“You have a mortal enemy?” asked proud_hoser. “A girl?”
“The evilest witch in all the land.”
He shoved his phone into his pocket and greeted the florist. “Hi, Bobbi.”
“I wanted to talk to you.” Her pinched face glared up at him. “Your little game. It’s causing problems.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Oliver watched Bobbi’s dog take a dump on the snow covering the lawn outside the town hall. Bobbi made no move to pick it up.
“There’s a…what’s it called?…a Stash?…in my backyard,” she said. “People keep sneaking in late at night, waking up my dogs.”
Oliver grinned. “That’s too bad.”
“It’s not funny,” said Bobbi. “They knocked over half my fence!”
“That’s awful.” But it was good news for Oliver. If Regina was sleeping on the job, maybe Oliver could talk his dad into giving him his computer back. Everything was coming up Oliver tonight.
“And Reverend Michaels?” Bobbi continued. “He said that a Stash popped up right in the middle of Sunday services last weekend. Tammy Cortez was singing the psalm and then—boom—everyone’s phones started buzzing and chirping. It was a disaster, to hear him tell it. Fix it, or I’m going to the sheriff.” She pursed her lips.
Sheriff Parsons was one of the most ardent Stash Grab players in town. He was probably one of the people breaking into Bobbi Moore’s yard every night. “I’ll tell my sister.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “She’s the one in charge.”
“I don’t care who’s in charge,” said Bobbi. “I just care that it gets taken care of. Now.”
Oliver saluted her and bounced toward home, excited to tell his dad that Regina was pissing people off, that he, Oliver, should regain control of the game. He had so many ideas to implement—new, better coupons, stealing Elena’s idea for the Stash Grab-related percentage off, hosting a Stash hunt of their own. He was ready to take this town by storm.
When he reached his house, he yanked off a glove and pulled out his phone. Tonight was his lucky night, and if he was ever going to take this risk, now was the time. He took a deep breath, his hands shaking, and composed a message to proud_hoser. Then, noticing a few nervous typos, he erased his words and tried again—slowly, methodically, typing each letter one by one. “Hey,” he said, “will you go to the Valentine’s dance with me? Assuming you don’t already have a date.”
He’d expected her to write back immediately, because that’s how his night was going, but she didn’t. A lump in his throat, he fixed his eyes on his phone, which lay silent in his palm for a full three minutes and then another two. Begrudgingly, he gave up and shoved the phone into his pocket. Maybe his luck had run out. Maybe he’d pushed it too far.
But finally, a few hours later, just as Oliver was about to drift off into sleep, proud_hoser responded. “Yes! But let’s meet there. I’ll be wearing a yellow dress.”
Relieved, Oliver wrote back frantically, not even worrying about typos or proper grammar this time. “And Ill bring u a yellow rose.”
“It’s a date,” proud_hoser told him.
Sighing, Oliver clutched his phone to his chest and flopped backward onto his pillow. He closed his eyes, a grin still playing on his lips, and he dreamed of proud_hoser, whoever she might be, all night.
Chapter Nine
When all was said and done, the Stash Grab Dash at Chestnut’s had brought in more money in one night than they’d seen in a while, though Elena could hardly enjoy her success.
She couldn’t remember a time when the store was that full or the cash register was that busy. After the actual Stash Grabbing portion of the night had ended, everyone swarmed back into Chestnut’s to eat, dance, and shop. She gave the basketball tickets to Dinesh, who had managed to earn the highest number of Stash points in an hour, and then she spent the rest of the night ringing people up. Everyone in attendance used their Stash Grab discount, and the biggest markdown she had to give was to Craig at 48 percent.
Elena had to admit the event also provided a good distraction from Oliver Prince, Stashiuk4Prez, and the cheese-less pizza.
After he’d left, she’d stood frozen in the middle of the floor, the garlicky odor from the Pie-lent Night bags filling her nostrils. Oliver Prince had come into her store that evening with the intention of breaking some bad news, he’d used the phrase “shoot the messenger,” and he’d grabbed a slice of cheese-less pizza. Each detail on its own meant nothing, but together they added up to one logical and horrific conclusion: Oliver Prince was Stashiuk4Prez.
