Love Between Enemies

by Molly E. Lee

  “Gordon?”

  I blinked, shaking my head. “Right,” I finally answered.

  “Good. You find out officially this morning?”

  I nodded, a shiver running deep from the ice in my veins. I’d done everything and more to earn the full ride. Perfect GPA, high SAT scores, stellar volunteer sheet. I’d even written an essay that fully illustrated a mobile system I’d implemented at my father’s shop. It increased productivity in the ordering process, which directly resulted in a higher profit margin.

  There is no way they could turn me down, right?

  “And the internship?” he asked.

  I’d made it to the final stage of the interview process for a summer internship at A&J—one of the city’s top market research analyst companies. It was a coveted spot, but if I landed it, the experience would be invaluable because I’d be dealing with economics on a daily basis, which was my chosen major at Stanford.

  “A week,” I said. “They’ve narrowed it down to two candidates.”

  “Any idea who the other one is?”

  I shook my head.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ve earned both. Call me when you get the good news about the scholarship today.” He held my bag out in front of me. I hadn’t even heard him get up from the table. “I wish I could be there for your speech, kid. I’m sorry I can’t make the ceremony.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. Dad pushed himself harder than anyone I knew, and I would never fault him for the work ethic he passed down to me. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Graduation.” He grinned at me, pride beaming through his eyes despite the devastating blow he’d delivered. “When did you become a man?”

  I forced out a laugh. “The day you taught me that bacon makes everything taste better.”

  He wagged his finger at me. “Damn straight.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out of the house on autopilot. The sky was still dark as I sunk behind the wheel of my car and turned the ignition. School wouldn’t start for another hour and a half, but I couldn’t sit in the kitchen with my dad a second longer. He must’ve felt it, too. The complete unknown of the situation was suffocating.

  I popped the top button of my collared shirt and reversed out of the driveway, not knowing where the hell to go other than school.

  Somehow I ended up on the path toward the shop, and before I knew it, I was pulling into the lot outside. Maybe it was because my routine revolved around the place, or maybe it was because a hole opened up in my heart when Dad said we were going to lose it. Either way, I got out of my car, slowly walking toward the front door like it was the first—or last—time I ever would.

  I stood at the door, frozen. The breath in my lungs was thin, my chest clenching like someone had cinched a chain around it. This wasn’t fair. Dad worked his ass off for this place. It was what he lived for, what Mom and he had strived for back when she was alive. It had been their dream, and after we lost her, it became ours and reminded us of everything that had been her. I hated that my brain even went there, but losing this place would be like losing her all over again, and I simply couldn’t comprehend it.

  “Yo,” a familiar voice said behind me, jolting me out of myself. “You okay, cous?”

  Jay, my younger cousin by a year, stopped to lean against the brickwork next to the door I couldn’t open.

  “What are you doing up so early?” I asked him, taking a regular breath for the first time since Dad dropped the bomb. Jay was a junior, a known wildcard on the party circuit, and today was supposed to be a free pass for underclassmen, since the seniors’ grad ceremony was later in the day.

  “I’m heading home from Julie’s,” he said. He’d been with Julie—a senior who ran with Zoey’s crowd—for over a year, and loved to bring it up anytime someone gave him a bit of attention.

  I glanced at my watch, noting it was just now half past six a.m. “Little late, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe for you, Dad.” He faux-punched my shoulder. “I swing by here most days, wait for your dad to show up and open the kitchen.”

  I laughed, shaking my head as I dug my keys out of my back pocket. “More like clean it out,” I said, slipping the key in the lock. Dad had given me the only other set a few years ago so I could open up or close on days he wasn’t able to. “Come on,” I said, ushering him inside. “I’ll feed you.”

  “Nice!” He followed me, sticking close as I rushed over to the alarm on the wall. I quickly punched in the code, noting Jay’s eyes darting everywhere but the keypad.

  “Jay?” I eyed him.

  His shoulders dropped, and he bit his lip. “Sorry, man. I’ve seen your dad enter it a hundred times.”

  “And you’re sorry because?”

  “The date?” He glanced downward, avoiding looking me in the eye.

  The alarm code was my mother’s birthday. Even though it’d been six years, people still treated Dad and me like glass whenever she was mentioned. The pain never went away—her loss was one I constantly wore inside my heart—but it had lessened. Dad and I had learned how to live together in a way that we hoped she’d approve of, but that wasn’t always easy for people to understand. Even family.

  “No worries,” I said, jerking my head toward the kitchen. “I have to be at school in an hour, so don’t order anything too elaborate.”

  He snorted, the pity in his eyes disappearing. “Like I would. No offense, dude, but you’re not your father. He’s twenty times the chef you are.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “So you want oatmeal instead of pancakes?”

  “Nah, man. You’re great. I’m just messing.” He waved me off as I slipped into the kitchen. “And sausage!” he yelled as the door closed. “The maple kind!”

  I laughed, tying an apron around my waist, and set to work. Any other day, I might warm up a thick bowl of oatmeal just to mess with him, but I needed the distraction today, and with the prospect of losing the place, suddenly it was more precious to me than ever before.

