by Julie Cross
Being part of the Juniper Falls Women’s League has taught me to suck up better than anyone else.
“Right.” Fletcher scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting around like he’s debating something. “I, uh…I studied.”
“I can tell.”
“I mean…” He folds his arms, gripping his biceps. “I studied with my cousin. Cole. You know Cole, right?”
My forehead wrinkles. “He’s not in this class, is he?”
If so, shouldn’t he be learning from inside the room?
“No, but he’s a planner. Likes to think ahead and prepare…” He focuses on something over my shoulder, and it almost looks painful when he adds, “You’d like him. You guys should hang out sometime.”
“You want me to hang out with your cousin?” This conversation has taken an odd turn. To keep my hands busy, I reach in my bag and retrieve a granola bar.
“I don’t want you to do anything,” Fletcher says, his gaze now hyper focused on the granola bar I’m about to take a bite of. “It was just a suggestion.”
Okay, someone is grouchy today. Maybe he’s hungry. I hold the bar out to him. “Want some?”
He actually leans back, away from it. I roll my eyes. “I’ve got another one in my bag if you’re afraid of girl cooties.” I bend over and grab another Kashi bar, tossing it onto Fletcher’s desk.
His eyes widen. “No thanks. And can you please not eat over my desk?”
Jesus. This guy really does not like me. I look down at the desk, and to Fletcher’s credit, there are a few crumbs. Oops. I use my hand to brush them away. “Sorry. I’m such a—”
My voice cuts off when Mrs. Markson comes up behind me and snatches the granola bar right from my hands. “No food in class, Haley!”
My mouth falls open. I look at her over my shoulder, and I’m about to protest her food stealing, but she’s staring at Fletcher. “Do you need to leave?”
I look back at him, and his face is flushed. He drops his eyes, and then in the lowest voice possible, he says, “Yeah, I have that appointment. Thanks for reminding me.”
Okay, maybe she was behind me because she had been in the back of the room to remind Fletcher that he needed to leave. I didn’t think absences were excused in summer school. Maybe he’s in therapy. That would explain a lot; he needs an attitude adjustment. I mean, it’s summer, we’re gonna be seniors in the fall, so why the moodiness? Although, this could be his normal disposition. Guess I really wouldn’t know otherwise.
Fletcher is up out of his seat in less than two seconds, his books tucked under his arm. He heads out the door before I can say a charming good-bye or anything at all. Obviously, becoming study buddies isn’t something we’re going to achieve in one day.
Mrs. Markson watches him leave, and then she hands me back my Kashi bar. “I mean it, Haley. No food.” Her voice rises, and she addresses the entire class. “That goes for everyone. Five points off to anyone who breaks that rule.”
There’s a grumble going through the class, but most didn’t seem to notice Fletcher’s departure. Only the fact that I reminded our teacher to remind us of this super-important no-food rule.
After that fiasco is over, Mrs. Markson returns to teaching and passes around handouts for our Constitution projects—an assignment we’ll need a partner for.
The twenty pages of meticulous notes flash in my mind. Bad attitude or not, Fletcher Scott is going to be my partner. I just need to create a plan of action. I need to do something special to make sure he knows that I’m the one.
Okay, not that one. Finding that one is on my summer to-don’t list.
Chapter Five
–Fletcher–
“Take a seat, Fletch,” Coach Ty yells at me, pointing to the bench.
I skate over to the boards and remove my helmet. “I’m fine.”
Ty assesses me and shakes his head. Okay, I am wheezing a little, but it doesn’t feel like the type of wheezing that will get worse. Several of the guys out on the ice have looked over this way, taking notice of the exchange.
“Sit,” Ty repeats firmly.
From across the ice, Coach Bakowski turns to face us. “He said he’s okay, Ty. Let the boy practice.” He releases a quick, sharp blow of his whistle. “Scott, face off with Red.”
I don’t look at Ty. I shove my helmet back on and skate over to the blue line as fast as I can. Bakowski smacks the top of my helmet with his clipboard. “Stay on your feet, son, understand?”
