Fabio vs. the Friend Zone (The Pen Pal Romance Series) Read online

  Fabio vs. the Friend Zone

  Kelsie Stelting

  For my video game playing brothers. Thanks for educating me for the purposes of this book!

  Copyright © 2018 by Kelsie Stelting

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Jenny at Seedlings.

  Editing by Tricia Harden.

  For questions, address [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Fabio

  2. Grace

  3. Fabio

  4. Grace

  5. Fabio

  6. Grace

  7. Fabio

  8. Grace

  9. Fabio

  10. Grace

  11. Fabio

  12. Grace

  13. Fabio

  14. Grace

  15. Fabio

  16. Grace

  17. Fabio

  18. Grace

  19. Fabio

  20. Grace

  21. Fabio

  22. Grace

  23. Fabio

  24. Grace

  25. Fabio

  26. Grace

  Epilogue

  Also by Kelsie Stelting

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  One

  Fabio

  I was named after the most famous romance cover model of all time, but I can’t get my best friend to fall in love with me.

  To be fair, it would help if she knew how I felt about her, but that was beside the point. Today was the day. Today, I would tell my best friend I’d harbored a crush on her ever since she found me crying underneath the stairwell and gave me a pack of Hello Kitty travel tissues. And before you start telling me that’s not very manly, I’ll just say welcome to the twenty-first century. Masculinity is about way more than flowing golden hair and thighs thicker than tree trunks. At least, that’s what Grandma told me. The one who named me after Fabio.

  Anyway.

  I had my room all set up for Grace’s last night in the United States. I’d dawdled around long enough, and I had about twelve hours to tell her I loved her before she left to China for a month. Yep. While Grace went to China to teach young children English and broaden their horizons, I’d be here...playing video games. I couldn’t be too mad about her leaving without looking like a selfish jerk. Plus, I had a contest to train for. But I couldn’t think about that when Grace was… I checked my watch… eleven minutes from knocking on the door.

  She always showed up on time.

  Always showed up.

  I adjusted the candy bars on top of the bowl full of Twix so each of the labels faced up. They were her favorite. Then, I fluffed the bowl of gummy bears—if they sat in a pile too long, they stuck together, and Grace didn’t like that. Then I used the mashed potato...masher(?) to crunch up the ice in our slushy punch. Grandpa threw the blender out the window last week, so it was the best I could do. I hoped Grace liked it.

  Seven minutes.

  I went to my dresser and edged open the top drawer—the one with all my underwear. Right against the front was my stack of notecards.

  Grace,

  I like you. I have always liked you. I never really thought about whether it was possible or not to fall in love as a sixth-grader, but it doesn’t really matter because I did. Grandma says the best relationships form from friendships, and if that’s true, things will be great between us. Just give me a chance.

  Fabio

  I didn’t know why I signed it. It was meant to be a speech. But it just seemed right.

  Even reading it in that awesome internal narrator voice, the speech sounded lame. How could I speak for hours on end while playing COD or HALO but not come up with a stinking notecard-long speech? Usually, I’d ask Grace for help on things like this, but… Well, you get the point.

  Three minutes.

  I scanned the card one more time before shoving it below a pair of Star Wars underwear. What? It was the one fandom thing I could wear without catching crap. Except they were underwear, so…

  Moving on.

  Two minutes.

  Why was I so sweaty?

  Deodorant. That was a good idea.

  I pulled open my desk drawer and rubbed some under my pits. I smelled them, just in case. Blue Mountain. Whatever the heck that was. It was better than BO.

  One minute.

  I looked out the window. Her cute little hybrid car pulled along the sidewalk.

  She was here. Holy mother of Obi Wan, she was here.

  I fluffed the soft blanket on my futon she always liked to run her hands over and sprinted to the living room.

  Grandma sat in front of the blaring TV with her nose in a book. Grandpa had just finished yelling something at the screen. He always gave the best commentary on power chair commercials.

  Grandma didn’t look up from her book, but she said, “Grace here?”

  “In three, two…”

  Three knocks sounded on the door—two fast, one slow. Our secret knock for movie nights.

  Way back in eighth grade, we came up with a secret code so we would know what the visits were for. Four years later, and it kinda stuck.

  I jogged over to the door and pulled it open. Even though I’d barely gone a few steps, I was out of breath. Perks of being a nervous gamer.

  Grace held up a McDonald’s bag with grease soaking through the bottom. Who needed popcorn when you had French fries? We’d decided a long time ago that popcorn got stuck in the back of your throat and was way overrated. French fries were a movie night staple now.

  I took the bag from her and started walking back toward my room.

  Grace waved at Grandma and Grandpa. “Hi Gramma, Gramps.”

