Dude, it’s not, though. It’s not enough.
Does she feel the same way? The way she moved in for kiss #2, I gotta believe she does. So why isn’t she texting me back?
I stare at my phone. The bell’s about to ring. Where is she?
I’m replaying the pep talks I gave to Eli when he was losing his mind trying to date Nora. I used the game clock of life analogy, how it’s always ticking down. Doesn’t stop for anyone. You only have so much time. Don’t waste it.
Maybe it’s time to take my own advice.
I start a new text to her. Hey, can we talk?
I hit send. A few minutes later, my hand is shaking as I read her reply. I squint to read it again, in case I got it wrong the first time.
No time, so busy! Work, school, promposal Friday (can’t wait!) and then she adds a cow emoji.
I shift in my seat and rub my forehead. I re-read the damn thing again. She’s still going to ask him?
Wtf? I type, then delete. Too harsh.
Really? I try. No. Too passive aggressive.
Then: Do you not remember last night? Because I do and it was fucking awesome. I know I’m not your type and you could do much better, probably Caleb is much better, but I want to go to prom with you! Donut say no!
Well, that makes me sound like an effing psycho. I slump down further on the soft leather. Delete delete delete. In the end, I send a dumbass chickenshit smiley face emoji that I don’t mean at all, shove my phone in my pocket, punch the balloons out of my face, and get to class.
Chapter Eighteen
Bailey
When I saw Devon McGill get out of his Jeep with that Queen of Table Three smug expression on her face, leaving behind a shitload of balloons with Alex, my heart didn’t sink—it crashed to earth like a meteor. Not a little one that makes a tiny crater in the middle of nowhere either. I’m talking about a meteor that takes out whole cities, wipes out the population. I’m talking about an apocalypse-level event.
Now he wants to talk. What, so he can tell me that last night was a huge mistake and he’s going to the prom with Devon? No, thank you. I’ve been humiliated enough for one twenty-four-hour period.
I hurried back into school and replied to his text immediately, making it clear that I’m not hanging any hopes on some half-asleep kisses.
I wasn’t half asleep, though. I was wide awake. I still feel his lips on mine, so sweet, although now the taste is turning bitter.
Just a few hours ago, I was lying in bed, still smarting from Dad and Mom’s marathon lecture, but feeling almost optimistic. Maybe I was reading too far into the “no big deal” comment. Maybe somehow I’ve changed him and his player ways.
Ha! What an idiot. Everything about us points to non-compatibility. He’s filthy rich, I’m dirt poor. He’s so unfocused it drives me nuts, I have roughly the next fifteen years of my life planned out. He lives at the top of the EHS social food chain. I’m a bottom feeder just trying to survive.
My reply text was clear. I don’t want to hear his news, and I’m going forward with this promposal. No need for him to worry that kissing him meant something to me, even if it did.
No sir, Alex (who kissed me first, by the way). I don’t have time to talk to you. You go to the prom with Devon.
No. Big. Deal.
My phone buzzes. He’s sent me a smiley-faced emoji in response? What the—
You can suck it, Alex Koviak.
I shove my phone into my backpack and march inside the school, making it into A/V as the bell rings.
…
We have a free period to work on our short film projects, which is perfect because the deadline is coming fast. My footage so far is looking good, except for the gaping hole in the section where Caleb’s promposal will be.
I swallow hard and will myself not to think about kissing Alex. I will ask Caleb to prom. He will say yes. I’ll make a kick-ass prom film and maybe even get a boyfriend out of the deal. The memory of kissing Alex will fade. One day it will disappear.
I sit back in my chair, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a strange pressure behind my eyes. No no no no. I shake myself. You are absolutely not going to cry, sister. This project is due at the beginning of May, and it has to be perfect. I’m not going to let a bad decision distract me from winning a contest that could make the whole financial difference between me going to NYU or living at home and going to Citrus State, which has no film program at all. I have to take this seriously, whereas Alex can go anywhere he wants and not even think about the money.
Ashley sits at the computer beside me. She’s a sophomore, and we’ve worked on a few projects together. She has a good eye, and her brother happens to be a senior on the lacrosse team. She already agreed to film the promposal for me on Friday, since she was going to be at the game anyway, but I haven’t given her the details of what’s happening.
She groans at her screen and puts her head in her hands.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Why did I pick ‘pep rallies’ for my subject? Who cares how it feels to be the school mascot?” She shakes her head. “It’s hot in the Highlander’s giant head? Nobody cares.” She turns to me. “I wish I had your topic.”
I huff out a breath, sit back in my chair, and cross my legs. “It’s not as great as it sounds.”
“You still need me Friday, right?”
I nod. “Is that okay?
“Yep.”
“Cool. Thanks. I really need it for my film. It’ll be right after the game; I’ll be the one near the locker room”—I gulp—“on a cow.”
She laughs out loud. I can’t blame her. It sounds totally ridiculous coming out of my mouth.
“Really?” she asks. “You’re kidding?”
I shake my head. “I’m not. I want to win.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“And I also want to go to the prom with him.” I shift in the chair and realize that I’m a total jerk. “Yeah. Really want to do that.”
