More Than His Best Friend (More Than Best Friends Book 1)

by Sally Henson

  Most of her accusations about me and a boy have involved Lane. It never bothered Lane, and I've gotten used to it…sometimes. “Cameron is my friend. Lane is my friend. Just like Haylee and Tobi are my friends. That's it,” I fume at her. “Not that it's any of your business.”

  She shuts off the hose and sucks in a breath. “Is Cameron your dirty little secret?”

  That punches me in the gut.

  “Nobody knows, do they?” She follows me to the office and lets out an evil chortle. “Lane doesn't know.” She basks in what she thinks is juicy gossip.

  My muscles are tense, but I do my best to pretend she’s not getting to me. “There's nothing to know, Stacey.”

  “You can say what you want, but seeing is believing.”

  She finally drops it, turning her attention to Jimmy, but her imperialistic tone leaves nothing but the taste of bile in my mouth.

  I say goodnight to Jimmy and Ms. Willis and walk through the girls’ locker room. As I leave, I step toward the front check-in window. I can hear Stacey filling Jimmy in on her new gossip.

  I stop at the ledge. “Ms. Willis, when am I scheduled to work again? I forgot to look.”

  I thought Stacey would shut her mouth when I came back, but she continues to vomit her lies while I'm standing here.

  All Jimmy can do is glance back and forth between the floor, me, and the clock, as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. My death stare doesn't slow Stacey's forked tongue one bit.

  “Saturday, second shift again,” Ms. Willis reports.

  “Thanks.”

  I walk away with a storm whirling and thundering inside me. Gossip in this town is the one thing you can always count on. I can't wait to rid myself of this godforsaken place.

  “Regan, Regan, wait up,” Stacey calls to me, scurrying to catch up.

  I don't stop, don't slow down, don't look at her or acknowledge her.

  “I thought you might want to see this.” She shoves her phone in my face.

  I skid to a stop and stare at the screen. My stomach wrenches.

  There, on her latest and greatest, trendy cell phone, is a clear scene of the cliffs. In the forefront, a girl in a swimsuit with wet brown hair looks up at a boy's face, laughing. She's holding his hand, while her other hand is on his bare chest. His tanned body arches over hers, wrapping his other arm around her waist. They're suspended in time a few feet away from the cliff’s edge.

  I tear my eyes away from the screen and stare down Stacey. “Who took this?”

  Batting her eyes innocently and wearing her evil grin, she sings, “Oh, a little birdie sent it to me. But this one’s even better.” Her wicked witch finger reaches over and swipes the screen to the next photo.

  The same couple. He has her scooped up in his arms, holding her close. Her hair floats in the wind like ribbons of silk wrapped around his side, caressing his back. Only this time, her arm stretches up and around his neck.

  I shove the phone back at her and storm off. Stacey got what she wanted.

  Her trumpeted voice announces, “There's more where that came from.”

  Responding to her is what she wants. I’m not going to give it to her.

  10

  Regan

  I feverishly start mumbling surly endearments about Stacey under my breath. Near the Jeep, my mumblings turn to low rumbles directed at this town. “This flea-bitten, no good,”—louder—“gossip-ridden, small-minded,”—and louder—“backstabbing, life-sucking, deceit-loving, son-of-a-mule ridin'—”

  “You better watch your tongue,” a low, sharp voice shoots out of the night, “young lady.”

  “Aaah!” A high-pitched startle escapes my throat. I look up with my arms swung out wide, searching for the voice.

  He steps out of the shadows where he was leaning on a tree, enjoying himself at my expense.

  “Lane! You trying to give me a heart attack?” I lean over my knees to catch my breath. I should’ve recognized his voice, but I was totally unaware of anything but Stacey and her stupid pictures.

  He leans his palm against the hood, sporting a big fat grin on his face. Lane’s body continues shaking with laughter. “I’m saving you from yourself. What’re you ranting about? Stacey?”