  Grandpa’s bushy eyebrows narrowed that tight, furry line. “Still going to China?”

  She nodded.

  He frowned. “Communists.”

  Grace laughed and hugged him. “I’ll be safe.”

  He patted her arm. “Good girl.”

  I watched them, insanely jealous. Of my grandpa. He had more game than I did, and he was grouchy and semi-racist ninety-nine percent of the time. How did that work out?

  Grandma put her book down and smiled at Grace. “Gimme some sugar.”

  Grace went to give her a hug too.

  What was I? Just someone they kept around to hold French fries? Oh. French fries. I opened the bag to get one out, and Grace yelled, “Ah, ah ah! Not until the movie starts! You know the rules.”

  Begrudgingly, I shut the bag. I wasn’t in any rush.

  I had this plan. When we got to the part in the movie where Ron finally quit being a baby and told Hermione that he loved her, I’d pause it and do the same. If Ron could do it, I could too. I just wished I had a deluminator or something cool I could use to tell her, but hey, Warr Acres High School wasn’t exactly Hogwarts.

  I checked my watch. My time was running out. “The French fries are getting cold.”

  Grace nodded, and Grandma’s book went up to cover her face.

  Grandpa pushed the volume button on the remote so the sound came back on at full forc
e. He yelled at me, “See if you can talk any sense into her.”

  “Sure,” I yelled, even though I wanted to talk sense out of her. This whole relationship thing? It was crazy. Crazy enough it just might work. I hoped.

  Grace and I walked back to my room, and her eyes widened at the spread. “How many Twixes are there?”

  “Forty-seven.” She knew I’d counted.

  She grinned. “So, that means I get forty-six, right?”

  “And diabetes,” I added.

  She laughed this cute laugh that sounded like a combination between a tiny sneeze and tinkling glasses, and it sent my heart rattling around my chest. I swallowed before my heart bounced its way right out of my rib cage. That was possible, right?

  Grace dropped onto my futon, pulled the throw over her, and ran one hand over the soft material while using my remote to start the DVD.

  The second she pushed play, I opened up the bag and took my half of the French fries. We each got one large to ourselves.

  Side note: Why are people always hating on French fries? Potatoes were a vegetable, fried in VEGETABLE oil. What’s the deal?

  Grace took her fries and pulled her knees up to her chest. The Harry Potter music started, and I leaned back too. That was another rule we had. No being weird during movies, which included standing, pacing, texting, or other distracting activities while the film played. Fine by me.

  Grace couldn’t see me watching her with her eyes glued on the screen. At least, not if I was careful to sneak side glances and wasn’t a total creep about it. I liked it that way. It meant each glance was special, showed me something different.

  Glance one I might see her raven hair cascading over her shoulder, shiny even without the sun hitting it.

  On another look, I might catch her lips pulled to the side. Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek a lot. Usually when the characters were doing something stupid.

  Or I might catch her dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. Grace’s parents always made sure she acted like a lady. She didn’t have to do that fancy stuff around here, but some habits stuck.

  Like the first person who finished their fries got exactly three more fries from the other person’s stash. She finished first and took hers all at once.

  “Can you believe we’re the same age as they are?” she asked.

  “The actors were in their twenties when this was filmed.”

  She shoved my shoulder. “I meant in the story.”

  “Oh. Yeah?”

  She gestured at the TV. “Yeah, I mean, look at them. They’re barely seventeen, and they’re already carrying the weight of the wizarding world on their shoulders.”

  Good thing she was in my house, because even I knew how lame that sounded. “Yeah, but Dumbledore basically trained them that way.”

  She sipped on some of the slush punch, mulling it over. I knew, because she was making her mulling face. The one with the left corner of her mouth all pinched. “How do you get ready for your future?”

  I glanced at the ceiling. “Um. Read a million books. Like you.”

  She laughed through her nose, but it wasn’t totally happy. I didn’t know why. Didn’t know how to figure it out.

  I handed her a green gummy bear. Her favorite.

  She pinched its head and pulled.

  I ate the bottom half, and she ate the top half, and things were normal. At least, for now.

  I glanced at my watch. Twelve minutes until the scene.

  My breathing got all heavy, and my heart pounded. I had to be sweating through Blue Mountain.

  Grace looked at me. “Want me to get your inhaler?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t pull off the whole Kevin James in Hitch move. Nothing was sexy about an inhaler.

  I checked my watch. Nine minutes.

  Was there a way to put on more deodorant without arousing suspicion?

  Probs not.

  Eight minutes.

  If I made it that long.

  I went over the speech again in my mind.

  Six minutes.

  If I made it that long without disintegrating into a pile of sweat and pubic hair, it would be a miracle.

  Five.

