Seeking Jake Ryan (Dear Molly Book 1)

by M. F. Lorson

My smile faded. I couldn’t bear to think about her at that party, and I couldn’t quite find a way to convince her not to go. The guys would get wasted, act ridiculous, and I hated to think of what they might say to her and her friends.

  Would she blame me if they did?

  I would.

  “You really don’t have to…” I started.

  “You don’t want me to go?”

  “Of course I do, but if you’re not comfortable with—”

  “I’ll be fine, Gabe.” Finally, she looked me in the eye, and the tension between us thickened. The words were stuck on my lips.

  Tell her you broke up with Becca.

  Tell her how you feel.

  I cleared my throat, noticing Becca standing alone across the room.

  “I know you will. I’m glad you’re coming,” I lied.

  “No, you’re not,” she said, but she wasn’t joking. She was challenging me. Ever since I came home from Europe, I’ve avoided confrontation: my dad, my brother, my girlfriend. And I thought it wouldn’t cost me anything, but now as I stared at Sloane, I was terrified that it was going to cost me more than I was willing to give up.

  She was right. I didn’t want her to go to that party. I wanted her to spend the rest of her night with me. I wanted to sit in her basement and watch our favorite movies and kiss every single freckle on her cheeks.

  And now she looked at me like she could read my mind and was waiting for me to finally say it out loud.

  Before I could, the David Bowie song came to an end, and instead of another vintage hit following it, the class president walked onto the stage and stood with a microphone stealing everyone’s attention.

  “It’s time to crown this year’s homecoming king and queen!” she squealed. I winced as Sloane kept her eyes on me.

  Perfect timing.

  “Can I have the nominees please come to the stage?”

  “That’s you,” she mumbled, and I was afraid someone would have to tear me away. I could feel eyes on me as Becca ascended the steps of the stage alone.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I stepped away from Sloane and toward the stage. The lights on me were blinding, and I might as well have been floating to the bottom of a pool. None of it felt real. Not when I held Becca’s hand as they called our names. Not when she kissed me, with tongue, in front of the whole school. And not when I glared past the spotlights to see Sloane watching us as they placed the crown on my head.

  Sloane

  I had to physically turn away to prevent hurling all over the dancefloor as Becca and Gabe swapped spit in front of everyone. Why, oh why was this happening? Hadn’t we just had a moment on my den couch? Weren’t we connecting on levels he and Becca as a couple didn’t even know existed? I pouted in the backseat, allowing Harper to drive us to the party.

  “I’m still unopposed to blowing this thing off and going to Burger Barn,” said Harper, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “You just say the word and we can all pretend your field trip to popularity land was a bad dream.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, glaring out the window. “We’re going to that party, if only so we can see Gabe squirm while he tries to pretend he doesn’t love having his own private pool house bedroom, and America’s Next Top Model for a girlfriend,”

  “You didn’t tell us about the pool house,” said Reagan.

  “I was holding back!” I growled. “But not anymore. I’m sick and tired of Gabe Maxwell. Wah wah, whiny whiny boo boo! It’s so hard being less rich than I used to be. I had to trade my sports car in for a sensible sedan. My girlfriend doesn’t understand me the way you do.”

  “Did he say that?” asked Harper.

  “Whiny whiny boo boo? Not in those exact words.”

  “I meant the other part,”

  “He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I can tell.”

  Harper pulled up to the curb in front of Gabe’s house and turned off the ignition.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, Sloane, but maybe you’re assuming he feels about him and Becca the way that you feel about him and Becca.”

  I let out a deep sigh. Harper had a point, but that didn’t make me any less irritated. “You’re not doing your job,” I said, locking eyes with her in the mirror. “You are supposed to get me riled up. Where’s your manhater perspective?”

  Harper turned to face me in the backseat. There was no humor in her expression.