  He surely saw her shoving that stupid phone in my face. “Of course. She's like those slimy algae that suck all the oxygen out of the water in a pond, causing everything in it to die. It's been two years since Susanna got pregnant with Abby, and she still spreads crap about my family.” I breathe out a rumble of a sigh. “Stacey’s the epitome of what I hate about this town. I can't wait to get away from here.”

  His eyes become dull, and he looks down to his feet at my last comment.

  My throat is thick, making it hard to swallow. “What are you doing here?”

  “You wanted to talk after work, remember?” He looks up through his lashes to catch my eye.

  What? “No, I said I didn't want to go to the diner after work.”

  “I asked you why, and you didn't answer me. Why don’t you want to hang out with our friends?” Lane knows when I'm lying. It must be my eyes or my body language—he's watching both.

  “Where's your truck?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Oh, uh, I dropped it off at the garage earlier. There’s a crack in a rear spring.” He shifts, crossing his arms and leaning against the jeep. “They're going to replace it first thing tomorrow.”

  “How are you getting home tonight?”

  Sheepishly, he admits, “I thought you might give me a ride.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “I can find another ride if you don't want to.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, kicking at the rocks in the parking lot.

  My brows drop, and I squint my eyes. “Geesh, what's with you? Of course, I will.” I shake my head and sigh. “I need to use your phone to call my mom, though. She's expecting me to come home after work tonight.”

  Eyes sparkling again, he hands me his phone, takes my keys, and gets in behind the steering wheel.

  With his phone to my ear, waiting for my mom to answer, I glower at his sparkly mood.

  “Get in,” he says through the open window. “I'll drive while you talk. We'll be at the diner by the time you get off the phone.”

  I'm about to argue against going to the diner. Yesterday's hurtful comments are still fresh and raw, but Stacey's nastiness has trumped everything.

  11

  Regan

  We coast to a stop in the parking lot with the radio blasting. Lane shuts the engine off, silencing the radio.

  The tightness in my scalp from this ponytail is making the throbbing in my head worse. I tug the rubber band out. What’s waiting for me inside the diner isn’t helping either.

  He grabs his phone out of the cup holder. “Headache?”

  I shrug and slip the band around my wrist.

  Lane’s fingers weave through my hair and massage my scalp for a few seconds before combing through my hair. A relaxing wave of chills rolls down my spine.

  “Come on,” he says softly, adding to the shiver. “It’ll be fine.”

  I sigh and step out of the Jeep, trailing behind Lane to the diner. The bouquet of fried food hanging in the air turns my stomach. Nice. A headache and a stomachache.

  Lane holds the door open for me, and I see the gang laughing at a table against the wall.

  “I told you I'd drag her here kicking and screaming if I had to,” Lane croons, taking off his cap.

  Our friends greet me as if nothing happened yesterday, and I can’t help but return their smiles.

  After Jenny takes our drink orders, Lane pops the question. “What was going on with Stacey tonight?”

  “You had to work with Stacey?” Tobi asks in an apologetic tone.

  Haylee gives me a sympathetic look, too.

  “What did the witch say this time?” Cameron asks between bites of his cheeseburger and slugs of milkshake.

  I take a deep breath. “It seem
s that someone took photographs of our outing at the cliffs yesterday.”

  Tobi cuts in, “What do you mean took pictures? There wasn't anyone there but us.”

  Lane shrugs. “Big deal. It's not like we were doing anything wrong.”

  We weren’t, but that’s not what it looked like. The blood drains from my face at the memory of the images, leaving it soured like I just barfed. “It may seem like no big deal, but the two pictures Stacey showed me—it looks like Cameron and I are together. They're kind of compromising, you know.”

  Cameron puts his burger down and sits up straight. “What did they show?”

  “Aw, it can't be that bad.” Lane's laid-back personality comes through.

  I stare back at Cameron. “The first one shows us holding hands, with your arm around me and my hand on your chest.”

  Cameron shouts, “What?”

  “It looks like you’re pulling me close to you, leaning over me, like, mashing bodies.”

  Lane leans forward. “And the other picture?”