  I wiped my forehead. Pretended to go turn up the AC.

  Put on more deodorant.

  Two.

  One.

  This was it.

  I paused, right on Ron’s shameful face and looked at Grace. “Grace, I have to—”

  “Pee?” She snapped to her feet, sending Twix wrappers and all my chances of telling her how I really feel to a pile of garbage on the floor. “Not if I get there first!”

  Grace darted away, toward the only bathroom in the apartment, and I chased after her. She got there first—of course she did—and I waited outside the door. I was half tempted to tell her. Spilling my guts while she spilled her urine wasn’t exactly romantic though. I’d waited too long not to have this moment be perfect.

  The problem with perfect moments? They never came.

  After Ron came out to Hermione, there was just a bunch of bloodshed. Grace closed her eyes through most of the fight scenes. Definitely not the right time.

  After the movie, Grace leaned back on the futon, hugging her gut. “Why did you let me eat thirty Twixes?”

  I looked around at the wrappers on the floor, then the bowl. “You maybe got twenty-five.”

  She dropped to the side, burying her face in a pillow and groaning.

  I groaned back. “Mmmm-mmm-mmmm-mmm.”

  Grace laughed that perfect waterfall laugh again.

  Her phone rang, and she answered. Someone started talking so loudly on the other end, it had to be her mom. Mrs. Chu still didn’t understand how phones carried sound. And to be fair, most of us didn’t. We just didn’t yell into the mouthpiece.

  But I digress.

  Grace said something in Chinese. Goodbye. I at least knew that word.

  She hung up the phone and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I can.” I’d been dreading the day for months.

  She hit my arm.

  “What?” I said.

  She rolled her eyes like she didn’t get it. “You’re coming to the airport with us, right?”

  I nodded. But that wasn’t important. My best friend—nay, the love of my life—was leaving for China. China. And if what Grandpa said was anywhere close to the truth, this could be my last chance to tell her how I felt.

  Man, my pits were sweating again.

  Where was that deodorant?

  “Well.” Grace stood up and brushed salt crumbs off her sweatpants. “Mom was asking if I was on my way. I better get going?”

  Nowhere in my carefully laid plans had a curfew come into play. I’d prepped for tornadoes, a surprise outbreak of yellow fever, a Russian raid, and even explosive diarrhea (hey, it happens). But Mrs. Chu was an even stronger force to be reckoned with.

  Was I using that phrase right?

  Either way. Grace was giving me a hug and walking out the door with the rest of the Twix.

  And she still didn’t know how I felt.

  Two

  Grace

  Eating all that junk food with Fabio had been a bad idea, but Twix and green gummy bears and slushy punch were my weakness. Who knew how long it would be before I had them again.

  A month if I couldn’t find any in Zhengzhou.

  Thirty days didn’t seem long to most people, but it would be the longest I’d been away from my family. The longest I’d be away from Fabio.

  Ever since I found him crying under the stairwell in sixth grade, we’d been inseparable. Well, kind of. That was the day we’d talked about risks during labor in human health. That was how his mom died—having him. He didn’t really want me to hang around him at first, but he was just sad. I couldn’t leave him to deal with it by himself.

  But I’d thought Fabio was cool before that. He was always drawing neat stuff on his notebooks, and sometimes he even made “tattoos” for our classmates.
I never thought there would be a day when I’d be happy to be away from him.

  But this was it. All through high school, I’d never known what it was like to go out on my own, make new friends, join a club by myself. In a few months, we’d be going to West Texas A&M University together. If I met my future husband in college, I never would have lived on my own. Fabio and I never talked about what might happen after.

  I just wanted to see if I could make it by myself, and this could be my only chance.

  I parked my car in the driveway and walked up the front steps, my gut aching on every single one. Maybe a month without Twix wouldn’t be so bad.

  Before I had my hand on the handle, Mom had the door open. She hurried me inside and locked the door behind me.

  “It’s so late, Nuo,” she said.

  I slipped my shoes off and followed her into the kitchen. Some families ate dinner together, but my family always had tea before bed, no matter how late it got. My little sister already sat at the table, along with Dad and Cookie. That’s what my grandma liked to be called. Mom hated it, Dad didn’t care, and my little sister thought it was fun to think up different variations to call her. Like no-bake. Or raisin.

  When we reached the kitchen, my sister grumbled and shifted in her chair. “Finally.”

  “You didn’t have to wait up,” I said.

  Dad started setting out the cups. “Nonsense. How was Fabio?”

  My parents always said it like Fabio like fabulous. It almost made me wish he was into clothing design or something. That would be fun.

  “Fabio’s fine,” I said. “He’s meeting us at the airport tomorrow.”

  Cookie smiled. “Will he give you a kiss goodbye?”