She smirks, and I wonder if she can see through my lie. “No problem. I’ll get the whole thing on camera.”
“Thanks, and if you need help, let me know.” I don’t help people a lot with their films, because I tend to want to take over, but I’ll do my best if she asks.
I sit forward in my chair, focused on my editing, and feeling good that everything is ready for Friday. The only thing I need is to get my props from Alex, which means I have to see him in person. I wish that thought didn’t make me feel sick to my stomach.
Just yesterday, he was someone I couldn’t wait to hang out with. Most days he was the only person I wanted to hang out with. Maybe that was the problem. I knew that I shouldn’t have gone over there. I knew the way I was feeling about him was dangerous, but I did it anyway. And now what? What the hell will we talk about the next time we’re together? How much he regrets kissing me? Are we even still friends?
Again, I feel tears building in my eyes, but I get back to work, and eventually they disappear. Funny how when you focus on something else, problems can vanish. Or at least go into temporary hiding.
Mom is up when I get home from school. She’ll be off to work in a few hours. Dad, too.
“Hi,” I whisper, walking in through the sliding glass door, assuming Dad is still asleep. I hope he is, because I am not in the mood to rehash last night. Again. She’s at the sink, washing something. Her mouth is pressed tight, and she’s shaking her head, but she says nothing.
“Hi?” I try again and stand beside where she’s scrubbing a pot that already looks suspiciously clean. “Hello?”
She pushes the handle down on the faucet, turning off the water, but still doesn’t look at me. “Your father is having a hard time with this.” Finally, she turns my way, eyes flashing. “He doesn’t believe you.”
I breathe from my toes. “I’m not sure what else I can say. He either trusts me or he doesn’t.”
She chuffs. “It’s not that simple. You’re his baby, his ‘Raven Girl’, and
he’s not so old that he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be an eighteen-year-old boy.”
I take my backpack off my shoulder and blow out a breath. “Nothing happened, Mom. Nothing is ever going to happen with Alex.” A tremor of irritation, and maybe also a little guilt, rumbles through me. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. We fell asleep watching a movie. We are friends, Mom. Just friends.”
The part I’m leaving out, about what might have happened if Dad hadn’t shown up when he did, is not important to the story.
Her eyes spark again. “He said you looked like kids caught with your hands in the cookie jar.”
I bust out laughing.
“Shh!” She points a finger toward their bedroom where he’s sleeping, on the other side of the flimsy kitchen wall.
“I’m just wondering,” I whisper, “who or what in that analogy is the ‘cookie jar?’”
She glares. “Don’t be a smart aleck. You know what I mean.” She fiddles with the corner of the dish towel in her hand. “You know you can talk to me. About anything.”
“Mom. Nothing happened, I swear. I’m asking another guy to the prom Friday!” I’m tired of this conversation. My parents have always totally trusted me. I know I screwed up, falling asleep at his house, and I could have screwed up more, but they don’t know that. “Caleb’s the cookie jar you should be worried about!” I say too loudly and march off to my room.
I sit on my bed and open my school bag, ruing the day that I ever decided to go to prom. I stand up, pace my tiny patch of linoleum. It’s too late to do anything about it. I’m committed to this promposal on so many levels. I need the video. I had to beg someone to cover my shift at Publix so I can leave early to get to the game, so I’m losing real money for this thing. I have to make it work. I have to make it worth it.
Chapter Nineteen
Alex
It’s been a shit day, and after practice all I want to do is drive. Wait, scratch that. All I want to do is see Bailey. I want to talk to her and make sure we’re okay, figure out what’s happening, and find out why she’s still planning to ask Caleb Gray to the prom. But I never could find her at school, and now she’s not answering my texts.
There are thoughts going through my mind that I’m not used to having. Thoughts like, “She’s blowing me off.” Usually I want a girl to do that. I can’t wait for them to.
This is different.
I need to refocus and figure out what to do next, so I decide to head to the beach. Being so close to the Gulf is one of the pros of living in this part of Florida. I haven’t been in a while, but it’s always been a good place to think.
By the time I get there, park, and walk out on the sand, I’ve already been thinking too much, and my mind is seriously in a bad place.
That kiss. That damn kiss. Kisses. Plural. I don’t doubt she wanted it, but now I’m afraid she might regret it. I don’t regret it. It was—I don’t even know. It was not like anything I’ve ever felt. It was perfect.
How could she regret it? How could she not feel the same as me?
I pull off my T-shirt and walk toward the calm water. It’s cool and feels good on my screaming muscles, which I beat up today in practice. I was a ball of stress and anger, but I went out of my way to avoid Caleb. I think if I’d had the opportunity, I would have taken him down again.
I swim out as the sun sets over the Gulf —all pink and orange and melon colored. I’ve brought a lot of girls to this stretch of sand. Not Bailey. We’ve never even come as friends. She’s always too busy, always working. She could stand a trip, though. I’m pretty sure she must have Vitamin D issues with that pale skin.
That skin that’s soft and perfect. Those lips, full and wet and, for a second, mine.