To test her theory, Elena messaged Stashiuk4Prez. “Are you having a good night?”
He wrote her back right away, telling her about his mortal enemy (a girl), and how he’d done the right thing, and how this chick was the “evilest witch in all the land.”
When she saw that last message, Elena shut off her phone and tossed it aside, fuming. Evil? That guy hadn’t seen evil yet.
She kept busy after that, arranging the food, making sure the chairs were set up properly. She plastered on a happy face for the customers and did a jig of joy when she counted the receipts at the end of the night, but lurking underneath the success-related happiness were pure anger and humiliation.
Elena had planned on heading home to her empty house after the event and hopping on the treadmill for an hour or so to run off her rage and confusion, but she found Harper waiting around on Main Street for her to close the store.
“What did you say to Oliver?” she asked as Elena locked the door.
“Were you waiting out here for me?” Elena shivered from the cold this time and not because of the incessant little aftershocks from the news that Oliver Prince and Stashiuk4Prez were one in the same. “It’s freezing.”
“I’ve only been out here for a minute,” said Harper, falling in step with her. “I went to Oliver’s house after the party to talk to him, but he was in no mood. Then I came back here and saw you sweeping. I obviously wanted nothing to do with that, so I went to Santabucks and got a hot cocoa instead.” She raised her cup. “So, what did you say to him?”
“I—” It hit Elena then that there was even more to this Stashiuk4Prez/Oliver situation than she’d first realized. If Oliver really was the guy she’d been chatting with, then Elena had inadvertently spent the past few weeks flirting with her best friend’s crush. God, she was a horrible person. “What’s going on between you two?” she asked.
“Between me and Oliver?” said Harper.
“Yeah, do you still like him?” The girls waved at Dottie in the bakery as they passed the Spruce Street store on the way to Elena’s house.
“Do I still like Oliver?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Elena. “That’s not a hard question, is it?”
“No, but…” Harper stopped in her tracks.
Elena turned around to face her, pulling her scarf over her mouth. “Come on. This isn’t stop-and-chat kind of weather.”
“But it’s a stop-and-chat conversation.”
Elena bounced up and down to warm up.
Harper sucked in a breath. “It’s not Oliver Prince I like. It’s his sister.”
Elena forgot all about Oliver, the cheese-free pizza, and the cold wind whipping at her cheeks. She couldn’t speak. She was without speech. A sound came out of her mouth like, “Buhhhh.”
“I know it sounds ludicrous,” said Harper, “but we kind of…hooked up during the school ski trip and…I sort of wanted more, but she didn’t—though we’re cool, it’s fine…now.” Harper gulped. “But the thing is, it wasn’t a one-time thing for me, or I don’t want it to be. I’ve been wandering around for weeks, trying to figure it out, and, well, I have.” She paused. “I like girls.”
“You dated, like, the entire football team,” Elena said.
“I know.” Harper laughed, shrugging. “Smoke screen, I guess.”
Elena blinked back tears that might have been from the wind, or they might have been from the fact that her best friend had been
going through all this without her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” said Harper.
Elena shook her head, getting a grip on the situation. “You had every right not to. It was your news to reveal on your timetable. But I mean…” She was trying to figure out a delicate way to ask this. “It’s just…is it me? Did you feel like you couldn’t come to me?” Maybe Oliver was onto something. Maybe Elena actually was a horrible person.
Harper pulled her into a hug. “No. No, of course not. I just needed time.” She leaned back and stared Elena straight in the eye. “And it seemed like a huge step, coming out to my best friend; like that would make it real, and I wasn’t ready for it to be real.” She laughed. “I guess it’s real.” She nodded down the street. “Now, let’s keep walking, because it’s cold as shit.”
