by Dahlia Adler
Okay, so I stretched the truth a bit. “Yup, pretty much.”
“That’s it. That was your whole summer.”
“Well, you know I started at the Book and Bean a few weeks before school, if that’s what you mean.” I shade my eyes with my hand and stare out at the neatly manicured lawns of Stratford, house after house in a town with only one apartment complex, which I happen to call home.
She sighs. “Come on, Lar.”
“Come on what?” I force myself to face her, and I’ll admit, not being able to look her in the eye helps. “What sort of secret mission do you think I was on in freaking North Carolina?”
“I don’t know,” Kiki says exasperatedly, “but you’re different.” She stops at a red light and turns to me. “Look, I’m really happy you finally got with Chase, but are you happy for you? Because I thought when this day came, I’d be begging you to stop mentioning his name every three seconds and asking us what to wear on dates and how soon is too soon to get naked.”
At that, I laugh. “So … you’re bothered that I’m not as annoying as you thought I’d be?”
“It’s more than that. You stood up to Shannon about sharing your shit with Jasmine. And since the summer, you … walk taller, or something. Chase obviously sees something different in you, and I’m just saying, I see it too.”
Okay, this was definitely not the conversation I expected. I’ve always wondered if maybe Kiki lived somewhere under the rainbow, given her total disinterest in the guys at Stratford, but I kinda figured she was too sophisticated for them. She’s the type to, like, sleep with her brilliant professor in college. But maybe—
“That sounded like I was hitting on you. I’m not hitting on you,” she clarifies. “I just feel like I’m missing out on something big in your life and it’s kind of killing me. Not because I’m a nosy piece of shit but because you’re one of my best friends.”
For a moment, I feel a twinge of disappointment. Not that I wanted Kiki to hit on me—there’s enough confusion in my head as it is—but I’d kill to be able to talk to another girl who’s kissed a girl, who’s … been with a girl. I want to ask her what the fuck it means and how I know if it does mean something.
But, I realize, Kiki’s giving me an opening for something else. And it’s not everything, but it’s not nothing. “It’s not something big,” I say, feeling shy and silly, and grateful when the light turns green and she has to tear her eyes away from me. “But I kind of loved the work I did this summer. The person I assisted? She was amazing. She did all this photography and web stuff, and I feel like I learned that there are more things to do with your life than, like, doctor or lawyer or accountant or whatever else every kid from here does. I don’t know, it just got me feeling … open. And optimistic. Excited for the future and trying new things. Not that I have any photography talent, but … writing, maybe?” I can’t believe I just told Kiki that. I can’t believe I’m still talking. I can’t believe I am about to tell her my second biggest secret. “I’ve been writing. A book. A romance, actually.”
“Lara! That’s awesome!” Her smile is so big and genuine, and it makes me smile too. “I had no idea you were interested in writing. I didn’t know what you were interested in, really, other than Chase.”
The comment stings, but it also makes me laugh. “Surprise! And no, it isn’t Chase-and-Lara fanfiction, I swear.”
“Thank God. That’s really, really cool. I can’t believe I didn’t know you were into writing before, but it totally makes sense.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! You’ve always liked reading for fun, and you’re always the first to want to learn or try something new, which probably makes great research. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how many times you’ve let me fingerprint you.”
I snort. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. That ink stained my fingers for, like, a week.”
“And I appreciate it!” She grins. “But okay, so, not to get all Gia on you, but don’t tell me there was zero romance this summer. Something cooled your Chase panties all the way down.”
I groan. “Do you have to phrase everything so extremely gross?”
“Yes.”
“There might have been … some kissing,” I allow. “But that’s all I’ll say about that. And let the record show that my Chase panties are still firmly on. Are we done now?”
“We’re done,” she agrees, pulling up to my building. “But Lar, I’m really, really glad you told me. And if you ever wanna use those newfound web skills, I wouldn’t mind having help making some pretty ads for Kiki on the Case. Paid, of course.”