  “My job is to make sure you don’t get hurt. Sometimes that means telling the truth. Other times that means a Molotov Cocktail tossed at the perfect angle.” She cocked her head to the side as if she were imagining the Maxwell pool house engulfed in flames.

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Harper was my calm down button, if only because my rage looked like a toddler tantrum in comparison to hers.

  “I think we should just go into the party,” said Reagan, hiking the neckline of her dress up a few centimeters. “Before you two start plotting.”

  I inhaled deeply, forced my face into a cool and reserved look and led the way to the front door. I was about to press my finger to the doorbell when Harper shook her head and pushed through unannounced.

  “Amateurs,” she mumbled through a grin.

  Reagan’s heels clicked across the marble floor as we entered the Maxwell’s foyer. It felt different than when I visited before. I had been impressed by the scale then. The square footage of it all making me feel small as I had followed Gabe through to the backyard. But tonight it was next level. My eyes darted to the ceiling where black and gold balloons drifted above us. I wondered whose horrible job it would be to pull them all down now that there was no longer any hired help. Probably not Landon’s if I had to guess. It was more than party decorations that made the annual after-Homecoming party legendary. The corner bar was fully stocked.

  I didn’t have to know much about liquor to know that Mr. Maxwell had shelled out more than they could afford to ensure that no one at Grover High suspected his nightly cocktail was no longer forty year old scotch. Or whatever else it was old guys drank.

  Gabe was leaning up against the kitchen counter, his arms folded over his chest so that his crimson dress shirt (complementary to Becca’s dress of course) pulled tight across his biceps. He pushed the sleeves up, bearing his forearms, making me go all mushy inside. Did guys even know that this drove girls crazy? By the way Becca was hanging off his shoulder, Gabe did.

  He caught me looking from across the room and gave the smallest of waves. His expression was tight and worry crinkled at the corners of his eyes. If I had any doubt that Gabe didn’t want me at this party before, I was one hundred percent certain now.

  The way I saw it, I had a few avenues. I could march over there, plunk myself at his side and make the whole lot of them feel awkward all night long, or I could flee the scene entirely and sacrifice dignity in exchange for french fries. I was leaning toward the latter when a heavily intoxicated arm slung around my shoulder.

  “Ginger, so pleased you could make it.”

  For a brief moment a third alternative crossed my mind. What if I made out with his brother? Harper seemed to get a kick out of negative attention, maybe tonight was the night I learned why. But then Landon breathed a little too heavily near my nostrils, and I knew I’d never be able to convince anyone I wasn’t repulsed by the very idea of his lips on mine.

  “Introduce me to your friend,” he drawled, extra emphasis on the word friend.

  “Reagan, meet Landon. Landon, meet—”

  “Not that one,” said Landon, cutting me off mid-sentence. Now I knew that Landon was naturally a jerk and in no way intended to offend Reagan, but that didn’t stop Reagan’s cheeks from blooming with embarrassment.

  I began a silent countdown in my head. 3, 2, 1. Harper went off.

  Gabe

  I had to look away from Sloane. It physically hurt to watch her walk into the party and stand around with her friends, who all looked so nice I knew it would only be a matter of time before
one of the single dudes would steal them away.

  And it wasn’t long before the worst one of all approached them, his arm over Sloane’s shoulders making me dizzy with jealousy. Of course, Sloane didn’t belong to me, and Landon had no idea how I felt about her, so who was I to stop them?

  So I kept my attention on the crowd around me and Becca. She still had her tiara on, and her lean on my shoulder kept getting heavier and heavier, on account of whatever was in her red solo cup. I didn’t want her thinking we were an item again so every time she tried to smile at me or kiss me again like she did on stage, I moved away.

  She was leaning in again when there was a sudden commotion across the room. Harper, Sloane’s friend was shouting at Landon. I sat Becca down on the chair next to me and went over to see what was happening. If the cops got called tonight, this party would cost my dad a lot more than he could afford. Not that he could afford it as it was.

