They walked the rest of the way to the waiting room, and saw Morgan and Jason talking to a couple about Alexa’s parents’ age. They looked distraught and were still wearing their jackets, like they’d just gotten there. The woman was showing Morgan and Jason something on her phone, and they were shaking their heads.
“Hey,” Alexa said, and all four turned to look at her. Scott was hanging back, but when the woman saw him, her eyes widened with what looked to be shock.
“Scott?” she said, walking quickly toward him. “What are you doing here?”
Alexa reeled around to look at Scott, who was beet red, flustered. “Mrs. Peck, I was just—”
The man had caught up to the woman now. “Scott, is everything O.K.?”
Scott just stood there, his face ashen.
Alexa waited for Scott to answer, but when he didn’t, she jumped in. “He’s . . . um. He’s waiting for his girlfriend, Aimee.”
Scott gave Alexa a panicked look, and Aimee’s mother balked. “Scott, what are you—”“
“Mrs. Peck, let me explain.” Scott paused, gathered his thoughts. “I just wanted to make sure she’s all right. I won’t bother her, I won’t bother you. Please just let me stay.”
Alexa stared at Scott, not knowing what to think. “Scott?” she asked.
He looked her, looking pitiful and ashamed. “She’s not . . . We’re not . . . I still love her.” He turned to Aimee’s parents. “I still love her. I know we broke up, but I still love her.”
Aimee’s mother was crying now, turning and walking away from Scott, her husband following after her.
“I still love her,” Scott whimpered, to no one, to himself. Maybe to Alexa, who suddenly felt sick.
“Alexa?” Scott said, his voice cracking. And, not knowing exactly why, all Alexa could do was laugh.
Chapter Twelve
Scott
SAM STEIN’S PARTY was a shitshow. He lived in a big Victorian at the end of a dead-end street off of Waverly, the kind of dark and rambling old house that was always drafty and chilly in the winter, even with an expensive heating system installed. The night of the party, though, the house was hot with a crush of bodies, music blaring and kids occupying almost every possible square inch. Scott and Pete took an Uber over together, Pete talking a big game about getting laid that night, Scott still stormy and sad about his fight with Aimee.
They walked in and were immediately greeted by a blitzed-looking Stein. He gave them a quizzical look, maybe not expecting these sophomores to just walk into his party. But Scott was on the team, so he was technically allowed, and Stein knew Pete through various seedy channels at school. “Yooooo,” Stein said, doing a messy fist-bump, handshake thing with both boys. “Drinks are back there,” he said, thumbing toward the kitchen, “and chicks are . . . everywhere.” He laughed, winking—really, blinking—conspiratorially at Scott and Pete before he was dragged away by Asher Birch, another of the soccer seniors, one who was perhaps even meaner, and thus even more revered at school, than Stein was.
Pete and Scott made their way to the kitchen, a sprawling array of marble with a huge center island that was littered with bottles and Solo cups. Pete suggested they do shots, and Scott, normally not much of a drinker, obliged, wanting to wash Aimee’s hurt and angry face from his memory. They did shots of what Scott was pretty sure was vodka, and then another round. Pete found them two beers and they went off to wander through the party, Pete keeping an eye out for Taissa (“Or Cara. Your girlfriend has hot friends, what can I say?”) while Scott dimly hoped to see Aimee pop up somewhere, ready to make amends and leave this loud and sweaty mess together.
But he didn’t see her anywhere, instead running into Nik Damilatis and Zach Arko, two sophomore guys who were still on the JV team. The rumor had been, since eighth grade, that they were secretly a couple, or at least fooling around, and they weren’t doing much to dispel that suspicion at the party. They were hanging on each other, drunk and laughing with their faces very close, when they saw Scott and Pete. They made a weak effort to pull apart, and said hi.
“Fun party?” Scott asked. “We just got here.”
“It’s all right,” Nik slurred. It was strange to see him in this context. Outside of school, Scott usually saw Nik with his family. They would sometimes come into the store to get lunch after mass at the Greek Evangelical church they went to, just outside Newton Centre. “Birch and Stein are being dicks, as per usual, but there’s tons of booze.”
