss of his solidity is an illusion of my dizzy head. “You don’t need to say anything. Just know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And then, before I even have the chance to comprehend what’s happening, Connor’s brought his hands to my cheeks and is gently leaning forwards. I don’t know what I’m doing, but for some reason I’m leaning in too. Closer, closer, the distance between us vanishing at an alarming rate, until…

I wake up with a jolt, sitting up in bed so fast I almost crick my neck.

I’m breathing heavily, thoughts racing through my head at lightning speed. Despite this, one of them is completely clear: why the hell was I dreaming Connor?

More specifically, why was I dreaming about kissing him?

Is my sub-conscious mind trying to tell me something? God, I really hope not. Being romantically involved with a jerk like him is the last thing I want. With his attitude, I can barely stand being in his presence for longer than thirty seconds. Even before he casually slipped into conversation that he hated me.

For reasons I don’t quite understand.

Since when did my life get so confusing?

Glancing over at my alarm clock, I realize I might as well get up anyway. There’s still another ten minutes until the incessant beeping makes me want to hit it with a sledgehammer, but it’s impossible to go back to sleep after that dream. Even letting it seep back into my mind for a nanosecond gets me feeling flustered.

I roll out of bed, stumbling towards the mirror to check my reflection. And... wow. I have to say, I’m looking even worse than I usually do on a Monday morning. My curly hair has been reduced to nothing more than a tangled mess of frizz, my oversized nightshirt is crumpled everywhere and my face appears shiny from the layer of perspiration residing on it.

Brilliant. One dream about Connor’s got me totally hot and bothered.

After a quick shower, I head towards my closet. Not really in the mood to spend hours picking out an outfit, I pull on a pair of skinny jeans and the first sweatshirt I lay my hands on. Neither are particularly flattering, but if I’m honest, more important things are on my mind.

Like the fact that Connor’s starting school today.

“Georgie, there’s some breakfast down here if you want it!”

Before I can over-think the situation any more, I’m pulled out of my daydream by Mom calling from the kitchen.

“Yeah, okay. Just coming!”

I grab a brush from on top of my dresser, tugging it through my hair to make it a little bit presentable. Sure, I’m not feeling up to caring too much about my appearance this morning, but I don’t want to walk into school looking like some sort of blonde frizz monster is eating away at my head.

Not really an attractive look.

When I head into the kitchen, I notice that my mom is already sat at the table, buried in her newspaper. On the table sits a steaming plate of pancakes, already dripping with syrup. Usually, the sight of such food would make me rush over and grab a plate, but I’m still feeling mildly unnerved by last night’s dream. I seem incapable of shaking it off; no matter how hard I try to focus on something else, the feeling of being poised to kiss Connor comes creeping back to haunt me. However, the last thing I want is for Mom to coax details from me, so I muster a smile and slide into the adjacent seat.

“Dad make breakfast?” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“Yeah, but he had to head off. Work stuff.” Mom lowers the paper enough to look at me, before looking pointedly at the pancakes. “Go on then, dig in.”

“Oh… right.” I pull the plate towards me and pick up my fork, even though I’m not particularly hungry. It’s an overload of sugar that would usually put me straight into a good mood, but this morning my mind seems to be a little out of whack.

I wonder why.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie, keeping my eyes cast firmly downward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom staring at me over the daily headlines. I look up again, frowning, wondering why she’s studying my expression so carefully. Has she been given mind-reading powers overnight? Is she suddenly able to see straight through my impassive expression and get a look at my hopelessly confused thoughts?

Crap. I really hope not.

“What?” I say eventually.

“Oh, nothing,” she responds dismissively, but the hint of a smirk is tugging at the corners of her lips. Which is a complete giveaway that it’s not “nothing”. “You know Connor’s starting school today, don’t you?”

I should’ve seen it coming, really.

“Yeah, I know that.”

And I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I woke up, I add mentally.

“And guess what?”

Ugh... judging by the look of Mom’s excited expression, I don’t think I want to know what’s coming next. Of course, she’s still blissfully unaware of mine and Connor’s little... talk yesterday during dinner, and therefore is under the impression that we are on the brink of becoming best friends again. And I don’t really have the heart to tell her that in reality, he’s a jerk.

“What?”

“He’s got a car.”

Oh, no. She can’t be implying what I think she’s implying. There’s no way in hell. Absolutely none. Maybe if I feign ignorance, it’ll save me.

“And?”

“Well, I’m sure he’d give you a ride.”

Crap. So much for that plan. But seriously, there is no way I am enduring fifteen minutes in Connor’s car every day. I can hardly bear to think about the pain that would ensue. Sure, I complain about having to get the bus, but I’d rather endure endless hours in that gum-stained yellow vehicle filled with freshmen than go within ten feet of Connor’s car.

Even if it happened to be a state-of-the-art Ferrari.

“Um...”

Come on, Georgie. Time for some quick thinking. I know it hasn’t gone well in the past, but you can’t give up now. You’ve spent over ten years of your life in school, for crying out loud; there must be something useful in that brain.