  When I made it through the crowd around the group, I found Harper with one shoe in her hand standing between Landon and her two friends like she was their protector.

  “Why don’t you save the last of your brain cells, you drunk moron?”

  “No wonder no one ever invites you to parties, losers,” he quipped back, and I watched as he staggered on his feet. Quickly, I jumped in and grabbed his shoulders.

  “Let’s go,” I said as I pulled him away from the raging blonde, but I could feel her eyes on me.

  “You’re just going to let him talk to us like that?” Sloane shouted at me, stepping between her friends to stop me.

  I flinched, knowing that the dissipating crowd would only grow bigger if they thought there was even juicier drama to stick around for.

  “He’s just drunk. I’m sorry,” I said. I just wanted to get out of the crowd. In fact, all I really wanted was to get out of that party and away from Sloane’s disappointed gaze.

  “You’re apologizing for him?” She shook her head, and I caught the plea in her eyes. She wanted me to be stronger. To stand up to my brother for her. To stand up to him at all. To just be honest and stop hiding, and I wanted those things too, but I started to think maybe it was too late to change.

  Maybe it was too late for a lot of things.

  I just shrugged as I pushed past, carrying my dazed brother toward the pool house. Once I got him inside, I could see the green tint to his complexion. After he rid himself of everything he drank and most of that $100 dinner, he passed out on my pull-out couch. Before the night was up, I would make him drink more water, but at least he would be where I could watch him.

  As I stepped out the door, I felt her heated presence before I saw her. She stood with her arms crossed, catching me before I could get lost in the party.

  “Where are your friends?” I asked. “Are they okay?”

  “They’re in the car, waiting for me.”

  “Now you see why I didn’t want you to come. You weren’t missing much,” I laughed, scratching the back of my neck and trying to lighten the mood.

  “Then why have the party at all? Why let your brother throw away so much money, not to mention his health, on a party you’ll hate and he’ll pass out twenty minutes into?”

  “I don’t know...” I mumbled. Another lame answer.

  She threw her hands up, looking exasperated with me, and I couldn’t blame her. I was annoyed with myself too. Then, I watched her stare down at the ground, and I could see her preparing her next words.

  It would have been a good time to come clean. I should have told her about Becca. About how Landon’s coping wasn’t coping at all. How my family was falling apart and the only way to hold them together was to keep quiet. But I didn’t.

  Instead, I let her speak, knowing full-well that whatever she was about to say was going to hurt.

  “I thought you were different. Part of me has been hoping this whole time that you would finally be the person with them that you are with me, but I don’t know how long I can wait, Gabe. I know you’re with Becca, but this thing between us…” her voice trailed, and I swallowed down the heavy weight of emotion settling on my chest.

  Tell her the truth, you idiot.

  “If you won’t stand up to Landon or your dad or Becca, why would I ever think you’d stick up for me?” She let out a pained laugh and hid her face. “I don’t know if you even like me like that, Gabe—”

  “Sloane,” I said, desperate to stop what she was about to say, but she held up a hand to stop me.

  “I don’t think I can work with you on the project anymore. In fact...I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

  The air deflated from my chest as I watched her chewing her lip. This felt like my second break up this week, and it was crushing me to watch her eyes fill with tears.

  “You are a coward, Gabe Maxwell,” she said as she walked away.

  I could have apologized or chased after her to finally tell her the truth, but it wouldn’t have made what she said any less true. She was right about everything.

  Sloane

  Fat tears slid down my cheeks as we drove back to Harper’s. No one spoke, and in the dark I couldn’t tell who was angry, who was sad, and who just wanted to get out of her uncomfortable shoes.

  Not Harper I thought, remembering her holding a four-inch heel over Landon’s head like she was about to jab his eyes out with Macy’s finest.

  “Welp, we can now say that we have been to the Maxwell HoCo party,” I said, hoping to lift the mood from dungeon of despair to sleepover fun.