“And we have weed,” Zach said in a bleary stage whisper, pulling a sad-looking little joint out of his shirt pocket. “You wanna spark it?”
Pete had spotted Taissa standing over by the enormous living room fireplace, talking with Cara, so he shook his head. “I have somewhere I need to be. But you ladies have fun.”
Scott shrugged. “You wanna go outside?”
They walked back to sliding doors that opened up to a large deck, a few kids out there huddling against the cold, smoking and talking. It was nice to be out of the din and heat, and with these two decent guys. Scott wondered if he’d maybe be able to talk to Nik and Zach about Aimee. Pete was no good with that stuff, but weren’t gay guys supposed to be more sensitive? Zach lit the joint with shivering hands, took a long pull, and handed it to Scott.
“So what’s up, man?” Nik asked, coughing out smoke. “How was your break?”
“I dunno. Boring. Worked a lot.”
“Oh yeah, man. My folks and I were gonna come in, but we had family in town so we just ate at home.”
Scott nodded. “Cool, cool.”
“Okemo was sick,” Zach added. He and his family had a ski cabin up in Vermont. Scott had never been skiing, but it seemed terrifying, hurtling yourself down a mountain on two pieces of plastic.
Scott figured he’d try Nik and Zach out, maybe get some advice. “So, me and Aimee got in a fight tonight.”
“Who’s Aimee?” Nik asked, squinting as he took another hit.
“Oh, uh, my girlfriend?”
Zach’s eyes widened. “You’re dating Amy Lee?” He shot a glance at Nik. “I thought she was gay.”
“No, no, not Amy Lee. I think she is, though. Aimee Peck? She’s a junior.”
“Oh, riiiiight,” Nik said. “She’s cute. How you guys doing?”
“Well, we just got in a fight . . .”
Zach shook his head. “Sucks, man. Fights are the worst. No fun at all.”
They were not going to be any help, Scott glumly realized. But they were pleasant enough company. Maybe he could just hang out and shoot the shit with them until Pete wanted to go home. It’s not like he was going to get lucky with Taissa or Cara. That was never going to happen—Aimee had told Scott as much, firmly, many times. Scott declined another hit of the joint, not wanting to get paranoid, as he had the other two times he’d ever smoked weed.
“How was JV this season?” he asked, but Nik and Zach weren’t paying attention. Zach was whispering something in Nik’s ear and Nik was laughing.
“Hey, uh, yo,” Zach mumbled to Scott. “We have to go . . . check out a thing . . . upstairs. We’ll find you later, though, cool?”
Scott nodded. “Sure, sure. Have, uh, have fun with your thing.”
Nik giggled again. “We will! We will!”
And then Scott was alone, trembling in the cold. He was considering just saying fuck it, Pete be damned, and getting an Uber home right then, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and there was Maddy Cohen, the source of it all. Or at least the girl whose birthday party had provided the opportunity for Scott and Aimee to first get together. She was a junior, like Aimee, and was on the girls’ soccer team, square-shouldered and sturdy and pretty, with a big mane of curly brown hair and an amused arch to her eyebrows.
“Costas,” she said, as always calling him by his last name. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
/> Why did no one expect him to go to these things? “Well, I’m on the team,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, but it coming out more grumbling and defensive.
“I know, dude. You just, like, don’t come to the other ones!”
“I went to your birthday party, didn’t I?”
“That you did,” Maddy said. “That you did. Worked out pretty well for you, from what I can tell.”
Aimee. He wanted to text Aimee. Or call Aimee, even though they so rarely talked on the phone.
“It did,” he said instead. “Thanks, uh, thanks for that.”
“Any time,” Maddy said, giving him a hard-to-read smile. “Hey, you wanna go inside? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
It was. “Yeah, sure.” He followed Maddy back into the party. She led him through the packed living room, through the kitchen, where she grabbed them two beers, and down a hall toward a closed door. “What’s in there?” Scott asked.