Mom’s still looking at me expectantly after an incredibly awkward pause, and it occurs to me that I haven’t actually answered her yet. “Um... I think I’ll pass. I don’t mind the bus.”

I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Evidently, Mom’s far from convinced. She raises her eyebrows, peering at me even more curiously than she had been before. “You complain about the bus almost every day,” she states truthfully. “You’re always going on about how everyone else in your grade has a car. I thought you hated it.”

So maybe I shouldn’t have made such a point of hating the bus over the two-and-a-bit years I’ve been in high school. It’s just that at the time the alternative was my parents buying me a car, rather than a ride with my former best friend, who’s got an attitude worse than the most obnoxious of the popular crowd.

I force out a laugh, which ends up sounding way shakier than I had intended. “What are you talking about? I never said that...”

“You said the bus was like a sweaty locker room with gum stuck on the windows.”

“Not in a bad way.”

“You said none of the freshman had ever heard of deodorant.”

“That was a compliment?”

“You said–”

“Mom,” I interject forcefully, plastering a smile on my face. Honestly, there is really no need to list all of the things I may or may not have said about the bus at one point or another. What we should be doing is focusing on the real matter in hand: convincing her that riding to school with Connor would be a very bad idea. “I didn’t mean those things. I like the bus.”

“You do?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t look like she’s buying it.

“Yes,” I say pointedly. “It’s nice. It gives me a real sense of... community.”

I don’t know what the hell I just said, but I hope it sounded good.

“So you definitely don’t want to go in Connor’s car?” Mom checks, with an expression that reads something along the lines of this is your last chance. “And you’d prefer to go on the bus?”

“That’s what I said.”

A faint glimmer of amusement crosses her eyes and she smirks, before breaking eye contact and turning her attention back to the newspaper. This, in turn, only makes me more wary. Why does she look so... smug? Surely this can’t end well.

“What?” I ask eventually. “Why are you looking like that?”

This is a prime example of one of the times when I wish I had a regular mom.

“Oh, nothing...” She shrugs, like there’s nothing remotely interesting she wants to say. However, I know better, and can tell that she’s itching to spill whatever half-amusing thing she’s got in her head. The thing that will most likely embarrass me. “I just figured it out, is all.”

“Figured what out?”

“The reason why you’ve been acting so weird lately. And also the reason why you’re pretending you actually like taking the bus, despite spending the last two years complaining constantly about it.”

Because Connor has suffered a drastic personality change, making him constantly moody, aggressive and adamant that he hates me, and that for this reason I want to spend as little time with him as I possibly can?

“Um... I don’t think I’ve...”

“You have a crush on Connor, don’t you?”

I almost spit out the mouthful of pancake I’m chewing. Thankfully, I manage to control this reflex before I spew mushed up breakfast all over the tabletop. But seriously... what? Mom thinks I have a crush on Connor? The idea’s so outrageous I want to burst out laughing, which I might be able to do if I wasn’t rendered utterly speechless by the shock.

“Me... Connor... no... but... what?” I splutter.

Mom just continues smirking, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “I know you too well, Georgie. It’s so obvious you’re crushing on him so hard you need a crash mat. You should’ve seen you two over the dinner table. Don’t think I didn’t notice that sneaky eye contact.”

“Mom!” I cry. “I don’t like Connor like that! Please, just stop talking!”

“Whatever you say...”

I rise from my seat, pushing away my half-eaten plate of pancakes and trying to ignore the fact my cheeks are as red as a tomato. This day is just getting worse. I’ll probably be verging on insane by the time lunch rolls around. How am I supposed to face Connor after this morning? I thought the dream was bad enough, but at least the blame for that could be placed on my subconscious. Now my own mother’s got into her head that I’ve got a crush on him?

If only she knew how wrong she was.

“I’m leaving for school,” I say pointedly, shooting what I hope is a harsh look at Mom over the table, “and we can just pretend this conversation never happened.”

I snatch up my bag from the counter and head across the kitchen. My cheeks are still sporting their favorite shade of scarlet and are showing no signs of calming down any time soon. I’m going to be hanging around at the bus stop for a while if I leave at this time, but it’ll be worth it to escape the tortures of my mom and her ridiculous ideas about my love life.

And, of course, there’s one other advantage: I doubt Connor will be leaving this early, so it gives me ample opportunity to scarper before the two of us are forced into awkward interaction once more.

“Have a good day!” Mom calls, when I’m almost at the door. “Oh, and Georgie?”

I turn round reluctantly, resisting the urge to grimace. “Yeah?”

“Try not to blush when you see Connor. You don’t want to make it any more obvious.”

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Did I have you fooled at the start of this chapter? Probably not, you guys are too smart, lol. And OH MY GOD. Yesterday I reached #24 on Teen Fiction, which is like, crazy since it's a popular category. Is there any chance of getting higher?! If you like it, please support me by voting and commenting!

And remember... a random commenter will get a dedication each chapter! Until next time...