The pit in Elena’s stomach kept growing. She swallowed hard to keep it from rising to her throat. She’d always considered herself to be tough and independent and like she could handle anything anyone threw at her. But tonight kept testing that. Everything was changing. Her world was spinning off its axis. Her best friend had hooked up with a Prince twin—the girl Prince twin—weeks ago and hadn’t told her. And though Elena had managed to bring in some money at Chestnut’s tonight, who knew if it was enough? Her parents’ business was still failing. And her mom might be having an affair. The fact that she’d spent the past several weeks accidentally romancing her sworn enemy with her words was really the least of Elena’s worries at this point.
“Did Oliver know?” she managed to choke out.
Harper was silent for a moment. Elena turned to see her friend’s face, but a fluffy white muffler obstructed her view. “Don’t get mad,” she said. “He did, but not because I told him. That was all Regina.”
“I’m not mad,” said Elena. Why did everyone assume she was angry all the time?
“He was honestly great about the whole thing, so supportive. I know he comes off as kind of a loner jerk, but he’s not that bad.”
“Hmph,” said Elena. Oliver had Harper fooled.
“He’s really a decent guy,” insisted Harper. “I’ve been trying to get him to work on being nicer to people—especially you—and he tried so hard.” Elena caught the accusatory tone. Harper was laying it on pretty thick.
“He’s a Prince,” Elena said. That should’ve been excuse enough.
“I know I’m newish to town,” said Harper, “but hasn’t this feud gone on long enough?”
“No.” Elena unlocked the front door to her house. “Forever wouldn’t be long enough.”
She dropped her keys on the table next to the door and commenced removing all her layers of outerwear. “You staying over?” Elena asked.
“You finally caught on.” Harper reached into her bag and pulled out a DVD from the video store—The Greasy Strangler.
“Ew,” Elena said, eyeing the cover. “That looks…unpleasant.”
Harper assessed the DVD box, shrugging. “Sam says it’s great, I don’t know. He shoved it into my hands.”
The two girls plodded up to Elena’s room. Though she’d planned to jump on the treadmill for a run, Elena’s legs felt like bags of lead and her eyes weren’t much lighter. Harper’s company and a dumb movie were what just she needed right now.
Harper flopped onto the bed and clicked play on the remote before turning on her phone. “Any Stashes on your property?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” Elena’s own phone weighed heavy in her jeans pocket. She wondered if Oliver had written her back, if he had any more choice insults for his mortal enemy, the evilest witch in town. “Hey,” she said, “did you know Oliver is playing his own game? Like, he has an account and is out there catching Stashes with everyone else. Is he trying to skew the results in some way?” The thought had occurred to her earlier, while she was cleaning up Chestnut’s after the Stash Grab Dash.
Harper chuckled. “Nah. He’s keeping tabs on Regina, looking for glitches, places where she may have fucked up. She hasn’t really fucked up, which annoys him to no end.”
“Oh.”
Harper’s eyes were now glued to whatever was happening on the TV screen.
“Be right back,” Elena said, already two feet out the door. She locked herself in the bathroom and opened the Stash Grab app to check her messages. There was one, and only one, from Stashiuk4Prez. Scoffing, she clicked on the text. It said, “Will you go to the Valentine’s dance with me?”
Elena’s jaw dropped. She found herself glancing around the bathroom, looking for a hidden camera or something. There was nothing real about this moment. It had to be a joke. It had to be the universe playing some hilarious prank on her. He, Oliver Prince, just asked her, Elena Chestnut, to a dance. Not just any dance, a Valentine’s dance.
And he had no idea. He had no freaking clue what he’d just done.
Grinning hard and leaning into her role as evil witch, Elena composed a response: “Yes! But let’s meet there. I’ll be wearing a yellow dress.”
It was the perfect plan. She’d bought a yellow dress months ago for homecoming, which she’d ended up not attending. Now Oliver would show up at the Valentine’s dance, see her wearing yellow, and he’d realize it was her he’d been talking to this whole time—the girl whose family business he was gleefully watching go under, the girl whose presence he could barely endure while she was trying to teach him Latin.
Since Elena was alone in the bathroom and therefore had no one with whom to celebrate her having upper hand, she high fived her own reflection in the mirror over the sink.
