by Amber Garza
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Archer
@alextrombone Never a dull moment at the Oakhollow Track meets. #werule #runnersunite #oakhollowcrosscountry
Ross: How did Kassidy do in her race?
Me: Really well.
Ross: I figured. She was so nervous, but I told her she’d do fine.
Me: When?
Ross: This morning when she messaged me.
Chapter Thirty
Kassidy
#15—Earn a medal
When he glances up at me, his face is hard, his lips in a tight line.
“Who was it?” I ask, wary.
“Ross. He wanted to know how you did in your race.”
I nod, unsure of why he’s so upset about this.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Kassidy?”
My stomach lurches. I shake my head.
“I know you’ve been messaging my brother.”
That’s what this is about? “Just to say thank you for the tickets.”
“And what about today?”
I take a deep breath, my face hot. “It’s my first meet. I had some questions, and I know he used to run track.”
“Then why keep it from me?”
The frustration that’s been simmering since the first day Ross and I became Facebook friends boils into full-blown anger. Archer’s reaction to all this is getting old. “I didn’t realize I had to get your permission before I could talk to other people.”
“This isn’t other people. This is my brother.” His face is red, splotchy. I’ve never seen him like this before. Agitated, he runs a hand through his hair. “Every girl I’ve ever liked has had a thing for Ross. But I thought you were different.”
“I am,” I say earnestly. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
“I thought I did. When I first met you, you didn’t even know who he was,” he says. “You weren’t a fan.”
And there it is. The thing I’ve feared since the beginning of our relationship. I back away from him, shaking my head. “That’s the only reason you went out with me, isn’t it? Because I didn’t know who your brother was. It’s the reason you’ve chosen me over Tiffany and Ella. Not because you like me more. It’s because you thought I was safe.”
“No.” His eyes flash. He steps toward me, but I move back, trembling.
“This has nothing to do with me,” I say. “This has to do with you and your jealousy of your brother.”
“Don’t turn this around on me,” he snaps. “You were the one friending him and messaging him. You made me believe you couldn’t care less about him, but clearly that wasn’t true.”
It’s like he’s punched me in the gut. My mouth drops. “Unbelievable.” I throw my hands up. “If you really think that, then what are we doing? Why are you even here?”
“Good question.”
The air escapes me. Defeated, I let my shoulders slump. “Then maybe you should leave.”
Say no, I silently plead. Say you’ll stay. That you don’t want to leave.
“Maybe I will.” He lifts his head defiantly.
Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. Staring at him, I will him to make the next move.
“Fine. I’m outta here.” With one last disgusted shake of his head, he whirls around.
I hold my breath, hoping he’ll change his mind. When he stops in his tracks, desperation blooms in my chest. Spinning, he faces me, and I bite my lip.
Holding up his phone, he says, “Feel free to message Ross back about your race.”
It’s the last straw. I blow out the breath I’d been holding, my insides withering. “I’m not interested in your brother. I never have been.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says darkly. After shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans, he storms off.
Every step he takes slices through my heart. Once he’s out of sight, I slump against the wall and allow the tears to slip down my cheeks.
…
I’m stunned when my name is called. Second place? Really? I hadn’t expected it. Not in my first race. Heart thumping, I make my way across the field. It’s the first time I’m not freaked about everyone staring at me. As the medal is placed around my neck, a smile sweeps across my face. My chest swells.
They’ve moved on to another winner, but I don’t even register what is being said. In my mind, I keep hearing my name being called, over and over again. It’s something I never thought would happen. Not in a million years.
Lifting the medal, I hold it in between my fingers. It’s heavy.
I can’t wait to show it to Archer. Biting my lip, I glance up at the stands. And that’s when it hits me.
He’s not here.
The elation I felt a moment ago deflates like a leaking balloon. My smile slips. I drop the medal. It clangs against my chest.
I look at where Archer stood earlier holding that sign. In that moment, I’d felt so lucky. If only he were here now. I imagine him smiling at me, flashing a thumbs-up. Maybe he’d even take me into his arms, tell me he was proud.
But none of that would happen.
Not now.
My shoulders sag; my stomach twists. All around, people are cheering, congratulating their friends and family members.
But not me. I’m all alone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Archer
@themacattack Anything can be sexual innuendo. #talkdirtytomeanytime #imlistening #therealmacdaddy
Mom: How did Kassidy do?
Me: Good.
Mom: Did she place?
Me: She doesn’t know yet.
Mom: Is she coming over afterward?
Me: No.
Mom: Are you coming home for dinner, or are you two doing something else?
Me: I’ll be home.
Mom: Okay. Are you still at the school?
Me: No.
…
Me: I hope you and Kassidy will be very happy together.
Ross: What the hell?
Me: I can’t believe she’s been messaging you.
Ross: Are you legit mad about this?
Me: Yes!
Ross: Why? It’s no big deal.
Me: Now you sound like her.
Ross: Please tell me you didn’t get in a fight over this.
Me: Fine. I won’t tell you.
Ross: What is wrong with you, man?
