She frowned. “I’m not on the track team.” Though she used to be.
“I thought you were a runner.”
A lump formed in her throat. “No time,” she said. Then she added, with shaking fingers, “No money.”
“That sucks.”
“Yup.” The tears poured out. It did suck. And it was something she’d never admitted before. She’d told Harper that she quit track and cross-country because she didn’t like competing anymore. She didn’t like the practices and all the travel. That was bullshit. She loved the competition. She loved all of it. The truth was, her parents needed her at the store, and they didn’t have the funds to pay for fees and uniforms and equipment.
“I wish I could help,” he said.
“Heh,” she wrote back, “me, too.”
“Can I start a donation campaign for you or something?”
She wrote back quickly, “NO.” She didn’t want anyone’s charity. She never wanted that. This was her and her family’s own private business. She said, “Thanks, but no. It wouldn’t solve the time issue, would it?”
She watched the phone for almost a whole minute as she waited for him to finish writing. When he finally sent the message, it said, “I know it’s a dumb thing to say, but I’m hugging you right now, mentally. Just know that.”
She smiled to herself. Then she grabbed her pillow and clutched it tightly to her chest. With her entire being, she longed for him to be hugging her in real life right now. Since Stashiuk4Prez, a faceless avatar in the Stash Grab app, was the only person in the world she could open up to, she decided to keep that going, even at the risk of utter embarrassment. She told him, “I’m literally hugging my pillow right now, pretending it’s you.”
After she sent the text, she tossed her phone to the other side of the room and buried her blushing face in her hands, embarrassed as hell for typing that. She’d freaking told the guy she liked that she was hugging a pillow while imagining it was him. Elena would never hear from Stashiuk4Prez again after that. She’d completely ruined everything with that one stupid text.
Convinced that her maybe romance with Stashiuk4Prez was over, she crawled across the room to the phone. She didn’t deserve to walk. Walking was for winners. Elena flipped over her phone. She nearly dropped it when she saw the new message alert. Stashiuk4Prez had written her back. Oh my God. He’d actually written her back. “I was literally hugging my pillow, too,” he said, “but I was too embarrassed to say anything.”
She had not scared him off. It was a miracle. Elena dared to push the limits one more time. She clicked on the heart emoji and stared at her unsent message for a few long seconds: a red heart, right there, ready to go. Then, with a deep breath, she hit send.
Two seconds later, he sent her the same heart back.
…
There was an assembly at school the next day, first thing in the morning.
Elena found a spot next to Harper in the auditorium; and then, right before the principal took the stage, Oliver Prince slid into the seat on Harper’s other side.
“Hi Elena,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and focused on the empty podium.
Harper whispered, “He said hi, Elena.”
“Yeah?” Elena said.
“He’s trying,” Harper whispered even more softly.
Elena turned toward Oliver Prince, who was watching her with his stupid brown eyes, and said, “Why hello there, Oliver. How are you today? Marvelous, I’m sure.”
She faced front again, but she heard Harper next to her say, “Good job.” Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw Harper pat his knee. So, she guessed that was still happening. And Harper was trying to get her new beau to buddy up to her best friend. Whatever.
The principal stepped on stage and announced, “We need to discuss the Stash Grab game.” Mrs. Olsen peered down at all of them from behind the glare of her glasses. “I love that you’re all so involved in this and that it’s getting you all outside and moving in the dead of winter, but I want you to stay smart.” She held out a hand toward the front row. “Stand up please, Mr. Shaw. Show them your hands.”
Jimmy Shaw, the freshman who’d once been so captivated by the Stash Grab game that he’d bumped right into Elena, stood up and turned around. Both of his hands were completely bandaged.
“Frostbite,” said Mrs. Olsen. “Mr. Shaw stayed out for three hours after dark this weekend, hunting for Stashes, while wearing no mittens.” She motioned for him to sit down.
“Ridiculous,” Elena muttered. She turned toward Oliver. “You’re responsible, you know. I sure hope his family doesn’t sue you.”