  I allowed the sounds of butter sizzling on the griddle to fill the cracking voids that continued to open up in my chest the longer I thought about what would happen if I wasn’t awarded the scholarship.

  A small sliver of relief pooled through the tight coils of my muscles. At least I know Zoey isn’t going out for the same one. Our awkward conversation on the first day of school had told me that much.

  I mixed the batter and let the motions of making pancakes ease my frayed nerves. Everything would work out. Because it had to.

  I stacked a third pancake on the plate. In a little under an hour, I would be awarded that scholarship and then I’d take a look at our savings. Maybe I could move some things around and find enough money to buy us time to figure out how to save this shop.

  Resolved for the moment, I took Jay his plate of food. His eyes lit up and I swear a tiny drop of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  “You are the best,” he said, instantly digging in.

  “Remember that.” I laughed.

  Jay jerked his thumb toward the door. “Shouldn’t you flip the sign?”

  I eyed the open/closed sign that hung on the glass door. The tension returned to my chest and I sighed. “Not now. For lunch.”

  “Whoa,” he said. “Is your dad sick? He’s always open.”

  “He’s fine,” I said, leaning my elbows against the bar opposite of where Jay sat engulfing his breakfast—or dinner. I wasn’t sure what he counted it as.

  “Busy morning?” he asked, his cheeks bursting.

  “Yeah,” I lied. I didn’t like to make a habit of it, but now was not the time to break it to the other side of the family we might be going down.

  There was a solution to this problem. Some way I could work my dad out of the hole Hank had shoved him into. I needed more details, though, and Dad wouldn’t spill until after graduation. So, it’d have to wait. I just had to get through today.

  Once Jay’s plate was clean and stored in the kit
chen sink, I locked up the shop. He headed home for the blissful nap that follows overstuffing yourself, and I drove to school.

  Students—mostly seniors—filed into the building as I parked. Apprehension shook my gut as I walked toward the building with only one thing on my mind. I bolted straight to the guidance counselor’s office. Sweat popped from my brow as I knocked on her door.

  “Come in!”

  I pushed the door open and closed it quickly behind me. I moved my lips to make some sort of greeting but I couldn’t breathe. No words came. I could only gape at Mrs. Rollins as she shuffled papers around on her desk.

  Finally, she looked up at me.

  “Oh, Mr. Meyers,” she said, instantly sinking deeper into her leather chair. “How are you this morning?” Her glasses-rimmed eyes fell back to the paperwork in front of her.

  “I’ve had better days,” I answered honestly, thankful to have found my voice again.

  She took her glasses off and sighed.

  I fell backward a step as if she’d kicked me in the gut. She hadn’t said a word, but I could read it in the way she pinned me with a look that screamed, Oh, honey I’m so sorry.

  “I know why you’re here before eight a.m.” She pushed away from her desk, smoothing out her navy dress as she made her way to where my back pressed against the door, unblinking, unmoving, begging God to make this day a bad dream. She placed a light hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gordon. I just received the email. I want you to know that the admissions board struggled with this one. They only awarded it to Ms. Handler after agonizing over every single facet of both your qualifications…”

  The blood in my veins froze before my brain caught up.

  She’d lied.

  Zoey had told me she wasn’t signing up for this scholarship, and then went ahead and did it anyway. She didn’t need it—her father and his company had enough money to give out a full ride to the entire senior class if they wanted.

  Mrs. Rollins kept talking as I caught my breath, finally focusing on her again.

  “It came down to the tiniest, most minute detail—”

  “What did Zoey do that I didn’t?” I cut her off, clenching my eyes shut.

  Another sigh as she dropped her hand. “You should be proud of every single thing you’ve accomplished. I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you have, except maybe Zoey, and if it were up to me I would’ve awarded you both full rides…”

  “Tell me,” I said when she had taken a few steps back toward her desk as if she were retreating.

  “The admissions board found the app she created to be a fraction more inventive than the system you installed at your father’s restaurant.”

  I fisted my fingers, squeezing as hard as I possibly could until I’d gained enough composure to not tear up her office. It wasn’t her fault.

  No.

  It’s Zoey’s.

  “I want you to know,” she continued after taking her seat, “the work you’ve done over the last four years will not go unnoticed. And I know you’ve got that internship position pending. I sent in the same recommendation I provided for Zoey. I promise you, Gordon. I will help you find a way.”

  Zoey’s the other candidate for the A&J internship? FML.

  I nodded, not really hearing the words coming out of her mouth. I was too busy watching my dreams crumble inside my head. A hollow, cold hole opened up in my chest and I had to resist the urge to claw at the wound like an animal.

  My father was ready to sell a place I’d called home for eight years.

  My dream school had been ripped from my fingers because a pretty blonde created an app—probably to help other pretty girls sort their shoes or some shit. And she did it after telling me she wasn’t going to. Why lie? Just to hurt me? One final sting after years of competing?

  Every plan I had for my future went up in a dark cloud of smoke that choked the life out of me as I stood as still as a statue.

  “Gordon?”

  I blinked, finally drawing my gaze to Mrs. Rollins. “Yes?” I coughed out.

  “Are you prepared?” she asked like it was her second time trying.