I tap my finger to my chin. “I don’t know if you could afford me, but we’ll talk.” Impulsively, I lean over and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, Keeks.” I jump out of the car before she can yell at me for showing emotion.
But there’s no yelling. “Lar?”
I turn back. “Yeah?”
“Whoever you were kissing … I think they must’ve been really good for you.”
My mind lingers on her use of “they” long after she leaves me standing in the Porsche’s dust.
Chapter Eleven
The thing about using your cell phone as your alarm clock is it’s hard to avoid seeing your notifications first thing when you wake up. The minute I open my eyes, I see a new episode of Kiki on the Case has been released.
Oh, and the title of the episode is “Secret Relationships in History.”
It’s too early to deal with my stress over whether or not she’s trying to send me a message, or worse, if there’s something pointed at me in it, so I skip my usual routine of scrolling through everyone’s posts and pictures to wake myself up and instead hop straight into the shower.
I try to think about literally anything else as the hot spray rains, but everything from Homecoming to Chase to college feels charged. I went to sleep around eleven last night, and there hadn’t been a new episode then; what was so important Kiki had to post it first thing this morning? Not to mention the time she must’ve taken to edit it. Did she even sleep?
I guess I should be grateful I got to, thanks to having no idea this was coming.
Sighing in defeat, I finish my shower quickly and throw some mousse in my natural waves rather than going through the whole curling routine that’s been keeping me extra cute since Jasmine introduced me to it. I don’t feel like looking extra cute; I want to blend so deeply into the woodwork even Kiki and her eagle eyes won’t see me. The dress I had picked out for today gets pushed aside in favor of a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, and I skip makeup entirely.
Chase will probably walk right through me.
Today, that’s all I want.
As usual, Shannon’s right on time to pick me up, and Gia’s in the back seat, but no sign of Kiki, who’s usually picked up first. “Keeks is taking the Porsche in again today,” Shannon explains as I climb into the front seat of her 4Runner, “but don’t worry.” She taps her dashboard. “It’s basically like she’s here.”
Shannon is playing the newest episode of Kiki on the Case, because of course she is.
“I haven’t listened yet,” I say cautiously. “What’d I miss?”
“She’s putting secret couples from history on blast. Did you know Eleanor Roosevelt was a lesbian? She had a secret lover and everything.”
The coffee my mom handed me this morning sloshes in my stomach. “You don’t say.”
I have to warn Jasmine today about the conversations that are gonna be floating around, and about the very distinct possibility that Kiki has somehow pieced together the truth about us. Thinking about any and all of it makes me wanna die.
For a moment, I’m worried I spoke aloud, because suddenly Shannon’s car is turning onto Jasmine’s street.
“What are we doing here?” Gia asks, and I’m relieved I don’t have to.
“Jasmine’s car is in the shop, so I told her we’d give her a ride.”
That Shannon knows her car is in the shop, and that Shannon
is who Jasmine went to for help, punches me in the gut. They’re really becoming friends, and I don’t know whether the idea of not being Shannon’s number one anymore or the idea of not being Jasmine’s number one at Stratford bothers me more. How did they bond like this? When? Where was I?
Gia huffs the tiniest bit. Everyone knows that in our close-knit group of four, Shannon and I are the tightest; when my mom was still finding her footing in the job market and working later hours than Child Protective Services would’ve found acceptable, the Salter mansion’s open-door policy was a lifesaver, rendering us inseparable. But that doesn’t mean any one of us are gonna be cool with a fifth wheel.
Shannon pretends not to notice.
The sound of a door slamming makes us all look up. As if Jasmine knew I was gonna be wearing my blandest outfit, she’s wearing what must be one of her loudest—black-and-white-checkered hip huggers, a cropped hot-pink sweater that looks gorgeous with her deeply tanned skin, and big gold hoops that poke through her thick, silky curtain of hair. She’s usually a few inches taller than me, but today she’s wearing platforms that lift her a few extra.