“Peace and quiet,” Maddy said, opening the door to reveal some kind of study, shelves crammed with books and plaques. Maddy pointed at the plaques, gold mounted on dark wood. “Those are Stein’s dad’s, like, judge trophies or whatever.” Mr. Stein was a high-level circuit judge, a stern and imposing man who often stood on the sidelines of Sam’s games barking things at his son. Maddy lowered her voice. “We are not supposed to be in here, but whatever. Stein won’t mind. He and I go way back.”
They sat on a squeaking leather sofa, Maddy pulling her long hair behind her shoulders and settling in, taking a sip of beer. “So where’s Aimee?”
Scott looked down at his beer. He hadn’t really spoken to Maddy one-on-one before. She ran in an intimidating crowd of junior and senior kids who were among the coolest, most popular people at North. “Uh, at home. She just got back from a college tour trip, so she’s tired.”
“Oh Godddd,” Maddy groaned. “I guess I should be doing those too, huh?”
“I guess. I dunno. I really don’t want her to leave.”
“Awww! You’re so sweet. Of course you don’t.”
“Yeah. We kinda . . . got in a fight about it tonight, actually.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
“She was just going on and on about how great these schools were, in, like, Chicago and Ohio and stuff. And I got kinda pissed. Because, like, she seems so excited about leaving.”
“Yeah. That’s bad. I dated a senior—do you remember Chris Bender? So hot—when I was a sophomore, and it was rough when he was doing all that shit.”
“It sucks!” Scott said, louder than he meant to. Maddy laughed.
“You’re so cute. But it’ll be O.K. Just, I dunno, just try to enjoy her while you have her. Aimee and I are only juniors. We’re not leaving anytime soon, unfortunately!”
That was true. But it already felt like Aimee had one foot out the door. Like she’d turned away from Scott, and the present, and was only looking ahead. “I guess.”
“Look,” Maddy said, leaning forward and putting a hand on Scott’s arm. “I’m not hitting on you, I promise. But look. She’s gonna leave at some point, sure. But you guys have, like, a year and a half. So just try to enjoy it. And then you can figure out if you’re staying together or what later on. Cross that goddamned bridge when you get to it, you know?” She smiled at Scott, took a swig from her bottle.
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. You’re right. What happened with you and your boyfriend? With Chris?”
“Oh, we fucking broke up, like, immediately after he graduated,” Maddy said, letting out a cackle of a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. But that’s the truth. And it was different. He was an asshole. I’m an asshole. But you and Aimee are both not assholes. You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. Yeah. Thanks.”
Maddy stood up. “You want a hug?”
Scott never really hugged girls who weren’t Aimee, but it seemed appropriate then. “Sure.”
Maddy leaned in and gave him a friendly squeeze. When she pulled back, she said, “You know, it was my birthday party. You were supposed to hit on me,” and she laughed again.
Scott laughed too. “Sorry.”
“Tell Aimee you’re sorry, not me!” She gave him an affectionate knock on the head, and then she was out the door, back into the wilds of the party, and Scott was alone again. Not wanting to return to the noise just yet, he sat down on the couch, the leather creaking. He pulled out his phone, drafted a text:
aims. im so sorry. pls kno that ilu so much. im really sorry.
Hoping this would reopen the lines of communication, Scott hit “Send.” He sat there for another minute, feeling happier, a little relieved. Maddy was right. This was going to be fine. He downed his beer and then headed out into the party. He found Pete, looking dejected by the kitchen island. “Yo.”
Pete looked up, red-faced and swaying. “Heyyyy.” He narrowed his eyes, more than they were already narrowed. “So, Maddy Cohen, huh?”
“Huh?” Scott said, not sure what Pete meant.
“Nothing, nothing. Anyway, dude . . . I think I gotta go home and, like, knock one out on my own, you know? Taissa was not biting tonight.”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Scott said, glad to be heading home. He ordered them an Uber and they waited for it on the curb, the house still thrumming with music, the clamor of kids rising like steam into the midnight air. Things felt all right. Things felt on their way to good again.