  Prepared for what? The end of my world as I knew it? No, I was not fucking prepared for that.

  “To introduce Zoey? You know, your salutatorian speech?”

  The rock in my throat turned to lava, burning me from the inside out. I shifted the backpack on my shoulder, the notecards of my quick and sweet introduction nestled safely inside.

  A slow smirk shaped my lips as I mentally set the cards on fire. “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m totally prepared.”

  I’d introduce Zoey.

  And expose her for exactly what she was. A liar.

  “Good.” She smiled at me. “It will be all right. It’s not the end. You’ll see.”

  I didn’t bother responding, as she couldn’t possibly know just how wrong she was. Pushing out the door, I didn’t register the students lingering in the halls or the announcement over the speakers congratulating Zoey on her long list of accomplishments at Hampton High. I simply stumbled toward the auditorium where I was expected to give my speech.

  Forgetting the one class I had before the ceremony, I sat alone behind the stage curtain where I was expected to give my speech. Content to brood the hour away, I let my head fall in my hands.

  Yesterday I’d had a future.

  Today it had been taken from me in a matter of a few blinks.

  Zoey’s crystal green eyes filled my mind once again and the numbness subsided, slipping back to the boiling rage it had been moments before. Instances throughout my life where I’d lost to her flashed in my head like game-day fails. Those times were different—she’d beaten me fairly and the wins were well deserved. This? This was spiteful. Vindictive. She’d not only lied to me about her non-interest in the scholarship, she also didn’t have a need for it. Her father could pay for her school. Mine couldn’t. She’d taken this from me for…the thrill of winning.

  The truth of that realization hit me over and over again until I was shaking so hard that I couldn’t sit still.

  She’d beaten me for the last time.

  But I would get the last laugh.

  Chapter Two

  Zoey

  I leaned against my cleaned-out locker, my heart racing. I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d done it. I’d earned the full ride scholarship to Stanford. On. My. Own. I didn’t need my father’s money or the family’s company name. I’d only needed the nearly-killed-me schoolwork and volunteering schedule I’d kept up for the last four years of my life.

  Worth it.

  I typed out a reminder in my phone to send Mrs. Rollins a cookie bouquet, and despite my happiness, another sharp pang hit my chest at the memory of Gordon’s face. He’d walked out of her office not ten minutes ago, his eyes slit and distant like he couldn’t see the students shuffling around in front of him.

  I sucked in a deep breath and ignored the guilt eating my insides. I’d earned the scholarship. Every bit of it. And while I wished there would’ve been two, because he’d more than earned it as well, there wasn’t. It was out of my hands. Surely Gordon would find another way to pay for Stanford. His dad’s restaurant was always packed. They had to have a fallback plan. Or, if he was anything like me—which years of coming against him at every turn of competition said he was—then he had three fallback plans.

  Besides, he couldn’t be mad. Not really. Not after he’d wished me luck on the first day of senior year. The same day he’d randomly asked if I was going to sign up for Bray’s crazy-pants drive to bring in comics for the library. I didn’t have any to donate, but I’d given her whatever was in my wallet to buy some to add to the meager collection the library had now.

  Something tugged at my chest. When Gordon had stopped me in the hallway that day…I thought he’d wanted to talk. Like actually talk. No debates, no challenges, no traditional trading homes of Branch…just a casual conversation between enemies.

  Well, not that dramatic, bu
t we weren’t exactly friends. Though, in another life we may have been as close as Bray and Fynn. We liked the same activities, worked the same crazy hours, participated in the same events. Hell, we should’ve been BFFs by now, but the pressure of competition always kept us apart.

  I’d tried and failed three times to bridge that gap—unable to resist the curiosity of what it would be like to be friends with someone who loved school and the thrill that came with winning as much as I did. But it never worked. I was always awkward or he was…there was just no easy way to turn the hot-brainiac-adversary into a friend. So we’d settled for a casual interaction whenever we ran into each other in a non-competitive situation.

  Still, it didn’t stop me from noticing the hurt in those dark brown eyes of his, or the way his hair was mussed like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. Or the way his tight muscles coiled as he’d rounded the corner. Something was up, and it went beyond my win. Maybe I’d ask him about it later. Sure, we were still both going out for the internship at A&J—Mrs. Rollins had told me earlier that he was my competition—but school was over. Maybe that meant our decades-long enemy status was, too.

  I froze when I heard my name called over the loud speakers, the principal informing everyone in the building of my accomplishment. Pride filled my chest as I darted into the girls’ bathroom. I slid into a stall, totally regretting the venti mocha I’d chugged before school.

  “Ugh,” someone’s voice called outside the stalls. The sink turned on. “You know she got that full ride because she had the tech guys at her daddy’s company create the app for her, right?”

  “Shut up,” another girl said. I could almost match a face to their voices, but not entirely.

  “Totes serious.” The water shut off. “I mean, what is more believable? That the princess of Handler Organix designed an app on her own, or that she whirled a pretty polished finger and got a techy to do it?”

  “You’re so right,” the other girl huffed. “Still,” she continued as I heard heels click toward the door. “I wish I had half what her family does.”