“They won’t,” he said. “My dad already gave them a bunch of hockey equipment.”
She folded her arms. “That’s so Prince, buying off your enemies, taking no responsibility for anything.”
Mrs. Olsen leaned into the mic. “Mr. Shaw is not the only Stash Grab casualty. Mrs. Page broke her wrist. My own assistant, Katie, got a black eye when someone whipped a snowball at her to keep her from grabbing a Stash.” The principal shook her head. “We are better than this, North Pole High. I want you to dial it down. You’re competing for some plane tickets, not a tour of Wonka’s chocolate factory.”
She dismissed them all after that.
At lunch—beef stew, again no cheese—the students started getting rebellious.
“She can’t tell us how to play,” Kevin Snow complained, ripping off a big hunk of bread from his baguette. “We can stay out all night if we want to.”
“Which is moot,” said Harper, “because the Stashes stop popping up after eleven and don’t show up again until six in the morning.”
Danny put his arm around Star’s shoulders. “We should have, like, an all-night Stash hunt party just to stick it to Mrs. Olsen.”
“Yeah,” Star and Kevin agreed.
“Again,” said Harper. “No overnight Stashes. We’d have to have, like, a regular party that ended at eleven.”
An idea started to form in Elena’s head.
Chestnut’s should host that party.
Why should the Princes be the only ones to profit from Stash Grab? Sure, it was their thing, but she’d seen other stores getting in on it around town. Santabucks had some Stash Grab drink specials—like Stan Stashiuk’s favorite toasted coconut mocha. The video store had started showing hockey movies at their usual Saturday night movie viewing. They also had hot apple cider on hand all day long, for any Stash Grab player who needed a warm-up.
Why shouldn’t Chestnut’s get in on the game? And with her parents out of town, it was the perfect time to jump in. It might give the store just the boost it needed.
After school, Elena ran home and sat down at her parents’ desk in the den. She pulled out the town directory and, with a sour face, dialed Craig’s number. He answered on the first ring, because of course he did. “Craig Cooper,” he said.
“Hi, Craig.” She used her most professional voice. “It’s Elena Chestnut.”
There was a pause. Then he said, “I work at Prince’s now.”
She sighed. “I know, and thank you for your loyalty, Craig.”
“I have to go where the money is. You understand that, Elena.”
Sure, but she wouldn’t tell him that. “You’re not working this Friday night, are you?”
There was a pause. “Elena,” he said, “you’re too young for me.”
Elena gagged, nearly retching onto her phone. “This is business, Craig, not personal.”
“Well, in that case, no. I’m not working.”
“Great,” said Elena, crossing her fingers for luck. “I have a proposition for you, then. How about you come to Chestnut’s on Friday night and DJ for me? We’re throwing a little party at the store.”
“What?” he asked. “Why? This feels like a conflict of interest.”
“What are you, an attorney? It’s not a conflict of interest.”
“How much do I get?”
“Nothing, Craig. You ge
t nothing. You were one of our loyal customers for years, and you work at Prince’s now. You owe us one night of your time.”
Elena could almost feel his disgusted eye-roll over the phone. She’d seen it many times before. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
She hung up the phone before he could change his mind and started crafting an invite on the computer. Chestnut’s was throwing a Stash Grab Dash until midnight on Friday night. Food, hot cocoa, big fun, big prizes.
She sent it to everyone in her email list, and everyone in the town directory and the high school book. She paused when she got to the Princes, wondering if she should invite Oliver and Regina. She hesitated a minute, then typed in their addresses. They should come, she thought. They should see firsthand that Chestnut’s is not going under any time soon.
She sent the invite and sat back, waiting for the RSVPs to roll in.
…
“You’re going,” said Harper.
“I’m really not,” Oliver told her. He was working at Prince’s on Wednesday after school. No one was in the store, so he had occupied the comfy desk chair in the office, feet up on the desk, to talk on the phone to Harper. She was trying to get him to click “yes” on the invite from Elena.