Me: For starters, my brother steals all my girlfriends.
Ross: I do not.
Me: Do, too.
Ross: Real mature, dude.
Me: I’m just tired of this crap.
Ross: You’re blowing this way out of proportion.
Me: Am I?
Ross: Yes. She only messaged me a few questions about what to expect at the meet.
Me: That’s what she said, too.
Ross: If that makes you jealous, you have issues, bro.
…
Me: Wanna hang out tonight?
Mac: Thought you were with Kassidy.
Me: Nope.
Mac: Uh oh. What happened?
Me: She’s been messaging Ross.
Mac: No way. I told you to go for Tiffany.
Me: Dude, give it a rest.
Mac: What kind of stuff does she message him?
Me: I don’t know. Stuff about track.
Mac: That’s it? That’s what you’re mad about?
Me: Just don’t know why she has to message him at all.
Mac: Dude, unless track is a code word for something else, I think you’re overreacting.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kassidy
#16—Stand my ground
Archer isn’t waiting for me after English. The spot where he normally stands against the wall, flashing me that sexy smile, is empty. Disappointment sinks into my gut. Sighing, I trudge down the hallway alone. Ella is up ahead, talking a mile a minute to her friends. So at least he’s not with her. I find a small amount of relief in that.
When I reach my classroom, Arch
er is already at his desk, hunched over his binder. He doesn’t look up when I slide into the seat next to him. It stings. I long for him to look up at me with that half smile of his.
There’s an emptiness inside of me. Our relationship had barely begun. How can I miss it so much?
Heart pinching, I reach inside my bag and pull out my chemistry notebook. When I set it on the desk, Archer glances over.
“Hey,” he says awkwardly.
“Hey.”
He shifts in his seat and runs a nervous hand over his hair. “Heard you got second place.”
“Yeah.” I stare at my hands in my lap. One thing I always like about being with Archer is how comfortable I feel. But not today.
“I shouldn’t have left.”
My head snaps up.
He offers me an apologetic smile. “I was a jerk.”
“Yes, you were,” I agree. When Kate used to say things like that, I would disagree vehemently. I knew it’s what she wanted me to do. But I’m done letting people walk all over me. I’m done being hurt.
His face sobers up. “I’m sorry.”
I nod, unable to tell him it’s okay, because it’s not. He promised he’d stay the entire meet, but he didn’t. His apology can’t erase the way I felt standing alone when I received my medal. Besides, he didn’t say he’s sorry for all the hurtful things he said.
Our teacher rattles off instructions for today’s assignment, and Archer and I work in silence for most of the class. Every once in a while, our elbows brush. Goose bumps cover my flesh, and I fantasize about how it felt when he touched my skin or kissed me gently. I’d give anything to go back to how things were last week before everything blew up. Periodically, I feel his eyes on me. But when I glance up, he quickly looks away.
At the end of class, I set my pencil down and drop my hand onto the table. When Archer’s fingertips brush against mine, I inhale sharply. Freezing, I allow his hand to cover mine. It feels good. Our gazes meet just as the bell peals.
“See ya at lunch?” he asks, and it kills me that it’s even a question.
“Yeah,” I answer.
…
I pick at my spinach wrap while Mac, Archer, and John talk about video games again. It’s something they talk about a lot, and usually Archer loves this subject. But not right now. He hardly says anything. He’s acting strange. Quiet. Detached. Removed.
It reminds me of something, but I can’t place it. Almost like when you can’t recall a word, but it’s right on the tip of your tongue.
“You don’t play video games, do you, Kassidy?” Mac bobs his head in my direction.
“Um…no.” My gaze flits to Archer, but he’s not paying attention. He’s wiping a hand across his forehead, and his face looks flushed. And that’s when it hits me. I know where I’ve seen this behavior before.
And it terrifies me to my very core.
“Archer?” My voice wavers as I set my wrap down on the ground. “Are you okay?”
“Actually, I’m not feeling great.” When he turns toward me, his eyes are glazed and red, his cheeks pink.
I want to reach out and touch his forehead, but fear paralyzes me. “You look like you might be sick.”
He frowns. “It’s weird. I was fine earlier, but then last period it just kinda hit me.”
I recoil from his words, my belly fluttering. “Maybe you should go home.”
“I have a test this afternoon,” he responds.
“If you’re sick, you shouldn’t stay,” I say firmly, wishing he’d never shown up today at all. Who knows how many germs he’s spread? My blood runs hot.
“She’s right, man. You look like hell,” Mac interjects.
“I second that,” John adds.
Holding my breath, I discreetly scoot away from him.
“Okay. Yeah. I guess you guys are right.” His movements are slow as he gathers his things, as if weakness is setting in. “Maybe I just need to rest. I’ll see ya guys later.”
Once he’s gone, I realize my fear was directed at the wrong person.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Archer
@archerdev1 Feeling like death. #theflusucks #hatebeingsick #drinkallthefluids #eatallthechickennoodlesoup
Mac: Doing okay, man?
