The Promise of Amazing

by Robin Constantine

  “Wren, wait,” she said. “Thanks for commenting on my speech. I never realized . . . how that might have sounded. Nice to know someone was listening.”

  Was I actually having a friendly conversation with Mrs. Fiore? I wasn’t overthinking or worrying about what I said before I said it. We might not be giving each other mani-pedis anytime soon, but it was a start.

  “Thanks for not giving me detention, Mrs. Fiore.”

  The hallway was mostly empty. A few stragglers scurried as the warning bell for second period sounded. The good feelings from my momentary victory with Mrs. Fiore faded. This incident had Ava written all over it. But why wouldn’t she just confront me? I wondered what Luke had told her about what she saw—probably twisting it around to where I forced myself on him. I wondered if some guidance counselor was torturing Luke for his behavior. Probably not.

  I sat through my next two classes, barely absorbing the lessons, hoping for the opportunity to question Ava before Honors Lit began, but she slipped into her seat as the bell rang, not even a glance in my direction. At lunch I stormed into the cafeteria on a mission, barely dropping my books with Mads and Jazz.

  “Wren?” Mads called after me.

  Ava, flanked by her usual posse of worshippers, was placing a supermarket bento box of sushi on the table as I approached. Darby Greene tapped her shoulder and whispered something. An uncomfortable couple of seconds passed where no one seemed to think it was necessary to acknowledge my presence. Ava finally looked up as she slipped the chopsticks out of their red wrapper. Her eyes zeroed in on the blue streaks in my hair.

  “Nice hair. What, did you do a Smurf over the weekend?”

  Oh, how I wanted to smash a California roll up her nose. Darby raised her eyebrows and took a slow sip of her Diet Coke, daring me to strike back at Ava. Jazz and Mads were suddenly next to me. Their support fueled my fire.

  “No, I did Luke Dobson,” I said, letting his name roll slowly off my tongue. “And you know, you’re right, he can do some pretty amazing things with his mouth.”

  Jazz gasped. Ava froze, chopsticks poised.

  “Nice one,” Mads whispered.

  “So can we talk now?” I asked.

  Ava tossed the chopsticks on the table. She stood up with such force, the green plastic caf chair fell behind her, startling a girl at the next table, who hopped up when it hit the floor.

  “Let’s go.” She barreled past me.

  I followed Ava as she pushed through the swinging doors into the empty locker bay next to the caf. The deep bellow of someone practicing tuba echoed from the music room. Ava faced me, her eyes sharp.

  “So, what?” she asked.

  “Why did you tell Fiore I hooked up with Luke?”

  She crossed her arms and stared at me, not giving an inch.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t do it. You were the one who walked in on us in the kitchen.”

  Her nostrils flared, her eyes calculating and cold. “Us? There is no ‘us’ when it comes to you and Luke. If you think for one minute he enjoyed that . . . pathetic.”

  “Didn’t feel that way when he kissed me.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip fiercely. I stood firm, hands on hips, waiting for a response. We held each other’s glare, neither daring to blink. Finally Ava grunted a smug-sounding humph.

  “Wren, I’m sure you’ve enjoyed your tour of A-listdom, but it’s over. So just drop it and go back to your nonexistent, sad, little social life.”

  “A-listdom? What are we, twelve?” I countered. “If your gravitating with Luke is what you call A-list, then fine, count me out. The way you two treat each other? What kind of relationship is that? At least I know I have real friends.”

  “I’m talking about Andy’s party and the laughable pairing of you and Grayson Barrett. You do realize that’s the only reason Luke was even talking to you, right? You think it was an accident the seat next to him on the bus was empty? Or that I even wanted you there as co-coordinator? You’ve been played, Wren. Played. Let me guess, you and Grayson broke up? Imagine that.”

  The meaning of what she’d said made my breath catch in my throat. Her mouth curled into a victorious smirk. Saturday played in reverse through my mind. The kiss. The empty seat on the bus. The way Luke had been there when I’d arrived that morning for the St. Lucy trip, joking with me. Had it really reached as far back as Ava inviting me to lunch in Mrs. Fiore’s office?