“This party is a great social opportunity. Everyone’s going to be there, running around, catching Stashes. There will be so much going on, you’ll barely have to talk to anyone.”
“It feels like a personal affront,” he said, tapping a pencil on the desk.
“What do you mean?”
“I bet she only invited me to rub it in, to be like, ‘Hey, come witness my family’s store enjoying the fruits of Oliver’s labor and he can’t do anything about it.’”
“I guarantee you that wasn’t her thought process. Elena’s not vindictive like that.”
“You say that, but why invite me if not to make me feel like shit? She hates me. I’ve tried being nice to her—you’ve seen it.” She had been out on Main Street earlier that afternoon, carrying a sack of groceries from Ludlum’s. He’d said hello. She’d told him to devour a bag full of male genitalia.
“Elena’s not that nasty a person,” Harper said.
Oliver didn’t know what Elena was, but he knew he didn’t care to investigate further. He’d seen enough. He was being forced to spend time with her during their tutoring sessions, but that was where he drew the line. “I’m not going,” he said again.
“It’s only Wednesday. Don’t make any decisions y—”
Harper was cut off as the front doorbell ripped through the store. A customer. First one all afternoon, actually. Oh, if Elena could see Prince’s now. The January lull in North Pole was real, and Prince’s Sporting Goods was feeling the effects. “Harper, I have to go—”
But he’d barely gotten the words out when he heard a man growl, “Whatever you’re doing, Trip, stop it.”
Oliver pressed the eend button on his phone and held his breath.
“That’s rich, coming from you.” It was Oliver’s dad.
“It’s not even remotely the same situation,” the other man said. “Stop. Calling. My. Wife.”
Oliver slid off the chair and slithered over to the office door to hide behind it. He could’ve made his presence known, but that would’ve meant inserting himself into whatever his dad and this man were arguing about, and Oliver was not a meddler.
“Your wife called me, Tom,” said Trip.
Oliver’s heart beat faster. Tom. Tom Chestnut. Elena’s dad.
Both he and Trip sounded too enraged to worry about who might be listening in on their conversation. “Bullshit,” Tom said. “Why would she call you?”
“I don’t know,” Trip said. “I didn’t call her back. Check her phone, because apparently that’s something you do. She called me. I didn’t call her back.”
“Why would she—?”
“Maybe she realized she picked the wrong guy.” Trip laughed.
Oliver’s phone buzzed. A message from Harper. You okay?
He shut off the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket.
“That’s low, Trip,” Tom said.
“Of course you know what low is. You’re the king of low. You’re the one who eloped with my fiancée.”
Oliver clamped his hand over his mouth. Tom Chestnut eloped with Oliver’s dad’s fiancée?
“Again, Trip, that was twenty years ago. A lifetime ago. We both have kids now. We’re happily married.”
Trip didn’t respond. Oliver noted the silence.
“Wait a minute,” said Trip. “Where is everyone?” He paused, seemingly realizing that he and Tom Chestnut should not be alone in an open retail establishment. “Oliver? Are you here?”
Sheepishly, Oliver stood up from his crouch and tiptoed out of the office. “I was on the phone in there—”
“Fine, fine,” Trip said. “Tom was just leaving.”
Mr. Chestnut nodded. “It’s true. I was. So long, Trip.”
Oliver and his dad watched in silence as Tom Chestnut left the store.
Then Trip let out a huge sigh. “Ugh.” He walked over to the coffee bar and poured himself a cup.
Oliver stood there for a moment, waiting for an explanation, some easily digestible sound bite that would shed a light on everything. His dad had been engaged before—apparently to Elena’s mom, who may or may not have called Trip on the phone recently. Oliver needed more information to go on. “Dad, did Mrs. Chestnut call you?”
His dad poured creamer into his cup. “She did.”
