“It meant nothing. We’re just friends fooling around, right? Like you two were. Are. Whatever.” She shakes her head, looking about as pissed as I feel. “And you always told me he was just your friend. You never wanted more from him. You always told me that!” she yells back.
“It doesn’t matter.” It’s a betrayal, pure and simple. Though how can it be if she didn’t know Dustin and I hooked up in the first place?
Whatever. She messed around with him. He played us both.
She’s a fool.
But then again, so am I.
“You sure you’re feeling better?” Mom asks as we sit at the table eating breakfast.
Well, she eats. I’m pushing around my yogurt in its cup, the slices of honeydew melon she cut for me a few minutes ago sitting neglected on my plate. I haven’t regained my appetite thanks to my stellar first week at school and how I lost my two best friends since they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.
The only bright side is that betrayal is an excellent diet. I’ve barely eaten anything and I’m guessing I’ve already lost a few pounds.
“My stomach is still queasy,” I tell her, which isn’t a lie. I feel sick over everything that’s happened. I’m so freaking grateful it’s Friday. I can stay home over the weekend and not face everyone at school. Like Em.
And Dustin.
And stupid, irritating Ryan.
I’ve barely seen Ryan, which is fine with me. Though every time I pass him in the hallway he smirks at me, like we share a naughty secret. He’s in my government class, but I always get there early and he arrives just as the bell rings, sitting in the back so I don’t have to see him.
I can feel his gaze on me, though, practically burning a hole in my back for the entire period.
It’s annoying.
Dustin is in my trig class, but so are a bunch of his friends and he sits with them, sending me hurtful looks every time I catch his eye. I’m so mad at him I’m afraid I might scratch his eyes out. What’s crazy is I’ve never even talked to him about what happened between him and Em.
I don’t think I can. I don’t want to hear his explanations, his excuses. Just thinking about the two of them together hurts my heart.
And I don’t know what to think about that. Or how to handle it.
I have no classes with Em, thank goodness. She’s sent me what felt like a billion texts on Tuesday after the bathroom incident, all of them basically saying the same thing.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
He’s nothing. Our friendship is everything to me.
Please talk to me Livvy.
PLEASE!!!!!!
They changed tone when I ignored her.
Answer me.
You can’t ignore me forever Liv.
Are you really going to ruin our friendship over a stupid guy? Really?
FUCK DUSTIN! He’s an asshole!
YOU are the asshole for letting him ruin everything!!
I finally had to block her. I felt like a bitch doing it, but I couldn’t take the texts anymore.
“Olivia.”
I look up, see the scowl on Mom’s face, and my stomach clutches with worry. “What?”
“I need to ask you a question.” She takes a deep breath, her expression…nervous? Oh, shit. “Your nausea. How you’re tired all the time. There’s no way you could be pregnant, is there?”
“What? No!” The word explodes out of me and the relief on her face is obvious. I push back my chair, rise to my feet as I glare at her. “I can’t even believe you asked that!”
“You’re a seventeen year old girl who’s been moody and distant ever since you got back from your father’s. Then you complain of nausea and you throw up on the first day of school. I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.
“When would I have got pregnant in the first place, huh? I was at Dad’s all summer!”
She shrugs. “Maybe you met a boy in Oregon.”
That’s freaking laughable. “He keeps me under lock and key there. Most of the time I was stuck hanging out with Christine.”
Mom makes a disgusted face. “I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been so distant. And then when you kept throwing up…”
“I’m not pregnant, Mom. Okay? So don’t worry about it.”
“Are you on birth control? Because you should be. Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective, you know. Maybe you should get on the pill.”
I so do not want to be having this conversation right now. My cheeks are on fire hearing Mom talk about condoms and birth control and the pill. “I’m not having sex, Mom, so don’t worry.”
Her eyes look ready to bug out of her head. “You’re a virgin?”
My glare is murderous. “Mom. Please.”
“Well, it’s just I was having sex at your age.” She pauses, takes another deep breath, all while I’m dying because she just said that. I don’t want to think about my mom having sex. Gross. “Olivia, I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. Anything at all. I don’t want us keeping secrets. We never have before. I know we haven’t talked much lately because I’ve been busy with work—”
“And with Fitch,” I add like a sniveling little brat.
“Right, and Fitch.” She clears her throat. I’m sure she hates me throwing him in her face, but he’s there. Wedged right between us. He spends the night at least three times a week, and between him and work, it’s like she has no time for me. Which was fine when I first got home and wanted to be with my friends. But this week, I’m hanging out with no one and feeling terribly alone.
I would never say this out loud, but I kind of need my mom. And she’s not there for me.
“If I need you, don’t worry. I know where to find you.” I slam back the rest of my coffee, setting the cup on the table before I grab my backpack off the chair, slinging it over my shoulder. “See ya.”
“Have a good day, honey!” she calls after me, the slamming door cutting her off.