Yeah, I get it. He’ll let me play, but I have to promise not to get myself killed. Little does Bakowski know, I start each day off with the goal of not getting myself killed, so I don’t need a reminder.
I grip my stick, lean forward, and wait for the whistle to blow. When it does, I put every bit of force I own into charging Red. I know it’s his spot we’d both be fighting for. Assuming I’m even a contender. But even if I don’t get Red’s spot, I could make second line. I’d play half the game, most likely. That’s way better than thirty seconds. I want all the seconds I can get.
Unfortunately, this morning I only get three seconds before Red has me flat on my back. I’m sliding across the ice, waiting to bang into the boards, when Jake Hammond grips my practice jersey and pulls me up. I shake off his hand and skate far away from him, going after Red again. I can fucking get up myself.
Coach blows the whistle, and we start the drill all over again. This time, it takes Red a couple of seconds longer to plow me over. A truck is now sitting on my chest. If I didn’t have gloves on, I’m sure my blue fingernails would tip everyone off to what’s going on inside, but still I’m grinning. Progress is progress.
“Clooney!” Coach yells, charging after Cole. “You take that goddamned shot when you’ve got the chance. What the hell are you waiting for? Think Tanley might doze off if you give him a couple of seconds?”
Cole drops his head and skates back to his starting position. Bakowski rarely yells at me. I’ve only practiced with varsity for a total of eight days now, but I’ve already figured out that Coach is hardest on the most talented players. I’m not on his hate list. And I need to be. Somehow.
…
When I walk into Civics class, I’m holding a bag of ice to my hip, my body weak from waiting way too long to use my inhaler today. The abrupt halt I make after reading the chalkboard is painful. In huge letters across the board, Mrs. Markson has written “NO FOOD IN CLASS.”
I duck my head and chance a few glances around. I don’t know what she said to the class after I left. I couldn’t stick around with Haley rubbing her granola bars all over me. I retreated to my car, downed a bunch of Benadryl, and clutched an EpiPen in my hand, waiting for the familiar pre-anaphylactic shock signs. Luckily, they never came, but I was too drugged up to drive home, and Braden had to come get me.
I’m hyperaware of my classmates this morning as I make my way to my seat in the back of the room. I wait to feel eyes on me, but I seem to be as invisible as always. I release a breath and slip into my seat. From the back, it’s easy to keep track of glances my way and whispered conversations at my expense. Little pockets of chatter pop up from different areas of the room, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary and no one is paying any attention to me. Relieved, I re-tuck the bag of ice into my shorts and get out my notebook and pen.
Five minutes before class starts, Haley and Jamie Isaacs walk into the room. They’re being themselves and talking loudly, laughing at jokes only a select few are in on. So, I’m more than surprised when Haley glances around, obviously searching, and when her gaze lands on me, she grins and speeds up her pace, heading in this direction.
Jesus, what now? I already made an idiot of myself trying to drop Cole into our conversation yesterday. That kind of bullshitting isn’t something I’m good at. Obviously. But I tried, just like I said I would. I can’t help it if being direct is more my thing. Direct or keeping my mouth shut. I don’t do much in between.
Haley drops her bag onto the floor and hands me a sheet of paper from her
folder. “Snagged an extra copy of the handout for you. We went over this after you left. What kind of appointment did you have, anyway?”
“College counselor.” I’d already rehearsed this lie in my head before walking into the room, so it comes out smooth and easy.
“Oh.” Haley looks surprised, or maybe disappointed. But the grin returns shortly after, and she takes her seat before dropping a card on my desk.
“Fletcher” is written in glittery gold cursive across the front of the envelope. Is this a birthday-party invitation? I haven’t gotten one of these since third grade. “What’s this?”
“It’s an invitation.”
“To…?” I flip it over, slide my finger through the sticker, unsealing the envelope. Inside is a black card with beautiful handwritten calligraphy covered in gold glitter. Sparkles fall from the paper onto my desk.