The next morning, Scott woke up with a pounding headache and a dry staleness in his mouth. It had been a while since he’d had more than two drinks in a night, and he felt nauseated. He padded to the bathroom, filled his water bottle in the sink, and then went back to his room to check his phone, suddenly remembering that he’d texted Aimee that he was sorry the night before.
When he looked at his phone he saw that he had a missed call from Aimee, and three text messages. Scott? u there? we need to talk and call me when ur up pls. Call me. That seemed way more ominous than Scott had expected. In fact, he’d expected an apology back, a “Sorry we fought, let’s hang out after you get off work” kind of a text. But no, she wanted him to call. Taking another few gulps of water and clearing his throat, Scott pressed “Call” on Aimee’s number. She picked up after one ring. She sounded tense and angry.
“Hey,” she said, curt.
“Hey, what’s up? Sorry I missed your texts. I’m kinda hungover.”
“Oh, you are? Huh. Do you remember what happened last night?”
“What? Yeah. I mean, I went to Stein’s party and, I dunno, I had some drinks with Pete. And I smoked a joint with Nik Damilatis and Zach Arko, who are definitely doing it, by the way.”
“Cool. Yeah. Speaking of doing it, did you, uh, did you hook up with Maddy Cohen last night?”
Scott was blindsided. If he’d been standing up he would have actually staggered. “What?”
“Maddy Cohen. Did you hook up with Maddy Cohen last night?”
“Aimee, seriously, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Taissa was at the party, as I’m sure your little friend Pete made you well aware, and Taissa says she saw you and Maddy Cohen go into some room together and shut the door for, like, twenty minutes.”
“It was more like ten minutes.”
“Oh, so you did go into a room with Maddy Cohen?”
“Yes, but, like, just to talk. I was upset about you, and she was being nice.”
“So this is my fault?”
“Is what your fault?”
“What I’m asking, Scott, is why did you go into a room, alone, with Maddy Cohen, leave, like, three minutes after she did—to not look suspicious—and then later that night I get a text from you saying you’re so sorry, that you still love me?”
“Because! Because I talked to Maddy and she was nice and said that I shouldn’t be freaking out about all this, you know, this college stuff, and so I te
xted you to say I was sorry about our fight. That’s all. Nothing happened, I swear. I swear, Aimee. Nothing happened.” Scott felt close to tears. He and Aimee had never had this kind of fight. Cheating was never imaginably on the table with them.
There was a silence on the line. “Hello?” Scott said after a few seconds.
“Sorry. I’m here. I’m just . . . trying to decide if I believe you. Maddy hooks up with everyone.”
“C’mon, Maddy’s nice.”
“Maddy is nice. But she hooks up with everyone.”
“Well, not with me. We talked about you. Seriously. That’s all we did. And then I texted to say I was sorry.”
“You’ve just been such a prick lately, like you want to break up or something. Do you want to break up?
“No! I don’t want to break up! Aimee, seriously. I don’t. And nothing happened with Maddy.”
Scott could hear Aimee sighing. “O.K. I’m sorry. I believe you, I guess. I believe you. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said quietly. “Seriously, Aims. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick lately. It’s hard for me, is all. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I know you don’t. I . . . I don’t want to leave you either.”
“Sometimes it feels like you do.”
Aimee was quiet on the line. “I mean . . .”
“You mean what?” Scott had a lump in his throat, and he was trembling.
“Look, you have to be at work soon, don’t you? Want to talk later? I have a history project I completely fucking forgot about and my parents are freaking, so you can’t come over tonight. But what if I came over there tomorrow?”
“O.K. . . .” Scott said slowly. “And I’ll see you at school?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course. But, like, let’s just talk about all this tomorrow night.”
“O.K.” Scott saw the time on his alarm clock. “Shit, I have to shower and stuff. Talk to you later.”
“O.K.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, you too.” And then she hung up.
All We Can Do Is Wait Page 16