  Still . . . I’d seen her face when she’d walked in on us, and her reaction just before in the cafeteria. Ava had many talents, but she wasn’t that good of an actress. No matter what hurtful crap came out of her mouth, I realized how much of a sore point it was for her that Luke had kissed me.

  “So Luke’s offer of a revenge hookup was just something he did because he was playing me? I guess his texts over the weekend were about playing me too. And I bet he got my cell number from you, because I didn’t give it to him. Sounds like you’re being played too, Ava.”

  “I’m done with you,” she said, shaking her head and walking away. She turned back sharply, jutting out her hip, and continued, “Where do you even come off saying that to me?”

  “Just wondering if you really know him.”

  “Because you do? Please. How well do you know Grayson? Guess you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  “I know Grayson really well, and this stupid little drama you created did nothing to change that, Ava. We’re closer than ever. So make sure you tell that to Luke. Or maybe I’ll just text him myself.”

  I brushed past her, buzzing with anger, and pushed open the doors to the cafeteria. Maddie and Jazz were cleaning up as I approached the table. I sat down, head in my hands. I wondered if Ava knew the truth—the whole truth.

  “Everything okay?” Mads asked.

  Then it hit me. Luke had played Grayson too. He’d known exactly what to say to get under my skin and knew it would lead to our breakup. Why he felt it necessary to go that far, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just sadistic.

  The one person who could understand what was going on was Grayson. I’d told myself I’d wait until things cooled down to contact him, but I didn’t want to wait anymore. Besides, I hadn’t told him what had happened at St. Lucy’s. What if Luke said something to him first? I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to speak to him.

  “Jazz, you need to cover for me in Chem last period.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  GRAYSON

  I WAS A ZOMBIE.

  Not the flesh-hungry, decimating-the-world, take-’em-out-with-an-AK-47 type of zombie.

  I was a walking void in a skin suit.

  I could not stop thinking about Wren or the way she’d run from me on Saturday. There were no corners of my mind to hide away in. No thrash punk angry enough to pound away my troubles on the drums. Nothing but the raw pain I felt any time I thought about what a colossal screw-up our short-lived relationship had become.

  My mother’s house had been . . . comforting. Playing with Ryder and Grier managed to occupy my mind, made me feel like things weren’t dire. I was their awesome big brother. Wren helped me see that. Laird apologized for the way Cooper had put me on the spot at Thanksgiving. We even spoke about what strings he could pull at Columbia for me. It was a reach at this point, but it was something to focus on. It was the first time I was almost bummed to leave their house.

  The ride home was torture. Going home to more silence was a depressing option, so I went to Andy’s, just to see if he or anyone else knew what Luke had done . . . or what he was planning to do. I’d found Andy, stoned and strumming his guitar alone in the basement. Luke had already filled him in on what had happened earlier in the day.

  “Are you expecting him anytime soon?” I asked, not wanting to run into him just yet for fear I’d ram his head into the bar.

  Andy shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

  “Why is it so important I’m still a part of this?”

  Andy stopped strumming and looked at me with glazed eyes. “Dude, I d
on’t know. I say we just cut our losses and throw an epic party with the money. But you know Luke. He wants things to be like they were before you got kicked out, and when he wants something . . . he’s a prick till he gets it. No one’s allowed to be happy if he isn’t.”

  Even stoned, Andy nailed the situation.

  School on Monday offered relief. At least I could lose myself in velocity and acceleration. Problems my mind could plug into and figure out instead of brooding over Wren. When school was over, the screw-up reel in my head played again. Could I catch Wren at Sacred Heart? Should I even bother? Why couldn’t there be some theorem to help me with that?

