“What?”
“It’s why I didn’t hear them leave. I was playing music on my phone.” He gestures to just above his head and draws a flat line with his hand. “I had it sitting on the wall between the showers, and…I was singing.” I know what he means; the girls’ lockers have the same showers, with the thick walls between them. Suddenly I have an all-too-clear image.
“Well, that’s a lot of information about you.”
“Yeah. I guess it is.” He flashes a boyish grin. “Can you believe that they thought this whole thing would be embarrassing?” At first, I think he’s being arrogant. But then I’m not sure. Maybe there’s a hint of self-deprecation too?
He takes a step closer and leans into the table, resting one hand on its surface. He’s close enough that I can see his eyes are hazel. “Look, I’ll survive the embarrassment.” Humor traces his lips. “I think so, anyway. But I have a problem.”
“Okay…”
“I don’t want Coach to know what happened, or they’ll call me a narc, but I don’t have a ride.”
“Which is why you’re asking me,” I finish for him.
“Yeah.” He looks down at my car keys sitting on the table.
“What about your parents? They just left without you?”
“Couldn’t make it. Work stuff.”
I frown. “They didn’t come to your first varsity meet?”
He laughs. “This wasn’t— I mean, I was on varsity at my old school. Since freshman year, actually. And my mom wrote me a card.”
Can I just leave him here? Somehow, the mention of his mom makes it harder to say no. I sigh. “All right, fine, I’ll give you a ride. Just let me give this to Coach and we can go.”
His shoulders visibly relax. “Thank you.” He reaches out a hand. “I’m Braden, by the way.”
Feeling strangely formal, or maybe just grown-up, I take his hand. His cool skin envelops mine for just a moment before he lets go.
“Hadley,” I answer, and his lips curl upward in satisfaction, like he somehow earned my name. I want to tell him that he hasn’t earned a damn thing. That I see through his whole…deal, I guess. Except that, okay, I did just agree to give him a ride. But that’s all he’s getting from me.
* * *
I move down the hall, drop off my NHS responsibilities, and say goodbye to Coach. Then I grab my stuff. “Ready?”
He leads the way, and we walk toward the side exit of the school, with me trying desperately not to look at the back.
“So are you psychic or something?” he asks.
I jerk my eyes up. “What?”
“The camera.” He gestures to my DSLR, slung over my shoulder. “Just had a feeling you were going to see me like this?” He arches an eyebrow.
I snort-laugh. “I didn’t even know you until five minutes ago.”
“Yeah. Hence, psychic.” He half-heartedly puts a hand up between us, standing still now, instead of moving toward the door. “Either way, I would appreciate it if you didn’t use that on me during this very embarrassing prank.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Then why’d you bring it? If you aren’t going to take pictures.”
“I don’t know. I just did. Come on, let’s go.”
“So you just carry that giant thing with you everywhere you go?”
“It’s not giant—”
“Compared to you it is,” he interrupts.
I continue, “But yes, basically. I do. Come on.” I step in front of him.
“Why?”
Frustrated, I turn. “My god, do you always ask so many questions? I brought my camera because I had to work all last summer to afford it, and I like keeping it close.” He still looks unsatisfied, so I add, “And it’s pretty much my favorite thing ever. Okay?”
“Whoa. Favorite thing ever?” Braden looks it over again, glancing at the pins decorating the strap. He stops on one in particular. “Does that say…?”
Some of my irritation fades as I realize which pin he’s looking at. I have to hold back my laughter, but I keep my face as neutral as possible. “ ‘Brains are the new tits’? Yeah. A friendly reminder from Mom to, you know, prioritize.”
Braden doesn’t move. “From Mom?”
“Well, technically it’s from my sister. It’s a joke. She has kind of a dark sense of humor.”
“My mom makes me put a dollar in the swear jar if I say tits. Or, well, she used to.”
The swear jar? I almost tease him for it before I realize what that means.
“Wait. Why in the hell would you ever say tits to your mom?”
“What, you can, but I can’t?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Exactly.”
He gives me a questioning look.
“When you have them, you can talk about them.”
His eyes shift a bit lower.
“Oh my god!” I move around him toward the exit. Remy is right.
He objects, “You’re the one who brought it—well, them, really—”
“Have fun walking! Try not to let any important appendages fall off!” I shove the door open, my leather boots crunching on the fallen leaves.
Braden chases after me, but when he steps outside, he lets out a hearty “Holy mother of shit!”
Wonder how many dollars that would cost him.
“Hadley, wait, hold on!” he shouts as he regains control of himself. I turn and give him a pissed-off look.
He puts his hands up in surrender, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I was just messing around. Honestly.” His eyes are sparkling, and I realize he’s enjoying this. “Let’s go, okay? Together? Please? I’ll race you. It will make you my favorite thing ever.”
“I’m not racing you. I’m not five. And I’m definitely not a thing.”
He drops his head, shaking it. “Sorry. Man, I’m really messing this up. I am honestly not this much of an ass. Not usually, anyway.”