I lay on my back, floating, thinking about the kiss. I can’t get it out of my head. I growl loudly and swim back to shore.
When I can, I stand up. The water laps at my knees, and I shake my grown-out hair. I wish she were here. I always wish she was with me, even before the kiss. Since the first time I met her in the express lane and she made me laugh.
I stare at the last sliver of sun as it gets sucked into the horizon. I know she’s still planning on going through this promposal. I know that the writing is pretty much on the wall, but I also know that I’m not giving up. How can I?
Back on the sand, I grab my towel and check my phone. Shit. Still nothing from her, just a text from Dad. Did I get the cookies? He’s really sorry they won’t be here for Senior Night, but they’ll make it up to me. Great. I don’t care.
Bigger fish to fry and all that.
The game itself, for one. Even though the school from Lakeland isn’t that good, you can’t take anything for granted.
Plus, Bailey’s sort of become like a good luck charm to me. We’ve had a good season so far, and I don’t think it’s the long hair or the Sprite and Reese’s or the scratchy beard. I think she’s my luck. I need her.
If she can’t talk because she’s busy, I can go to her. She’s not usually hard to find.
When I go to throw my towel in the back of the Jeep, I see the posters that we made and her cowboy props. The glitter sparkles in the overhead light. I moved them in here so Miriam wouldn’t bitch about the glitter. Funny, when we made them the other night, I didn’t see any of this coming.
Right now, I want to burn all of it with fire. Big fire. What I don’t want to do is to burn us.
I want us. I want to fight for us, whatever we are.
I drive back into town and go straight to the coffee shop. Her car’s parked out back. It’s time to deal with this head on. I’m not sure what I’ll say to her, and I have to admit I’m nervous as hell when I reach for the door handle. I catch sight of my reflection in the glass—I look like shit, hair all matted from salt water, old T-shirt, damp board shorts and flip flops, but I don’t care.
The place is busy, it’s always busy, and they never have enough people working. When I get inside, there’s a dude from school behind the counter and that creepy assistant manager. I can’t remember his name. Bailey is nowhere.
I walk to the side of the baked goods case and lean my head into the back area. They’re both at the machines, making the coffee. They don’t even see me. I clear my throat, and manager creeper snaps his head toward me.
“Can I help you?” This guy is tall but skinny. I can see he’s trying to look tough.
“Yeah. Hi. Do you know if Bailey is around?”
He stabs me with a death glare and crosses his arms. “Do you see her?”
What? “No, but she’s working, right?”
The corner of his lip curls up. This guy is snarling at me. “She’s on a break, and you should go.”
What is with this guy? He walks closer to me, and now we’ve got an audience. The whole store is quiet. He’s a foot away, in my face. I hold up my hands. “Look, it’s okay, I’m her friend. I just need to talk to her.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
I take a step back, eye the door to the back room. “Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t. Want. To talk. To you.”
I glare at him. “Dude, sorry, but I’ll have to hear that from her.”
He shrugs. “Well, you can’t, can you, because she doesn’t want to talk to you. See how that works?”
I screw up my mouth and meet his beady-ass stare. “What’s your problem?” I didn’t come here to get in a fight with this tool.
“You’re the one with the problem, dude!” He points to the front door. “Now go.”
I put up both arms and give him the finger with both hands as I walk out, which feels good for about a second. When I get back to the car, though, I’m breathing heavy and my blood is pumping hard.
I grip the steering wheel and try to process what happened in there. Bailey can’t stand that guy, so why should I believe what he said? I whip out my phone and send her a text.
Hey are you okay? Your boss was just a total dick to me.
I w
ait a minute. Two. Five minutes later, she texts back.
Sorry on break. He’s a jackass. I’m fine.
Fine? I look back to the red brick building.
Can we talk?
One more minute. Two. Ten. Seriously?
Not tonight. So much homework. Dead tired. She adds the ghost emoji to drive her point home.
Fine, I get it, but this is stupid. We kissed. We need to figure out what happens next, and I hope what happens next isn’t going to be that goddamn promposal Friday night.
I hurriedly type a response.
Son?
Sign?
I want to straight up murder my autocorrect. At least she’ll get a laugh out of it.
Soon?
Yeah. Of course. Soon.
No laughing. And “of course?” Okay. She wants to talk, but she’s busy. Bailey is busy, not blowing you off. No big deal.
Chapter Twenty
Bailey
I shouldn’t have run away and hidden in the back room when I saw Alex open the door of Java Infusion. I should have stood my ground and gotten it over with. If he’s going to the prom with Devon, there’s nothing I can do about it. If he’s sorry we kissed, I need to know that, too, and get over it.
But I panicked. I couldn’t hear him say it, not when it’s so fresh, not when I can still feel the heat of his body, of his mouth, on mine. When he’s gone and I come out of hiding, Jax smiles. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“What did you say?” I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer after Alex’s text.
“Nothing. He said he wanted to talk to you, and I said you didn’t want to talk.”
Inside I cringe and get to the register to take the next order. Breathe from your toes, Raven Girl.
Love and Other Secrets Page 12