I walk through the garage and emerge out into the warm morning. It’s been ninety-plus degrees all week and today is no different. I’ve given up trying to look cute. Now I’m just trying to get through the day before I can hide out in my room for the weekend. I’m wearing a pair of army-green shorts and a white sleeveless T-shirt, with little lace detail around the neck. My thick hair is in a ponytail and I didn’t even bother to put any makeup on beyond a quick coat of mascara.
I’m so over my senior year and we’re barely a week in.
The school is close to my house, so I’m walking there when I hear a car come up just behind me. The engine slows, its rumbling purr loud in the otherwise quiet morning, and I glance over my shoulder to see a sleek white BMW following me.
And Ryan is in the driver’s seat.
Turning away, I increase my steps, not wanting to talk to him. The car pulls up alongside me, and he rolls the passenger-side window down. “Livvy,” he calls, his deep, familiar voice making my stomach twist.
“Go away,” I tell him, staring straight ahead. If I look at him, something bad will happen. Like my knees will get weak or my heart will trip over itself. He’s so good looking and it’s like he uses his looks as a weapon. Forget that. He’s trouble I don’t need.
“Em mentioned you two are fighting.” His words make me want to break out into a run, but I don’t. I just walk even faster. “Want a ride to school?”
“No thanks.” I shake my head.
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
Watch me. “Go hang out with Em. I’m sure she needs you.”
“There’s nothing between us. We haven’t even talked that much the last few days. Only when I was asking about you.”
His words enrage me. I stop walking and he hits the brakes, his car idling. I dare to turn, to look at him, glare at him, hope like hell he can see all the anger and frustration and pure irritation in my gaze. I wish he would leave me out of their suppos
ed discussions. “You always say that yet you two are always together.”
“Not anymore. I haven’t seen her since Wednesday.”
“Big deal.”
“Get in the car, Livvy.”
I shake my head. Cross my arms in front of my chest. Glancing up, I see another car pass us by.
It’s Dustin’s Jeep.
My stomach drops into my toes. Someone is with him in the passenger seat. A girl.
It’s Em. And they don’t even notice us. She’s looking over at Dustin, talking animatedly, her hands gesturing wildly in the air.
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut.
Growling under my breath, I stalk toward Ryan’s car and open the door, practically throwing myself into the passenger seat. I shrug my backpack off my shoulder and hold it in my lap, turning to look at him. “Happy now?” I ask snidely.
“Immensely,” he says, his smile wide. Like my crap mood doesn’t even bother him. “Shut the door and put your seatbelt on, babe.”
Ugh. I should sock him for calling me babe, but I don’t. Instead, I do as he tells me, pulling the door shut and locking my seatbelt into place. Once he hears that click, he shifts the car into drive and pulls back out into the street, driving slow, like he wants to savor this moment of the two of us alone in his car.
“You never talk to me in class,” he says, his deep voice all soft and melty.
I refuse to let that voice melt me.
“You’re always late,” I say with a shrug.
He grins. “So you do notice me. I figured you didn’t even realize I was in government with you.”
I can’t not notice him. And that’s what’s so hard to deal with.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I automatically answer.
“Jordan Tuttle is having a party at his house.” Ryan pauses. “Want to go?”
I shake my head.
“Not even with me?”
“Especially not with you,” I mutter. “Your flirty ways aren’t going to work on me, Ryan. Quit while you’re ahead.”
“So the hottest girl at school won’t go with me to Tuttle’s party.” I turn to stare at him, shocked by his comment. “I’m trying to gain some street cred with my new team here, Livvy. Throw a guy a bone.”
Jordan Tuttle is our varsity quarterback. He’s also outrageously good-looking, outrageously talented on the field and an outrageous asshole. Much like the guy whose car I’m currently sitting in. “You don’t have a game tonight?”
Ryan shakes his head. “Not for another two weeks.”
“So you definitely made the team?”
The arrogant smile he sends my direction is bone melting. Thank God I’m sitting down. “Of course I made the team.”
I shove his shoulder, unable to resist. “You are so full of yourself.”
“That’s your favorite quality of mine.”
“Not even.”
He pulls into the senior parking lot, slowing down to look for an open space. “So? Will you go to Tuttle’s with me tonight?”
“I can’t,” I admit softly, shaking my head.
Ryan guides the car into a spot and shuts off the engine. “Why not? Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Not even close. “I don’t want the hassle.”
He frowns. “The hassle of what?”
“Fighting you off. Dealing with Em.” Dealing with Dustin if he’s there, which he might be. Though he really doesn’t hang out with the football crowd since he’s on the basketball team. There’s some sort of weird divide there, but he is friends with Tuttle, so maybe he’ll be there.
And I don’t want to risk running into him.
“Don’t say no yet.” Ryan grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, dropping a kiss on my knuckles. “Think about it.”
He’s being extra sweet, not as cocky. But why? What’s his motive? A guy like him has to have a motive. I don’t trust him.
I need to remember that. He’s not to be trusted.
Ever.
“Where’s your other half?”