She looks like she wants to be noticed.
I try not to think about whom she’d like to be noticed by.
It’s a few weeks into the school year and I haven’t heard any rumors of Jasmine getting with anyone or even flirting, though I’ve heard of plenty of guys expressing interest. She’s getting a reputation as mysterious and elusive—everything I thought she was before I got to know her. Everything she’s been to me again since she moved here.
This summer she felt like someone I’d been born to know, and now I feel like I can’t predict a damn thing.
Which I guess is back to being how she likes it.
“Good morning!” Shannon greets her sunnily as she slips in the backseat with Gia, and Jasmine grunts in the universal language of “I haven’t had my coffee yet.” Shannon laughs and says that clearly a stop at the Starbucks drive-thru will be required.
Jasmine mumbles her appreciation. Even fully decked out, she has never been a morning person, though she does warm up a bit when Gia declares her outfit cute.
We’re driving for about a minute when Jasmine speaks up. “What are you guys listening to? Is that Kiki?”
I cringe as Gia launches into an explanation of the episode, glad that Jasmine can’t see me from her seat behind me.
“Secret relationships. Interesting.” Jasmine sure sounds awake now. “So … fraught. I wonder what brought that on.”
I dig my nails into the seat, not caring if it chips the pink polish I applied last night.
“It must suck to have to keep a relationship secret,” Gia muses. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of romantic, having something just between the two of you, but if I couldn’t hold Tommy’s hand in the hallway or kiss him at the movies—”
“And in the lunch room, and in class, and at parties, and at—”
“Oh, shut up,” Gia says to Shannon as Jasmine snorts and I full-on laugh. Gia likes to think she’s restrained about PDA, but she’s delusional. She would be a terrible spy.
Definitely not a candidate for a secret relationship.
I try to imagine Gia in my shoes, fooling around with a girl under blankets on the couch or under the cover of starlight, and I can’t. It had felt then like it could happen to anyone, like female friends who were comfortable with each other could fall onto each other’s mouths and it was all cool. But would that have happened if it’d been Gia on the beach—Gia, who was obsessed with Tommy’s masculine forearms and deep voice and the earthy smell of his cologne? Shannon, maybe, if she thought it somehow made her worldly. Shannon would probably shout about it from the rooftops.
And suddenly, it hits me. I’m here drowning in self-reflection while Shannon and Jasmine get closer. Shannon may be flirting with Lucas, but they aren’t a Thing, not yet. And Shannon’s been known to surprise with her dating choices, especially if she thinks landing them is a fun challenge. Is that what’s going on here? Is Jasmine dressed up because Shannon’s picking her up? Is Shannon picking her up like people pick up people they’re dating?
The wave of pain that hits is fast and furious, and I don’t even realize it’s coming until I’ve already moaned out loud, forcing Shannon to stop short. “Jesus, Lara. Are you OK?”
I don’t know, I want to say. Tell me you’re not hooking up with Jasmine and maybe I will be.
I don’t know why that’s the thought that comes to my head. I don’t know why this hurts. I don’t know what I feel like I’m losing because I don’t know what I’m losing. All I know is the thought of them together—like, really together—feels like a stab wound to the chest.
“Fine, sorry,” I croak, and Shannon makes a teasing comment about me being a drama queen. Which … is maybe exactly what I am being. And anyway, I have Chase. I am dating Chase fucking Harding. I don’t know how serious we are or will be but I do know what he listens to in the car and what lines make him laugh at movies and what his mouth tastes like, and that is plenty. So, what am I getting hung up about?
There’s the lightest squeeze on my shoulder, so gentle I’d think I was imagining it if it weren’t for the searing warmth coming through my baggy shirt. And like that, my question is answered: the knowing when I need a touch, when I need to be remembered, when I need affection. That quiet, intuitive kindness. That’s what I’m getting hung up about.
I lift my hand to squeeze hers back, but it’s already gone.