  “It's just as bad.” I look down at my lap. “Cameron had me cradled in his arms. My arm was around his neck and his face close to mine, with my hair flying around. It looked like we were about to kiss.” Heat burns from my cheeks to my ears. Those pictures tell a story that isn't true.

  Lane snaps, “What was going on up there?”

  I stare at him in shock, but he’s glaring at Cameron.

  “Dude,” Cameron sputters, his hands up, palms toward Lane, “I don't know how they got those pictures, but that is not what was going on. I did pick her up. I tried to talk her into jumping in like that, but she started throwing a fit. So, I acted like I was going to throw her in. We finally just grabbed hands. You saw us when we jumped in.” Cameron looks to Haylee and then me.

  Haylee speaks up, “We were all there together, Lane, remember?”

  Lane looks away from Cameron, but his face is tight. “I'd like to see those photos. How the hell did they come up with something like that?”

  Tobi's face is scrunched as if she's sick to her stomach, too. “Snake.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “She asked me if Cam was my dirty little secret.” My stomach sours even more at that thought. That was just Stacey. She had no trouble coming up with vile lies. “Stacey’s saying Cameron's my boyfriend.”

  “Hmm.” Cameron’s lips spread into an ornery grin. “I might be able to use this against you.” He's already over it.

  “Ha, ha,” I reply dryly.

  It's quiet for a few minutes until Tobi slaps the table. “So, what’re we going to do about it?”

  Cam shakes his head. “It's Stacey—everyone knows her family went postal when her brother knocked up your cousin.”

  My blood pressure skyrockets. “Knocked up? You sound just like them. Susanna loved him. You make it sound like she's—like she's…” I'd like to crawl over the table and slap him.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” Cam leans away from me, eyes wide. “I'm not saying that at all. He's a total jerk for letting his family smear her like that. I'm trying to say the only opinions that matter are ours—us here at this table. Ignore her.”

  Tobi's still all riled up. “I'm not saying revenge, but I want to know what leech took the pictures and sent them to the biggest gossip in town so we can teach them a lesson.”

  Haylee looks at each of us then rests her lingering eyes on Cameron, batting her lashes. “Cameron’s right. Ignore her.”

  “Thank you!” Cameron bellows. He puts his arm around Haylee, hugs her to his chest, and doesn't let go. “Someone agrees!”

  I hope they don't plan on breaking rule number three, but now isn't the time to discuss that.

  Tobi playfully harasses Cam, “Well now, Cam, there’s a first for everything. Isn’t there?”

  Haylee giggles. “Aw, he’s not that bad.”

  Cam’s chest puffs up like a peacock. “Yeah, I am kind of a genius, you know.” The three of them continue their banter. Sitting here at this table has become a TV scene and the camera has zoomed out. I’m only the viewer of this teen comedy.

  Lane leaves the table without saying a word. My eyes follow him as he snakes through the tables toward the restrooms. I focus back on my television program and find Cameron watching Lane walk away before turning his eyes on me. He opens his mouth to say something then sucks down his shake instead.

  Maybe coming here was a mistake. The ice coming off Lane before he got up was a surprise. I don’t know why he’s mad at me. It was his idea for me to come here.

  Cam joins the program already in progress and Lane finally returns. He grabs the chair and pulls it further away from me before sitting down.

  Tobi whispers in my ear, “Regan, are you okay?”

  I hitch my shoulder. “Yeah.” Before we walked into the diner, I thought Lane and I were okay, but now he acts like I’m the plague.

  “You want to sleep over?” Tobi asks.

  She probably doesn't want me to be alone, and I don’t want to be either. “I'm giving Lane a ride home, but you can stay at my place if you want.”

  “Let me text my mom to make sure it's okay.” She’s texting as she speaks.

  Cameron and Haylee have long since moved on from the subject of Stacey and the pictures. They’re making plans to drive to Fairview Heights to go shopping. I didn’t know either of them liked shopping that much.

  The tension from Lane's silence is balling up in my chest. No one seems to care anymore that I’m once again the object of Stacey’s hatred. I wish I could let it all roll off my back like Cameron does.