I take in the sight of him, standing in the leaves in his Speedo, bouncing his weight from one Nike-clad foot to the other. Just looking at him hurts, what with the October air biting all over. I curse Mom for her overactive empathy gene, one of her more annoying traits that I inherited.
“I’ll let you take my picture.” He offers, as if it’s a prize, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
I look at him doubtfully for a moment. Honestly, I’m not sure what makes me do it. Maybe I just want to feel the familiar calm of standing behind the lens. Or maybe it’s because he does look damn good in that Speedo, and the picture won’t be able to annoy me. Whatever the reason, I lift my camera, adjust the settings, and snap a quick shot. And when I glance at the image on the view screen, it stops me in my tracks. Under the school lights, Braden is glowing; pale skin surrounded by every shade of orange, red, and yellow foliage.
Whoa.
In this picture, Braden Roberts looks just like a subject of my all-time favorite photographer, Ryan McGinley. In his Fall and Winter series, he shot these young people running and climbing around, naked, outside. But it’s not really about them being naked—not to me at least. It’s more that they’re bursting with all this energy, like they’re freer, more alive, than anybody I’ve ever seen in real life.
Until Braden, right now.
I can’t help but look back at him, the real version of the guy in the picture.
I take in the sight for a second too long, before I force myself to stop.
“What?” he asks.
“You just…” I trail off, staring at the screen. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”
Braden gives me a curious look. “Must be a pretty good picture, huh?”
I start toward the car. “Well, I’m a pretty good photographer.”
Braden catches up, but I turn away, because suddenly, watching him feels like
tapping into a live wire. Unnerved, I unlock the Jeep, and we get in.
My car has never felt this small, ever.
“You, um, all right?” The leather is cold even through my layers.
“Well, I don’t think I lost any appendages. Yet.”
I bite my lips to hide my amusement as I turn the key in the ignition. Ignoring his glow-in-the-dark thighs, I blast the heat, adjust the vents, and mess with the radio. “So, um, where am I taking you?”
“Team sleepover at Pebbleridge. Do you know it?”
Pebbleridge is known not just for the expensive houses that make up the subdivision, but also for the giant lake situated right in the middle. Kids from my school are always sneaking in to swim or fish off the dock, which you aren’t supposed to do unless you actually live there.
“Oh, yeah, my friend Tyler, he lives in that neighborhood. I’m actually going tonight too.”
The car shrinks farther, and Braden’s voice gets closer. “Friend, huh?”
“What?”
“Tyler, he’s just a friend? Not your boyfriend?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” I shake my head. “Or no, I guess. Not boyfriend.” I back the car up, pulling out of my parking spot. “I was dating this guy, Noah, but we broke up a few months ago.” I don’t know why I’m telling him all this. But there’s an energy radiating from him. And something inside me keeps stirring in response. It’s making me nervous and weird. “Why?”
“Just curious.” It’s quiet for a beat before he asks, “You’re not going to ask about me?”
“You mean if you have a girlfriend?”
“You’re not curious?”
“No. And you don’t.”
“And how would you know?” His voice is playful and defensive.
“Just do. You don’t seem like the girlfriend type.” Remy didn’t say much, but I know how to read between the lines.
“Why not? I’m a good catch. Fastest fish in the sea.” He smiles at his terrible joke.
“Yeah, fastest to swim away,” I counter.
“It’s not like that!”
“Oh, I think it’s exactly like that.” I give him a look, but catching his eye makes my stomach flutter. I sit up straighter and focus on the road. “Can we talk about something else? Or not at all?”
“Not at all works fine for me.”
Relieved, I settle into my seat. And after a couple seconds, the quiet takes on a life of its own. Eyes fixed on the road, I’m still painfully aware of him. The way he’s using his breath to warm his fingers and then running his hands up and down his legs.
Quickly, I steal a glance. He’s covered in goose bumps. I’m surprised to feel a small pang of guilt as I think of my boots, jeans, sweater, and jacket. I groan as I start to work my coat free, planning to offer it to him.
“Do you want help?” he asks, reaching to pull my arm free of the sleeve.
“No.”
He withdraws. “All right, sorry.”
I give him a sharp look as my coat finally untangles from around me. I toss it on his lap. “Here. I don’t want to crash because I’m worried about you freezing to the seat or something.”
He adjusts my coat on his legs, looking pleased. “Thanks, but we both know that’s definitely not what’s distracting you.”
“You know, you really need to get over yourself.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say something like that.”
“I know plenty of guys like you.” My sister has dated almost all of them.
“I’ve got news for you, Hadley: you don’t know anybody like me.” When he says my name, I swear I feel a spark jump from him to me.
I try to ignore it. “Just buckle in.”
“Whatever you say.” He stretches the seat belt across his bare chest until it clicks into place.
And for the rest of the short drive, I keep my eyes fixed in front of me and reassure myself that I am nothing at all like Remy.
I watch my sister in our bathroom mirror. “Seriously, Rem, sloths move faster than you.”
Remy is smearing concealer under her eyes. She’s still pouty. “Well, that’s funny, because I look more like a raccoon.”
“How much longer do you need?”
“Just a few seconds, okay?”