You are Cordially Invited to be my Partner for the Civics 125 Constitution Project
*Refreshments happily provided by me
When: Out-of-class meetings scheduled at your convenience, I’m flexible
Where: Your place might be best due to piano lessons every half hour at my house, but a neutral location is also fine
RSVP: Haley Stevenson, 832-9745, [email protected]
P.S: I truly believe we will make a fabulous team! Go Fletchly! (that’s our team name, btw)
My mouth falls open, but no words exit. Have I landed in an alternate reality? What the fuck is this? I flip the card over a couple of times, searching for clarity. Finally, I look up at Haley. “You want me to be your partner for the Civics project?”
“Yes,” she says, all serious. “But no pressure. I understand if you want to weigh your options.”
I glance down at the card again and then back at Haley, shaking my head the whole time. I don’t know whether to laugh or be creeped out. I mean, who does this? “You could have just asked me. No need to pull out the calligraphy pen.”
Haley shrugs. “It’s an important project, and I wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciate your consideration.”
I’m half tempted to tell her to drop the Junior League bullshit, but it’s kind of amusing. What she’s doing, it’s the type of thing kids like me would get ripped apart for. Caring too much about something like a school project or being too enthusiastic. Somehow, Haley gets away with it and still remains the Queen Bee around here. It’s interesting at the very least. I’m not too jaded to appreciate irony.
And honestly, I’d rather not have any partner for this project. Given Haley’s less-than-stellar Civics knowledge displayed thus far, partnering with her might be as close to no partner as I’ll get. Besides, if we study at my house, I can invite Cole over and maybe give him a better opportunity to talk to Haley. Not that it will help his cause—not that anything will—but it beats me sucking at talking about him to Haley.
I toss the sparkly invite to the side. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Haley pulls herself up straighter, her eyebrows lifting. “Are you saying yes? You don’t want to think on it and call me later? I’m totally okay with that.”
Did I read that card wrong? Is she proposing marriage or asking for a kidney? Jesus. “It’s fine,” I mumble. “We can work together.”
Haley releases a squeal, clapping her hands. “This is so great!”
I glance sideways and slide down in my seat after seeing that several other students are looking over here now. If she stands up and announces to everyone that she’s taken, I’m done with this school. I won’t be back on Monday.
“Now I can give you these. For ethical reasons, I had to wait until you said yes.” A large tin emerges from Haley’s bag, and she thrusts it in front of me. Oh God, not again. “Just don’t open this in class. I think Mrs. Markson might be on a crash diet or something. Or she has a bug or mice phobia.”
I hold my hands out in front of me. “I really don’t need any gifts.”
“I used Becca’s cookie recipe. I know how much you like those oatmeal cookies.” Haley grins and shoves the container right under my nose.
I lean back, my eyes wide and pleading. “Can you just put that away? Please.”
Hurt flickers across her face, but she forces a smile. I wait for her to drop the tin back into her bag, but she goes for mine instead.
“No, don’t.” I grab her wrist, stopping her, then lower my voice to a whisper. “Please Haley, just put it in your bag.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want them,” I snap. “I’ll be your partner, just don’t give me anything. It’s a stupid Civics project, that’s all.”
Her face turns bright red, but she says nothing more. The cookie tin—full of walnuts, I’m sure—gets zipped into her bag, and I’m careful not to put myself anywhere near it during the entire class.
And yeah, maybe it would be easier to tell Haley the truth. I’m sure I will at some point, but not right here, right now. Not when she’s going to jump in Jamie Isaacs’s truck after class and tell him everything. And then he’ll talk about it with the guys on the team, and I just want to go to practice and class this summer without any drama. Without people noticing me when they didn’t before. Plus, we’ve got some assholes on our team, and I wouldn’t put it past them to “test out” my weakness as some varsity initiation. Something along those lines happened to me in third grade. It’s the reason I dropped out of school for two years.
It only takes one near-death experience to get paranoid at the sight of a granola bar or tin of cookies. And those cookies are a triple threat for me—wheat, eggs, and nuts.
