by Tay Marley
A romantic? Gabby once told a kid who defended her glasses in freshman year that she was in love with him. They’d had three conversations, mainly consisting of their mutual distaste of being bullied for wearing glasses. I wouldn’t call her overenthusiasm romantic. I’d call it unhealthy.
“Hey, I appreciate romance.” She gave me a side-eye. “I do. I would just rather wait until I’m in California before I find it.”
“Why are you still talking about California?”
Gabby hadn’t ever been shy about voicing her distaste over my choice to go out of state for college. She was completely against the idea of my up and coming relocation. There was no doubt that I’d miss her, and I’d tried to convince her on more than one occasion to come with me, but she wouldn’t leave her mom.
“Gabs, if I get in, I’ll be moving to California. You know I started on my application the other day.”
“You could still get rejected.” She shrugged, holding the ice pack on her cheek again and wincing upon contact. “I’m hoping, anyway.”
“You’re hoping that I don’t get into the college of my dreams?”
“No, of course not.” She let her head fall back onto the sofa. “I just don’t want you to leave me, okay?”
“Even if I don’t get into CalArts, I’m getting out of Castle Rock,” I told her, smiling at her big brown, puppy-dog eyes. “But we’ll always be best friends. Sisters.”
It wouldn’t matter how much space was between us, Gabby was my soul sister and she always would be.
“Yeah.” She smiled.
We spent the rest of Sunday hanging around the house. Nathan made waffles but he didn’t eat them. Breakfast for him was a protein shake, and then he went for a run. I grabbed the wireless speaker and spent a couple of hours practicing routines that I had choreographed over the summer, while Gabby lay on the couch, reading.
“I do not understand how you can do that when you are hungover,” she called from behind her e-reader.
For me, dancing was a cure. It gave me release, cleared my head, and made me feel energized and alive. That day, it was also keeping me distracted from reliving the previous night over and over again. The image of acting like an unreasonable toddler toward Drayton. And almost kissing him. I squashed the thoughts with a pirouette so that they didn’t knock the wind out of me with humiliation. Drinking was not worth the hassle that it came with.
Chapter 6
On Monday morning, I stood beside my car in the school lot waiting for Gabby. I was nervous about seeing Drayton. Would he turn into an A1 asshole again? Would he tease me about what a mess I had been? Would he tell his buddies that I’d spent the night in his bed wearing nothing but his T-shirt and my underwear?
It was pointless to worry. He was who he was; as long as he didn’t spread rumors, we’d be good.
Exactly four minutes later, Gabby pulled into the space beside me. She was trying to be late as little as possible this year. Last year, she’d had a terrible track record for missing first period because she’d be finishing chapters in her car before she’d even left the house.
“Your eye looks good,” I said.
“I have, like, seventy-two thousand layers of concealer on.”
“Why seventy-two?” I asked. “Why not seventy or seventy-five? Seriously, though, what’d your mom say?”
“I told her that you smacked me in the face coming out of a pirouette.”
Soon we were giggling loudly and uncontrollably as people crossing the parking lot looked at us funny. The funniest part was imagining that happening for real. The dance that I did was contemporary with a strong influence of hip-hop. It was often fast paced and strong, but I did incorporate ballet steps. More so for softer, more emotional routines.
Gabby stopped laughing as she noticed something behind us. That Jeep. The one with dark windows and big rims. The driver’s door opened and out slid Drayton.
“That Jeep,” she squeaked, pointing at it with so little subtlety that she might as well have announced herself with a megaphone. “That’s the Jeep that dropped you home on Sunday! Drayton? Did you spend the night with him?”
“Gabby.” I turned around. “Shhh. He’s coming. I’ll tell you about it later.”
She made a zipping motion across her lips. I was impressed with how well she pulled herself together—she folded her arms and her expression was neutral as Drayton stopped beside us and smiled down at me.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Not bad,” I replied.
He looked at Gabby for a brief moment and then moved his curious expression to me. “What happened to your friend?”
“Do you mean Gabby?” I asked, inclining my head in her direction.
“So you’re the famous Gabby.” Drayton stretched out his hand, and I could tell that she was trying not to burst at the seams with excitement. “What happened?”
The words tumbled out before I even had a chance to consider them. “She got into a fight. With this guy . . . at a bar! He told her to shake what her momma gave her . . . so she told him . . . she told him he was an inbred hick and then he slapped her. After he slapped her, Gabby beat the life out of him . . . with a barstool! It was bad . . . he’s in the hospital. Don’t mess with Gabby.”
Drayton looked suspicious but he didn’t call us out on the blatant lie. Could I not have come up with a more legitimate story? Even the one that Gabby had told her mom would have made more sense.
“Yeah, don’t—don’t mess with me,” she laughed. “I have to go.”
She turned around and almost bumped into a couple of junior girls as she dashed across the parking lot.
“That’s not what really happened, is it?” he asked, walking alongside me. I couldn’t help but notice the stares coming from the self-righteous shitheads Emily surrounded herself with. I couldn’t help but not care either.