…
“I mean, you’re not wrong. The dancing is amazing.”
Harper, sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor in her basement with her back up against the couch, swung her head around to see Oliver, who was lying across the sofa. “Right? The perfect way to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon.”
He sat up and swung his legs next to Harper. “I wasn’t sure how I’d feel watching Magic Mike XXL, but I will be able to walk away from this experience secure in my own heterosexuality and with a healthy appreciation for the male form and all its physical potential.”
Harper scrunched up her nose. “See, that’s where we’re different. Or maybe that’s where we’re the same. I figured I’d walk away from this movie wanting Channing Tatum to grind against me like I’m one of his welding tools, but instead I’m like, ‘Yay guys, you have very good moves, but I’d like to suck face with Amber Heard.’”
“Well, I’m more of a Jada Pinkett-Smith man,” Oliver admitted.
“And this is why we’re such good friends. We’ll never go after the same girl.”
“Especially not if the girl you’re after is my sister.” Oliver winced as Harper tossed a pillow at him.
She took the spot next to Oliver on the couch, dragging her knees up to her chest. “I think I’m actually gay,” she said.
Oliver grabbed the remote and shut off the TV.
“I’ve been walking around for weeks with this whole new perspective, like the blinders are off my eyes and everything is in HD. For my whole life, I liked guys because it was expected, you know? I, without anyone telling me to, sort of settled into this heteronormative mythology about myself.”
“You were straight because you believed you were supposed to be straight.”
“It’s kind of silly, right?” Harper smiled and patted Oliver’s knee. “My brother Matthew is gay. I mean, he’s freaking marrying Hakeem this summer. And I’ve been living a lie my entire life.”
“I’m pretty sure figuring out you like girls when you’re seventeen doesn’t count as living a lie your entire life. You’ve got quite a few years ahead of you, Harper.”
Harper’s phone buzzed, and she waved it in Oliver’s face after checking the message. “Elena’s here.” She dictated a text as she typed it. “Come in.”
Oliver groaned. It was Sunday afternoon, and he was due for another study session with Elena. They had agreed to meet on neutral ground, Harp
er’s house, with her playing mediator.
Harper peeked at the stairs. “I came out to Elena,” she whispered, eyes back on Oliver.
“And she shunned you? She told you she didn’t support your lifestyle?” He’d believe absolutely any negative news about Elena Chestnut at this point.
Harper tossed a pillow at him. “No. She was very cool about it, as I knew she would be.”
“Please.”
“I mean it,” Harper said. “She is a lovely person and—” Harper jumped off the couch and ran to the stairs. “She’s here!” Harper wrapped Elena in a huge hug, though Elena’s arms remained down at her sides as she fixed her scowl on Oliver.
He rolled his eyes, like, what? Was he supposed to be scared? Hurt? Contrite? She had no power over him.
Wordlessly, Oliver and Elena set up shop at the bar on the far side of the basement, while Harper cued up another movie—this time Pitch Perfect 2. “Is this gonna bother you?” Harper shouted as the music of the Barden Bellas filled the entire room.
“I’m fine,” Oliver said through gritted teeth.
“Me, too.” Elena still glared at Oliver. He got the sense that she was trying to stare him down, to exert dominance over him, like he was a dog she was trying to tame or something. Well, two could play at that game.
Hard eyes fixed on hers, Oliver pulled his Latin book from his bag and plopped it on the bar. “I did my homework,” he said.
“Good.” Lips pursed, Elena pulled a sheet of folded notebook paper from his book. She opened it, smoothed it out, and started correcting his mistakes with a red pen. In five minutes flat, his homework was a mess of scarlet scribbles.
She laid the paper in front of him and pointed out each mistake. “Here the verb is subjunctive. In this sentence, you want to translate this word as the direct object and this one as the indirect object. I’m almost positive you have no idea what the word propter means because you translate it incorrectly every single time—” She paused and spun around on her bar stool as Harper rose from her spot on the couch and marched up the stairs.
Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 11