  “What a treat,” grumbled Harper. She wasn’t taking the bait, and I didn’t blame her. What was supposed to be a fun night for us had turned sour fast, and though she wasn’t saying it, there was a certain air of I told you so hovering around her. Harper tossed her purse in the corner the minute we set foot in her room.

  I looked over at Reagan thinking surely the two of us would share a don’t be so dramatic eye roll, but Reagan was sitting with her arms crossed in the corner chair. You couldn’t share an eye roll with someone who wouldn’t look at you.

  Was she mad at me? Her green dress was starting to wilt and dark spots peppered the neckline. Had she been crying?

  What reason did she have to cry? She hadn’t just yelled at the guy she secretly wanted to date.

  “What’s up with you?” I asked when three full minutes had passed and not one of us had opened our mouths to speak.

  Reagan’s eyes snapped up to mine. “What’s wrong with me? That was embarrassing.”

  Harper laughed but not the friendly kind. It was more like the evil cackle that comes from the bad guys lips before he tells you exactly why destroying the planet is for your own good. I really didn’t want to hear what she had to say next.

  “Oh yeah?” said Harper “You were embarrassed by us? What exactly did you want me to do next time? Let him keep insulting you?”

  “He didn’t insult me,” said Reagan.

  Harper pulled a Ramones T-shirt over her head and stepped into her flannel pajama shorts.

  “Yes, Reagan, he did. You were just too busy pretending to be cool to acknowledge it.”

  Reagan blushed. “You blew things totally out of proportion. It was just a comment.”

  Harper slammed her pajama drawer shut causing Reagan to flinch. “Oh, I get it, you’re on team khaki now. Say hello to Sloane for me next time you guys have an important board meeting at The Gap.”

  Now I was ticked. Gabe’s party had been a disaster, but that didn’t mean I was in the mood to hear Harper rail yet again about how none of them were really my friends. I had enough self-doubt going on without her added commentary.

  “Surprise, surprise,” I barked. “Harper doesn’t like yet another group of people. Have you ever considered that you are slightly less punk than you think?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, hands planted on her hips.

  “It means Gabe and Becca and even Landon aren’t terrible people. Maybe you just hate everyone so no one has a chance to say they
don’t like you first.”

  “Okay, Oprah,” snarled Harper. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I drop in on my therapist.”

  “You know what?” said Reagan, standing and smoothing her crumpled dress. “I hate to break tradition, but I don’t feel much like a sleepover.”

  “Me either.” I added, grabbing Dad’s keys and shuffling toward the door before the night’s second set of tears hit the carpet in Harper’s hallway.

  I probably should have offered Reagan a ride home, but she only lived a few blocks from Harper’s house and I didn’t think I could handle anymore social interaction. Not when I had managed to insult both Gabe and Harper all in one night. The way I was going, I’d end up with Reagan hating me too.

  Dad waved from the living room as I passed by to head up to my room. He didn’t stop to ask me how the night went or why I was home early, which I was grateful for. It wouldn’t exactly have been easy explaining that Harper, Reagan, and I got into a fight at a party I had neglected to tell him we would be at.

  Overall, the night had gone worse than I expected. And yet I couldn’t help but feel like it went exactly how I should have expected it to. The real flaw was in my having hope that something magical would happen. A miracle, last minute break-up, a confession of undying love. Those were movie things—not Sloane’s life things.

  I briefly fantasized about filming over Gabe’s intro to our student life film with my own interpretation of the famous Ferris Bueller line. “Life comes at you fast, don’t screw it up by being mean to your friends and loving boys you can’t have.” At the moment it felt like fairly pertinent advice.

  Gabe

  After a sleepless night of cleaning up the house, trying to keep Landon from wandering out of the pool house and into the pool, and replaying Sloane’s words in my head, I spent what was left of my weekend pretending that none of it happened. I did my best not to think about the impending deadline of the media project that was due in one week. I’d never not turned something in before, but it looked like I was all about breaking habits this year.