I’d be dead before I could even choke out the word “EpiPen.”
After class, when we’re filing out of the room, I look through texts that I missed during class and groan at the first three from my mom.
MOM: Lisa said you needed your inhaler during practice. Have you talked to Dr. Webber about all this extra cardio?
MOM: Braden had to pick you up from class yesterday?! What happened? Should I talk to the school counselor?
MOM: I’m calling your father.
I figured Aunt Lisa was way too busy yelling at Cole and taking notes on his performance to provide any kind of report about me to my mom. And she’s calling Dad? Is that supposed to be a threat? Dad’s just going to tell her to back off like he always does. Neither of them will admit this, but I’m positive I’m the reason they’re not together—they were never married, but we all lived together, for a short while, at least. Every fight they’ve ever had has been about me—should he be homeschooled or go back to school, is it okay to play sports? When I lived with my mom, I spent too much time worrying about her worrying, reassuring her. My dad needs less from me. It’s easier to live with him.
I continue scrolling through texts—I’ve got twelve from this morning alone.
ROSIE: hey sexy, what are you wearing Sat. night? Less is more, Baby!
HENRIETTA: I’ve been without panties for 3 days, just thought you shld know
LEXI: u r mine tomorrow.
ANGEL: my leg will now touch my face. I’m sending u a pic. Try to imagine it draped over your shoulder…
BRITTNEY: been waiting a year for you to turn 18, Scott. Now it’s legal to touch you in private
Cole comes up beside me, so I tuck the phone away. Before we reach my car, though, I hear someone call my name from across the parking lot.
“Fletch! Wait up.” Haley is jogging toward us. I glance quickly at her hands to make sure she’s not offering me any more cookies. She stops in front of us, her face flushed. “Can I call you Fletch? And…when do you want to get together? I’m free all weekend.”
Haley Stevenson is free all weekend? How is this possible? Even without a boyfriend—at least I don’t think she has one at the moment—she’s still like the social center of all things…well, social.
“I work on Saturday night,” I say.
“Cool, where do you work?” Haley asks.
Beside me, Cole snor
ts back a laugh. I turn to him, shooting a glare in his direction. If he wants to hang out in the big kids’ club, he needs to learn to keep his damn mouth shut. I turn back to Haley. “I work outside of town.”
“Really?” Unfortunately, she looks genuinely curious. “Doing what?”
“It’s just, you know, odd jobs. Freelance…” I scratch the back of my head. “That kind of stuff.”
“All right, then.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me.”
Okay, new subject. “Tomorrow morning, does that work? Maybe around ten or eleven?”
She agrees, and I give her my address and phone number. Before I have a chance to absorb the fact that I’ve just signed up to spend extra time with the world’s most infuriating girl, I focus on a plan of action—two birds with one stone and all that shit. Once we’re safely in my car, I turn to Cole. “You busy tomorrow morning?”
“Wait…so you guys are like studying together?” Cole asks.
“Partners. For a project.” I toss the glittery invitation onto his lap and then back the car out of the parking space.
He’s very carefully touching the card, like it’s actually Haley instead of just made by Haley. I keep glancing his way, waiting for him to say something, but he’s still staring at the card, his face reflecting either hurt or jealousy, maybe both.
“Relax, man.” I take the card away. “This is a classic case of popular girl using nerdy guy. She wants me to do the project, and she wants an A.”
“She said that?”
I shake my head and laugh. “No. She’d never come right out and ask, but it’s implied. Trust me. And I couldn’t care less. I’d rather do it myself, anyway.”
“Won’t it be weird for me to hang around during your study session?” Cole asks, but I can tell by his tone that he wants to.
“It’s fine. You’re family, you’re supposed to hang around.” I give his shoulder a light punch. “It’s time for you to grow a pair, okay?”
Chapter Six
–Haley–
ME: should I bring anything? Chips? Soda? Pimento loaf?
FLETCH: pimento loaf? Wtf is that?