“And you didn’t call her back?” The picture of his dad and Elena’s mom kept popping into Oliver’s mind. He remembered his mom’s questions about why Trip had wanted to come back here and why it would be awkward for Elena Chestnut to tutor their son. Oliver had let all those comments soar over his head, because he was too concerned about his own garbage to catch their meaning. But Regina was right. Things were bad between their parents, and he should be worried.
Trip deflected the question. “None of this is your business.”
“You didn’t call her, right?” This was another conversation above Oliver’s pay grade. He had never been in a serious relationship before—and he’d definitely never been married—but he did know it was probably not a great idea for his dad to be calling his ex-fiancée, especially if her current husband wasn’t too keen on the idea.
“Oliver, did you start stocking the swimming gear like I asked you to? Spring break is only a few weeks away.”
Oliver nodded. “Yeah, it’s done.”
“Good.” Trip put a lid on his cup, which he raised in salute. “See you at home.”
Oliver watched as his dad left, heading in the exact opposite direction of their house.
Knees weak, he walked back into the office and sat in the chair. He stared at the wall for a moment. What did it mean that Trip didn’t answer the question about calling Mrs. Chestnut? What did it mean that he said he was going home, but then turned the other way? Maybe he was just running some errands. That was probably it. He had to pick something up at the bakery or the flower shop.
Oliver pulled the infamous photo album out of the bottom desk drawer and turned right to the picture of his dad and Elena’s mom, which he’d replaced after he showed it to Elena. They were definitely happy and obviously in love. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own mom and dad looking at each other like that.
Oliver peered closer at the photo. There was someone in the background, someone who was standing a bit behind them, a little out of focus, his arms folded across his chest. He was smiling, too.
Though he had a few extra pounds on him and a bit more hair then, it was clearly Tom Chestnut.
He flipped to the front of the album. There were some pictures he’d glossed over at first—ones from when his dad was a young kid, ones that had been meaningless to Oliver at first glance. There were several shots of Trip with the same boy, a boy with dark brown hair and brig
ht blue eyes. Oliver pulled one of the pictures off the page and checked the back. Trip and Tom, age 10. And toward the end of the book, there were several of his college graduation. One was of him and just Tom Chestnut, with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
They had been friends. Good friends, probably. At any rate, they’d known each other for a very long time.
His dad had put his trust in someone—two people, really—and had his heart broken. He’d held onto that grudge for twenty years. He’d taught Oliver and Regina to hate the Chestnuts. He’d never wavered in his unflinching desire to see bad things happen to them.
And now his dad was talking—maybe—to Elena’s mom again.
Oliver pulled out his phone and composed a message to proud_hoser. “Hey,” he said, staring at the picture of his dad and Elena’s parents at their college graduation. “What if you had information about someone else that could possibly ruin their life? Would you tell them?”
She wrote back, “Whoa. Wow. Would the person knowing make a difference? Like would they be able to do anything about it?”
“I don’t know.” If he and Elena got on the same page, perhaps they could work together to keep his dad and her mom away from each other. “Possibly,” he said. “Though it could be a real ‘shoot-the-messenger’ type situation.”
“Is this person close to you? Would you feel bad burning this bridge?” she asked.
“Hahaha,” he wrote back right away. “No. There is no bridge.”
“Then I think it’s a no-brainer. If the person gets pissed, no big deal. You lose nothing, and you still come off like the good guy in the situation, having done the right thing.”
Oliver put the photo album and his phone away and skulked to the front of the store. It was dark outside, and, across the street, Chestnut’s was lit up from the inside. Elena and her dad were alone in the shop. He stood behind the register, and she was fiddling with the window display.
Her mom was nowhere to be seen.
And Trip Prince had turned in the opposite direction of home when he’d left the store.
Elena glanced up and her eyes met Oliver’s.
proud_hoser was right. Oliver had to bite the bullet and tell Elena what was going on, even though she might literally shoot the messenger. Oliver would want to know, if the situations were reversed.
Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 9