  I shuffled along with the rest of the Bergen Point inmates as we spilled out onto the gum-stained pavement. The day was bright but colorless, like living in a black-and-white film. I dug into my pocket and grabbed my keys, debating where to go instead of heading home to stare at my ceiling. In the middle of the crosswalk, I stopped short, sure I was hallucinating the figure leaning against my bumper.

  The crowd continued past me. Some guy knocked into me and mumbled, “Douche.” The crossing guard blew her whistle with the ferocity of a football referee and motioned for me to get onto the sidewalk. The hallucination was still there.

  She stood out against the colorless day, improbable and beautiful. A wildflower in winter sprung up from a crack in the concrete. I inched my way closer and kept my eyes on hers, as if one wrong move or thought would make her evaporate. She lowered her gaze and bit her lip. So many feelings rushed through me . . . relief, fear, love . . . Wren being there meant something. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure.

  “I almost gave up,” she said. “I walked through the parking lot twice, looking for your car, and figured maybe I missed you, so I walked up this block to head to the bus, and I found it, and . . .”

  “Here you are.”

  “Grayson, I still don’t know how I feel about the other day. It’s just what you told me? The whole morning . . . the fight? It was a lot to take in.”

  “A complete mindfuck,” I said.

  She laughed. “I guess you could call it that.”

  I leaned next to her on the bumper, dropping my backpack at my feet.

  “I never meant for you to find out like that.”

  “You never meant for me to find out.”

  What could I say?

  “Grayson, I get it. There never would have been a good time. . . . But I guess I’m glad I know.”

  “Really?”

  “Not sure,” she said, chuckling. Adjusting her position she faced me, hip against the bumper, and tucked some hair behind her ear. The blue hair suited her. I had to stop myself from touching it. The first move needed to be hers. She dug into her coat pocket.

  “Here—I’ve been carrying this around since the weekend,” she said, the necklace dangling from her fingers. “I can’t keep it. Obviously.”

  I grabbed the physical reminder of just how royally I messed up and shoved it into my own pocket to deal with later. “Giving you that necklace was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Nah . . . taking me skating was a pretty bad move, considering how terrible you are on the ice,” she said, tugging the open collar of my jacket. I turned toward her.

  “Wren . . . the only thing I could think about all weekend was that look on your face when you left . . . how much I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I know what I did was wrong, all of it, and I wish I could change everything. You deserve better than this. I don’t expect you to just . . . trust me . . . but that’s not me anymore. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I know that,” she said, moving closer to me.

  “Being with you is all I want,” I whispered. “Forgive me, please.” My forehead grazed the top of her head. I took in the summery scent of her hair and allowed myself to feel the barest hint of a hope.

  “I do,” she whispered, bringing her face up to mine.

  Our lips touched, lightly at first. When I was sure she wasn’t going to pull away, I wrapped my arms around her, felt her arms snake around me.

  “Sacred Heart girls—easy access!” someone yelled.

  Wren laughed into my mouth and stepped back to take in the mob scene herding up the street.

  “I’m not a very good Sacred Heart rep.”

  “Yeah, you are,” I said, running my fingers through the blue part of her hair.

  Wren folded her arms across her chest and winced.

  “Grayson, I never told you my side of Saturday.”

  “You have a side?”

  “Why don’t we go somewhere warmer to talk?”

  Somewhere warmer was a booth in the back of our diner. Coffee for me, cocoa for Wren, and a huge slab of the World’s Best Boston Cream Pie to share.

  We sat side by side, shoulders touching. She hadn’t said a word on the ride over. The miracle of her being there with me, of even talking to me, still hadn’t worn itself out, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. I took a forkful of pie and held it up for her. She opened her mouth, sliding her lips across the fork and grinning as she tasted it—an unintentionally sexy move that left me wishing we were somewhere more private.

  “So, Saturday . . . what happened?” I asked, digging the fork into the pie for a bite of my own.

  Wren dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She folded a knee up onto the bench of the booth so that she faced me. Finishing my bite of pie, I gave her my full attention.

  She fumbled with her coat, reached into the pocket, and pulled out her phone.