I glance up to find Amanda Winters standing in front of me. It’s lunch period and I’m sitting against a tree, my ear buds in, though I don’t have any music playing. I use them as a defensive method to keep people from talking to me.
Looks like it didn’t work with Amanda.
Pulling the right ear bud out, I squint up at her, the sun shining above her head making it hard for me to see. “Who are you talking about?” I have two former other halves, after all.
“Emily.” Amanda makes a face. “You two are usually always together.”
“Yeah, well, now we’re not.” Amanda is only in one class with me this year. I’ve known her since kindergarten, and while we’ve never been close, we’re not what I’d consider enemies either.
“You guys have a falling out?” She plops down on the ground beside me even though I didn’t invite her to. Looks like I’m not having lunch alone after all, which is what I’ve been doing the last two days.
“I guess.” I offer her a halfhearted smile. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“No problem.” Amanda nods toward my neglected sandwich sitting next to me, still encased in Ziploc. “Whatcha eating?”
I study Amanda, wondering at her motives. Ever since I got home from Oregon, I feel like people are saying one thing but they mean another. As in, I can’t trust anyone. And I definitely don’t trust Amanda. I don’t even really know her that well. “Ham and Swiss on sourdough.”
“Not hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Me either.” Amanda scans the quad, much like I do. This is the social hour, when everyone gossips, flirts, makes out, fight, whatever. Couples come together or they break up. Friends have arguments that result in a temporary falling out. Or even a permanent falling out. Someone gets suspended at least once every couple of weeks and it always happens out here in the quad.
Yet I have no desire to be a real part of it. Not anymore. I feel anchorless, adrift at sea without my friends on either side of me. I see Em off in the farthest corner of the quad with a new squad of girls. I’m sure that’s what she calls them too, her squad. She always did have Taylor Swift aspirations.
Dustin is sitting at a table with his basketball buddies, and every once in a while he lifts his head in this certain way, his gaze intent as he scans the area. I may be totally reading too much into it, but I think he’s looking for me.
Right. In my dreams.
And then there’s Ryan, holding court in the center of the quad, surrounded by the other football players and their hangers-on, every one of them girls. Cheerleaders, the popular girls, the ones who smile brightly and twirl their hair around their finger while they flirt with the boys and look perfect. These girls are the ones he has to choose from, and every one of them is prime.
Jordan Tuttle is sitting to his right and he doesn’t look too thrilled with all the attention the new boy is getting. No surprise. Jordan wants to be king of his court, not share his throne with the new guy.
Jordan and Em would probably make a perfect couple, though he’s not one to dip below his social level. Em would be considered slumming for Jordan.
Harsh but true.
“Why aren’t you hanging out with your friends?” I know Amanda has a huge social circle. She’s in band and they’re all kind of weird—well, at least our high school band is. Not that they’re freaks or anything, but they spend most of their time together, and they rarely date outside of the music department, so it all feels rather…incestuous.
“I quit band,” she admits, turning to look at me. “I was sick of their shit.”
“Really?” I frown. “But you’ve been in band since, like, fifth grade.”
“Yeah, well, it sucks. I’m so over it. My parents are flipping out, like I’m throwing everything away, including a band scholarship, which is nuts. Hate to disappoint them, but playing the clarinet isn’t my ideal car
eer choice, so I’m giving up on that dream,” Amanda says sardonically.
I burst out laughing. “You don’t see yourself playing the clarinet in a smoky jazz club wearing a fedora and drinking scotch on your break?”
Amanda grins. “Not really. And you have a vivid imagination.”
“Sorry.” I stop laughing, feeling stupid. “Got carried away, I guess.”
“I don’t mind.” She smiles, leans her shoulder against mine briefly before shifting away. “I’m sorry if you and Em are in a fight. That’s hard.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly, touched by her apology. “I’m realizing that maybe she wasn’t a good friend after all.”
“I’m having the same problem,” Amanda says.
“What do you mean?”
“Tara Knudson. You know her, right?”
Vaguely. Fellow band geek along with Amanda, she’s a member of student council, and a total brainiac—also like Amanda. “Yeah, sort of.”
“She was my best friend.” Amanda plucks at the dead grass we’re sitting on, pulling blades of it out so hard the roots and dirt still cling to the ends as she tosses it on the ground. “Until I found her in a bedroom at one of Jordan Tuttle’s parties, wrapped around my boyfriend like a pretzel.”
“Get out.”
“I’m serious,” Amanda says with a nod, her eyes sad. “I hate them both. Broke up with him and her on the spot.”
“Who was your boyfriend again?” I feel like a jerk for asking, but I honestly don’t remember.
“Thad Billings. He’s in band, though he’s a junior.” Amanda makes a face. “That’s what I get for dating a younger man.”
I giggle. I can’t help it—the way she said that was kind of funny. “How long were you two together?”
“Almost four months. We started dating right before school was finished.” She shakes her head, stares off into the distance. “I’m starting over. Clean slate. No more band, no more best friend, no more boyfriend.”
Just Friends Page 8