I’m too annoyed to answer. “Judd!” I call down the hall. “Are you almost ready?”
All I get from his room is a grumble.
This is useless.
Remy and Judd both applied early to Michigan State University, and ever since they got their acceptance letters, their interest in high school has plummeted. Remy committed, and Judd is still deciding, but neither of them is any help at getting me to class on time.
The smell of bacon wafts through the house, and I descend the stairs and make my way to the kitchen. If I’m going to wait for them, I might as well get something to eat.
“Morning, Hads,” Mom says cheerfully. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low bun that hovers just above the collar of her white shirt, which she paired with a gray skirt and matching suit jacket. She looks every bit the lawyer, aside from her bare feet.
I pull a piece of bacon off the plate on the counter. “Morning,” I answer, taking a big bite. But then I have that horrible memory of the fetal pig and choke.
“You okay?” Mom asks, moving a step closer.
I take the coffee mug from her hands and, with a bitter gulp, wash the bacon away. I hand the cup back. “Thanks. Sorry, just biology ruining my breakfast.”
Her nose wrinkles as we eye the sizzling pan. Mom knows all about the dissection; I’ve complained about it every day since we started. This particular assignment is seriously ruining my favorite subject. Inability to eat bacon might be the last straw.
“You ladies okay over there?” Dad’s sitting at the table, a bottle of cold brew next to his open laptop. His clothes are much more casual than Mom’s: dark jeans and a Polo T-shirt. If all else failed, I’d know it’s a weekday by his straw-colored curls that are gelled into submission. And despite the fact that I can’t see it from here, I’d be willing to bet that the screen is mostly black, filled with green lines of text.
“Yeah,” I answer, “swallowed down the wrong pipe.” No need to ruin bacon for him too.
Mom hands me a plate and gestures for me to pass it to Dad. I set it in front of him. “How’s the Matrix?”
That’s Dad’s favorite joke when he’s coding: I’m in the Matrix. It’s not exactly funny, but he repeats it so often that we’ve adopted it.
“Not bad. Just finishing up before my meeting,” he says, taking a particularly fatty piece of meat. “It’s a yearbook day, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” I nod, turning away. Mom gets an eyeful of my disgusted face and snorts with laughter.
Chewing, Dad asks, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Mom and I answer in unison.
Then Mom turns to me, gesturing up the stairs. “How late are they? Do you need me to take you? I can go into work early.”
I look at my phone. “No, it’s okay. I’m already screwed, anyways.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sure Becca’s not going to be thrilled.”
“Yeah, she’s going to be pissed. But she’ll get over it.”
A couple minutes later, Judd and Remy make their way downstairs. Remy is fully dressed, outfit curated from head to toe, and Judd looks scruffy and ruffled. Remy works at this boutique in town, and I swear she might as well be getting paid in clothes. Judd and I just didn’t get that gene.
In some ways the twins couldn’t be more different, but when they look at me, it’s hard to ignore their resemblance. They have matching blue-green eyes, the same build—long and slender—and the same dark, curly hair.
Remy looks me up and down. “You know, Hadley, if you wante
d, I could help you pick out an outfit for school.”
I look at her flatly, comfortable in my Keds, boyfriend jeans, and sweater. “Let’s just go, please.”
Fifteen minutes after we should have left, we say goodbye to our parents, and finally make it out the door.
Automatically, I get into the back seat of the Jeep. Judd doesn’t really care whether he gets the front seat, but it’s become a habit, because Remy always objects—claiming seniority—when I try to take shotgun.
My sister adjusts the driver’s seat. “Hads, you know when you don’t put it back I can hardly even get in.”
She’s not that much taller than me, but I let it go. “Sorry. Thanks for letting me use it so much this weekend, guys.”
Remy turns. “You were gone a lot.”
I exhale, tired of her attitude. “I had the swim meet and a group project. Remy, if you’re mad at me for bailing on Friday, can you just say so? Because you said it was fine.”
To my surprise, Remy’s attitude falls away. “Wait, I forgot to ask, did you see that guy?”
“What guy?” Judd asks, suddenly interested.
“Braden Roberts.” Remy side-eyes Judd. “Even Wyatt—who is the actual scum of the Earth—said he’s bad news, so that’s when you know. And they’re friends! I told Hadley to stay away from him.” Remy digs in, trying to prove her point. “I saw him break up with Chrissy McMillian at Wyatt’s homecoming party in front of everybody. She was crying, and he totally didn’t care. He was talking to some other poor girl by the end of the night. The whole thing was intense.”
Somehow, this information makes me feel disappointed and relieved at the same time.
I change the subject so I don’t have to dwell on the confusing mix of emotions. “Did Abigail end up coming over on Friday?”
Remy and Judd exchange a look.
“What?” I ask.
Judd answers, “Remy may have convinced us to do something…sort of stupid, after I got home.”
Remy scoffs. “Oh, please. Judd, don’t act like it was all me! We were harmless. Just egged Wyatt’s car…a little. No permanent damage or anything. Well, except to Mom’s organic eggs. But it made me feel better.”
Coming Up for Air Page 3