  “I had a fight with Ava today.”

  “About what?” I asked, alarmed. Was Ava in on this too?

  “Well . . . she told Mrs. Fiore I hooked up with a guy from Saint Gabe’s during our service project. Even had people back up her story.”

  “That’s a crock, right?”

  She leaned on her elbow and rested her forehead into her open palm. The pie felt heavy in my gut. Her hand slid down her face before she looked at me between her fingers.

  “Luke kissed me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It happened really fast. He kind of cornered me before I could stop him. . . . I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  It surprised me that Luke hadn’t offered up that information himself. It would be just like him to prod me with some random text like, Wren’s lips taste like candy, bro.

  “And Ava told me today that the whole thing—me being there to help out—was all just so Luke could, I don’t know, piss you off or keep tabs on you or something.”

  “Classic friggin’ Dobson,” I said, mashing the edge of the pie with each word.

  “Why would he do this?”

  “He wants me to be, ah, active again.”

  “Active? You mean . . .”

  “Find hits.”

  “Oh. Like Allegra,” she said into her cocoa mug, before taking a sip.

  “Wren, stop.”

  I reached for her hand as she put down the mug. There was a moment of hesitation on her part, her hand unyielding. Then she softened. I entwined my fingers with hers, finally relaxing, when she gave my hand a squeeze.

  “Luke isn’t going to drop this, is he?” she asked.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  She pushed her phone toward me, showing me her message history.

  You closed your eyes.

  He texted her? My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s what he said to me after . . . he, you know . . . kissed me.”

  “You closed your eyes?” I asked. It wasn’t fair of me to be angry. I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Don’t even go there, Grayson. It lasted, like, a second, if that, and I shoved him away.”

  “Wren . . . I didn’t mean . . .” I said, not wanting to lose her again. “It just makes me . . . want to hurt him. That’s all.”

  She growled, buried her face in my shoulder. “Me too. Ava . . . ugh . . . it was like she got off on telling me how they tricked me. We have
to do something.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Grayson, I’m sick of people . . . underestimating me. Thinking they can walk all over me because I’m not some loudmouth bitch.”

  “Luke likes to mess with people. It will drive him nuts if we ignore him. Trust me.”

  “He said to keep him in mind if I wanted a revenge hookup.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, right. Want me to drive you to his place?”

  “I’m serious. Why don’t we just . . . I don’t know, set him up somehow. . . .”

  “Wren, he would see it from a mile away.”

  “So that’s it, you’re just going to let him get away with it.”

  “No, I don’t want you involved.”

  “I already am. They used me to get to you. Luke wanted us to break up, and . . . well, we almost did, didn’t we?”

  “Wren.”

  She grabbed her phone, typed a message, and hit Send.

  “Well, better think of something . . . fast,” she said, pushing the phone back to me, that devious smile from the ice rink crossing her lips.

  Luke—Still have your property . . . want it? Wren

  The die had been cast.

  TWENTY-THREE

  WREN

  LUKE WAS TEN MINUTES LATE.

  I surveyed my house, praying my mother wouldn’t look out the window. She and Dad were having a much-needed “date night in,” complete with the latest rom-com from Redbox and takeout from their favorite Spanish restaurant. And while that hadn’t been part of my plan, having them busy with their own stuff made it much easier to slip out, no questions asked. As far as they knew, I was waiting for Maddie and Zach to pick me up, not having a faux-revenge hookup with Luke at the love shack. I was grateful it hadn’t occurred to them to wonder why I’d stand outside in below-freezing weather.

  The plan was simple: entice Luke to the cottage, where Grayson and Andy were waiting to talk to him, sort of like an intervention. Grayson wasn’t into it at first; he thought Luke wouldn’t fall for it. But the more we talked it out, the more he came around, thinking that maybe the element of surprise would make Luke vulnerable. And, okay, I wanted to prove that I could play this game too, to send a message. He had toyed with the wrong quiet chick.