Me: Not really.
Mac: Anything I can do?
Me: Come over and hold my hair back while I puke.
Mac: If it’s getting in your way when you puke, you’re doing it wrong.
Me: Puke isn’t supposed to come out the back of your head?
Mac: You should see a doctor if that’s happening.
Me: Ha!
Mac: Kassidy’s worried about you.
Me: Really?
Mac: Yep.
Me: Maybe this isn’t so bad, then.
Mac: That’s what I’m here for, man. To help you feel better.
…
John: How ya feeling?
Me: Honestly? Terrible.
John: That sucks. I hope I don’t get it.
Me: Selfless.
John: Sorry, man. You know what I mean.
Me: Yep. Coming over to your house to spread my germs all over your bedroom.
John: You’re sick.
Me: I thought we’d already established that.
…
Mom: Anything else you need at the store besides 7up and soup?
Me: No.
Mom: Okay. I’ll be back soon.
Me: Thanks, Mom.
…
Ross: Mom says you have the flu.
Me: Mom’s right.
Ross: Sorry, dude.
Me: Yeah, me too.
Ross: They need me for sound check. Feel better.
Me: I’m trying.
…
Dad: You okay, son?
Me: Just trying to get some rest.
Dad: Sorry. Your mom was worried so I thought I’d check on you. She’s on her way back from the store now.
Me: It’s fine, Dad. I’m not five. I can be home by myself.
Dad: Well, you know how your mom is. Feel better. See you tonight.
Me: Okay.
…
Ella: Heard you were sick. Need anything?
Me: Nah. I’m good. Thanks
…
Me: You sure Kassidy’s worried about me?
Mac: Seems like it. Why?
Me: She’s the only one who hasn’t texted.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kassidy
#17—Face biggest fear
“I can’t do it, Mom. I’m sorry.” My lips tremble, and I press them tightly together, hoping the simple act will make them stop. It doesn’t. Tears prick the back of my eyes, the panic kicking up inside of me. I feel it whipping around my insides like a pile of leaves when the wind hits it.
“Okay, calm down.” She runs her hands down both my arms, and I’m grateful she’s acting like herself. The mom I’ve always known, not the strange sixteen-year-old who’s taken over her body lately. “It’s all right, honey. You don’t have to. But if you change your mind, I’ve made some chicken noodle soup for him.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. A normal person would bring the guy she’s dating chicken noodle soup when he’s sick. What is wrong with me?
Trembling, I hurry down the hallway and slip into my room. Once inside, I take a couple of deep breaths. It smells like vanilla and old books, the same way it has since I was a child. The familiarity wraps around me like a warm blanket.
My backpack is open on my bed. Archer’s chemistry packet is in there, along with the grade we got on our last lab. He’s already missed two days of school, and I should bring him his work. But I can’t, for reasons that no one understands but me.
When I plunk down on the bed, it creaks beneath me. My gaze drops to my English notebook. Flipping the cover, I open it to the warm-up I worked on two days ago. With the pad of my index finger I trace the word “fear,” which I had written in block letters on the top of the page. It’s a word I’ve become well
acquainted with. I battle it every day. And most days, I lose. The ache of defeat spreads through my chest like an infection.
I’m tired of it.
So tired.
Reading back through my paper, all of the old feelings rush to the surface. I keep waiting for it to feel like an old wound, scabbed over, itching as it heals. But it’s not. It’s still fresh, open, and oozing as if it happened yesterday.
Slamming the notebook closed, I pick up my phone. Rarely do I open my Facebook app, but today I do. Scrolling it, I look to see if Archer posted anything. He hasn’t. Not in two days. He must be really sick.
Familiar panic takes root, and I try to shove it down. Before exiting the app, I catch a glimpse of the picture of Archer and me when we painted. Both of our smiles are so wide and cheery. My heart pinches.
Sighing, I exit the app and stand up. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I march down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“I’ll do it.” It comes out in one word—Illdoit.
“Are you sure?” Mom’s eyebrows knit together. I hate that I’ve made her worry like this. It’s time to get past my fear. Maybe the only way to do that is to face it. To look it in the eye and stand my ground.
Blowing a stream of air past my lips, I force myself to nod. It’s amazing the effort it takes to do something I usually do without any thought at all.
“Oookay.” Mom opens the fridge while continuing to eye me funny. “Do you maybe want me to go with you?”
I shake my head.
“’Cause if so, I’m game.” She slips back into the teenager.
I groan. “Mom.”
“Okay, not the time. I get it.”
“It’s actually never the time,” I clarify, feeling annoyed.
Mom’s chicken noodle soup never fails. It’s been the number one remedy in our house for colds and flus as long as I can remember. I pray it has the same effect on Archer.
…
I’ve been sitting in front of Archer’s house for twenty minutes, and I’m no closer to going in than when I arrived. I stare up at his house from where I parked at the curb. The yard is filled with green grass and lined with bright flowers. The door is painted red, the trim blue. But I don’t see any of that. All I see are:
Germs.
Illness.