“Nope,” I confessed. “But let her have this. The real story is . . . a little embarrassing.”
“What, did she walk into a door or something?” he said pointedly. “She’s not getting abused by a boyfriend or anything, is she?”
His fierce tone took me by surprise, and I ignored the light flutter in my stomach. He did protective so damn well.
“No, not at all,” I assured him. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, and it definitely wasn’t a domestic.”
“You’re not going to tell me what really happened?”
“Sorry.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Girl Code. I’m legally bound to secrecy.”
Drayton held the door open for me, people still watching us. “I get it, Cheer. That’s actually one of the things I like about you.”
I contemplated his words for a few feet until we were standing next to my locker. “There’s more than one thing you like about me?”
“See ya, Dallas.”
The bell rang and he strode down the corridor, disappearing in the sea of students. I was holding out for the moment when he didn’t end a conversation with more questions than it started with.
I opened my locker and pulled out the books for first and second periods—English with Gabby after homeroom, and then history. I clutched the books and closed the door, receiving a hell of a fright when I found Gabby on the other side. She grinned and bounced up and down on the spot.
“Tell me everything. Are you guys, like, seeing each other? I ship it.”
“First of all,”—I gestured at her happy dance—“that’s cute. Second of all, no. We aren’t doing anything.”
We wove through the crowded corridor toward homeroom. She continued, “So how did you end up at his house? How did he end up dropping you off? I need to know everything.”
“Your thirst for scandal never ceases to concern me.”
“Tell me.”
“Fine. I accidentally wandered off alone, distracted, drunk. Drayton found me an
d offered me a ride. He said that it was dangerous to walk alone at night. He was very . . . convincing.”
“There has to be more. You slept over.” We sat down beside each other at our homeroom desks. I glanced around at the surrounding students and shook my head.
“We slept. There was a little chitchat, but other than that, it was uneventful.”
I also left out the fact that his spectacular, sculpted body had been on top of mine for a moment or two. It made me breathless to remember, and if I told her, she wouldn’t contain herself. She’d also develop hope for something more, and that wasn’t happening.
“Okay,” she scoffed after a moment of bewildered staring. “That is so boring. You are so boring.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “That’s me.”
I was an aching mess of sore muscles, and my joints groaned in protest when I got out of the car at the diner that afternoon. Cheer practice had been brutal. Our sessions weren’t going to be light as we approached the new season. Nathan had sent me a text:
D, leave the keys in the car, I need to use it tonight.
After a quick sweep of the parking lot, I slid the keys under the seat. Castle Rock was a safe place, for the most part. Not perfect, but it could be worse. I tapped out a quick response as I wandered toward the diner’s doors.
I don’t finish until nine. Can you please pick me up?
The usual afternoon rush was in full swing when I walked into the old establishment. Our local diner—Rocky Ryan’s—captured the essence of our corner of the world. The walls were painted a sky grey, the floors were stone, and photographs of mountains and the red rocks of the Garden of the Gods were all over the walls. Ryan, the owner of our little diner, loved spending time there—the views were spectacular.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told Stefan, a co-worker with an immaculate burnt-orange comb-over and a posture that could rival royalty, as I rushed back from the staff room while slipping on a blue apron and my name tag.
He glanced at the clock as he accepted a ten from a customer and smiled. “You’re just on time.”
“Order up,” Joe—our chef—called from the kitchen as a plate was slid through the window between the counter and the kitchen. I noted all of the orders that were hanging from the magnetic strip above the window and winced. It wouldn’t be a slow evening.
With two plates of waffles with all of the toppings in hand, I approached a table where two of our regulars were seated. The Fishers were a couple in their eighties who came in once a week for their waffle date. It was the cutest thing in the world.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No, dear.” Mrs. Fisher gave me a pat on the arm, her wrinkles deepening with her wide smile. “You look beautiful, Dallas.”
I smiled and thanked her. She told me that whenever she saw me. It was sweet. I was envious of her grandchildren. She reminded me of my grandmother—full of smiles and flattering compliments.
The orders didn’t slow down. I retrieved used plates from vacant tables, refilled coffee, and handed out pitchers of water. No one was left waiting or wanting something new when I was done with a third routine check of the floor.
“You’re doing that dancing thing again.” Stefan laughed as I waited at the window behind the counter for another order. I didn’t bother turning around but I couldn’t help but chuckle. Customers often commented on the fact that I danced around the diner while I delivered food and wiped down tables.
“Good afternoon,” Stefan greeted someone with his impeccable politeness. “How can I help?”
“I was hoping that she could serve me.” I heard a familiar voice. “If she’s not too busy.”
I turned around to face Stefan’s confused look and realized whom the familiar voice belonged to.
“Josh?”
Josh looked more put together than he had on Sunday. His hair was slicked back into a little flick where it ended at the base of his neck. He was wearing a pale-blue fitted T-shirt and slim charcoal jeans. He had a little stud in one ear and a chain-link bracelet around his wrist.