Chapter Twelve
After a week full of weirdness, I manage to pull myself out of it in time for Chase’s game Friday night and our subsequent date. Granted, it takes some pushing from Shannon to get me fully decked out in fangirl paint, from Chase’s number 14 boldly drawn on my face in blue to “Go Chase” scrawled down my arms. But I look pretty cute with it, and judging by the way Chase’s face lights up when he sees me, he agrees.
Next to me, Shannon’s forgone face paint in favor of a pro-Lucas sign, and she keeps whacking me in the face, but I don’t care. Chase is having one of the best games I’ve ever seen, and we spend a decent portion of the evening on our feet, cheering as he completes pass after pass, his arm finding its targets with terrifying accuracy.
On any given day, he’s good, but this is next-level. If there’s a scout hiding somewhere at this game, Chase is getting a scholarship for sure.
“He’s so fucking hot,” the girl in front of us whispers to her friend as Chase accepts a high five from Lucas after rushing the ball halfway down the field before getting slammed to the ground, and I feel my cheeks heat with pride. The Stratford rumor mill definitely hasn’t missed that there’s something between us, even if there’s only been one real date. He may not be mine in the way Tommy is Gia’s, but it’s enough for me to get the feeling that comes with knowing pretty much every girl in the room would kill to be you.
“Larissa Bogdan is such a lucky bitch,” the friend whispers back as if to prove my point, and I nearly break my nasal passages holding back a snort.
Shannon is unconcerned with being discreet. “He’s the lucky one, actually,” she leans forward and says, “and I’m the only one who gets to call her a bitch.”
The girls, who can’t be older than sophomores, look like they’re gonna pee in their tight jeans when they turn around and see us there. I can tell the girl who called me a lucky bitch wants to say she’s sorry, but she’s having trouble getting words out.
I elbow Shannon in the side and she laughs. “I am lucky,” I say before the girl can cry or whatever. “He’s great, isn’t he?”
Two jerky puppet nods in response, and then there’s a roar from the crowd and we look up to see Chase has thrown for another touchdown. “That’s number three for the Saints!” brings us all to our feet. “Chase Harding is on fire tonight!”
Chase catches my eye and bows, and I’m gonna melt into the floor, if the girls in front of me don’t kill me first. But I remain cool and blow a kiss back.
“Aren’t you glad you listened to me about the face paint?” Shannon coos, pushing an unruly blond curl behind my ear. “Look how much he loves having his own personal cheerleader.”
The description makes me bristle, but I can’t argue with how it was her idea to sport the paint, and he does seem to like it. “Pretty sure it’s my legs in this outfit he loves,” I say anyway, and Shannon sticks out her tongue.
We continue to tease each other and cheer and wave at Gia during her routines and send annoying updates to Kiki, who couldn’t care less about the game and is home glued to some true crime documentary. Mostly, I observe Chase—the agility with which he weaves between players, the way the sweat glows on his forearms, the strength in his legs. I’ve spent years watching every line of his body move on this field, but tonight is different. Tonight, I don’t have to pretend I’m eyeing all the guys equally. I don’t have to pretend I could just as happily be anywhere else. I can stare at him and howl his name and whistle in his direction and do all the things I’ve always done in my head, loud and proud and with his number right on my face.
So I do. I’m Chase’s number one cheerleader. Next to me, Shannon is the same for Lucas, though he’s only joined Chase at our table once this week and they don’t have any plans this weekend. It’s enough to make me wonder how significant her interest is in him, and whether that means that anything going on between her and Jasmine is all in my head.
Not that it matters.
I’m here with Chase. Who’s a complete and total rock star and who I’m pretty sure just smiled at me again.
I stay completely glued to the field for the final quarter, and even Shannon gives up trying to make Lucas happen and joins me and everyone else in cheering on Chase, who’s dangerously close to breaking the school’s record for passing yards in single game. There’s no question which team is going to win, but I’m biting my nails as I watch his stats edge up. Every time he completes another pass, there’s another roar and another announcement of his yardage total.