  Tobi's phone rings. “Hey, Mom.”

  Leaning across the chasm toward Lane, I ask, “You ready to leave?”

  He nods, glancing at me, and then he looks back toward Cameron and Haylee. The fist pressing on the inside of my sternum makes sure I realize my best friend is mad at me.

  “Okay, bye.” Tobi gives me thumbs up as she hangs up her phone.

  “Ready to go?” I ask her in a tone that implies it's more of a command.

  Tobi shoves her phone into her bag and announces, “Hey, we're leaving. See ya later.”

  I stand and smile the best I can. “Bye, guys.”

  Lane stands and shoves his chair under the table, turning to leave without saying goodbye. No cute bow or brilliant smile…nothing. He just stares at his phone while he winds through the tables and out the door.

  12

  Regan

  Tobi cranks up the radio up as we pass the city limits, singing along with a new song. She always knows how to make me laugh.

  I peek in the rearview mirror at Lane. He's been staring out the window or looking at his phone since we left the diner. He usually breaks my seriousness, too, but he's reserved tonight. The fun-loving boy I grew up with has been hit and miss all summer. Maybe it’s not me he’s mad at. This town might be finally getting to him.

  Tobi turns the volume down. “Isn't that a great song?” She bounces in her seat. “It makes me want to sing and dance—so fun and not all that I'm nothing without you crap.”

  “It’s catchy,” I agree. I'm feeling more upbeat than earlier. Even though I know it's all mental, there's something about wide open spaces that makes me feel like I can breathe deep when there's an elephant called gossip on my chest.

  “What do you think, Lane?” She turns around in her seat to look at him. “It was good, right? Kind of quirky, but good.”

  “Uh, it's not bad.” It's a generic statement, but lighthearted.

  “Not bad? Pssh.” She reaches back to slap his shoulder then flips around and leans her back against the dash so she can look at both of us. “It’s different, and it has this innocence to it that makes it so fun. A perfect mix between rock and pop.”

  I can tell she’s excited because of the way her hands move as she talks. She does her best to sell us on the song for miles. Tobi’s bringing me out of my funk. I hope it works on Lane too.

  The light from Lane's phone catches my eye in the rearview mirro
r. Pain flashes through his features, and my heart plummets again. If Tobi wasn't in here, I'd stop and make him tell me what's going on.

  Turning off the main road toward Lane's house, I give in to Tobi's taste in music. “You're right. I like it.” My ear-to-ear, on-the-verge-of-laughing, toothy smile, lets her know I'm sincere.

  Matching my smile, she looks back at Lane. I check the mirror again, and though he does have a slight smile that touches his beautiful blue eyes reflecting light from the dash, he has yet to make a full transition to having a good time.

  Tobi taunts him just enough to keep his mood moving in the right direction.

  In another mile, I make a right onto a township road when Tobi yells, “Stop the car!”

  I brake hard, nearly giving us whiplash—that is, if you can get whiplash at five miles per hour.

  “What is it?” I ask, heart in my throat.

  Tobi looks back at Lane and says in a very serious tone, “I heard the waves.”

  It takes me a second to understand what she’s talking about, but oh, she's good. My chest swells and my mood quickly turns. The curve of my lips is an involuntary action.

  Lane's brows pull together. “What?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Tobi's tone is still serious. “They're calling your name, Lane.” She is so going to pull this off.

  “I hear it too.” I play along with her brilliant scheme.

  Realization flutters over his face.

  “Take off your shoes, Lane,” she commands in an authoritative voice.

  Already barefoot herself, she climbs out and makes her way to the front of the Jeep—summoning him to join her, as she stares through the windshield.

  I hear a faint chuckle from the backseat, and then Lane slips off his shoes and steps outside. He turns his cap backward and climbs on the hood where Tobi waits for him. They each place one bare foot against the lower portion of the windshield and the other on the hood, readying themselves to ride the road waves.

  My best friends—I love them—I need them, to survive the Stacey Fanigers of our small town.