“Hey.” He smiled and pointed at me with a debit card in his hand. “I didn’t know that you work here.”
“I have for a while.” I gestured for Stefan to switch places and he obliged with a smile, collecting the food that I had been waiting on. “Only part time, usually after school.”
“Makes sense. I’m usually here for lunch. Their burgers are the best.”
“What brings you in this afternoon?”
“Dray just finished football practice.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and I looked past him to the parking lot. Josh noticed me staring at the car and said, “He’s on the phone with his dad. So it’s just me. I’ll let him know that you said hello. You’re . . . together? Right?”
“No.” I chortled and shook my head. “Me and Drayton? Nope.”
Josh glanced behind him when a couple came in and lined up. Stefan stepped in and served them on the other register. “My bad.” He turned back to me. “I just assumed.”
“It happens.” I gave him a tight smile and noted that his eyes were a dark blue. Almost grey. It was a nice color. “Did you want to order?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and glanced at the chalkboard on the wall behind me. “I’ll have . . . one chicken, bacon, and guac burger, one double beef with no sauces and spinach instead of lettuce. One cola, one water, a large fries aaaaand”—he stretched out the word with a small voice—“perhaps a date to the first Archwood football game of the season on Friday night?”
“What kind of a monster wants spinach instead of lettuce?” I said quickly, without thinking. Josh was cute with his inviting smile and soft eyes. He was a bit paler, and wasn’t so defined, and his presence didn’t make me feel as stupid as Dra—I swallowed with shame when I realized that I’d been comparing him to his best friend. I felt nauseated.
“I’m not a date sort of girl.” I winced and felt as though I’d kicked a small dog when his smile fell. “I-I’m a casual, no-strings-attached, in-and-out sort of girl. I prefer to disclose that from the get-go. You know?”
“Casual, no expectations, that’s your sort of arrangement?” Josh asked.
“Yeah.” I nodded and slid the debit machine over. “Seventeen dollars.”
He slid the card through the machine, and I watched, feeling sort of miserable for rejecting him. Swiping left was so much less brutal than turning someone down in person.
“Well,” I started before I could stop myself, “I cheer. At the games. I’m a cheerleader. But there’s a big party after the game. You must know Maxon?”
“Of course.” He smiled and pushed the machine back toward me.
“We could go to that together. If you don’t mind casual?”
“I love casual.” He slipped his debit card into his pocket. “I just got out of a relationship not that long ago. Casual is great.”
“Okay.” I smiled and nodded and wondered what the heck I was doing.
“We’ll go from the game?”
“Do you mind picking me up at home afterward? That way I can change first.”
“Sure.”
I scribbled down my number on the back of one of our catering cards and slipped it inside of his to-go bag when his food was ready. He winked, assuring me that he looked forward to Friday, and I watched him leave in a stupor.
I supposed it couldn’t be that different from the usual approach that I took. It just wasn’t arranged on Tinder and it wasn’t a total stranger. It was Drayton’s best friend and live-in housemate. Oh well.
It might be fun.
Chapter 7
The week went along without another incident from Drayton. We talked in economics. We had a laugh on the field during practice. And I was adamant about ignoring how his laugh made me a little weak and his stupid humor made me giggle
. He hadn’t mentioned the fact that Josh and I had texted about Friday, so I didn’t bring it up. In the kindest way possible, it was none of his business, even if Josh was his best friend.
I spent the entire week debating whether or not I should cancel the “not date” with Josh. I was at war with the decision right up until Friday rolled around and then I thought, screw it, I wasn’t going to cancel on the day—that would be rude.
Gabby and I sat at the bottom of the bleachers beside the tunnel to the left of the field. The pep rally started soon, but Emily hadn’t ordered us into formation. I was watching kids pile into the stands with anticipation and excitement.
My face had two thick maroon stripes on either side. A rich red lip and a white ribbon around my bun polished off the look. Our cheer outfits weren’t so bad—a maroon and white cropped tank top and a skirt with a small triangle cut out of the bottom corner. The material was soft but strong. It had to be so that we didn’t tear out of our skirts when we dropped into the splits or caught a member from a tall fall.
“Are you sure you can’t come tonight?” I asked Gabby for the thousandth time.
She pouted, no doubt miserable over being reminded that her mother had requested that she spend the night helping her roll dough for bread. Camilla was an assistant baker at Barb’s Bakery. “I wish I could, but I sort of wouldn’t want to third wheel.”
“It wouldn’t be like that.” I nudged her.
“Dallas!” Emily stood at the entrance of the tunnel and waved a furious arm. “Let’s go.”
I held up a finger, signaling for her to wait. She stomped her foot.
“I have to go.” I stood up and twirled a piece of Gabby’s hair around my finger. A couple of freshman boys ran past and almost pushed me over.
“Have fun tonight.” Gabby sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Let it be known that I’m sad.”
“It’s known.” I laughed as Emily screamed at me again. “I’ll text you later. Have fun rolling dough.”
“Bitch!” she called after me as I jogged across the tarmac and into the tunnel.
