Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“You will live on donuts,” I predict.

He laughs. “Watch. I’ll get real food after I cash my first paycheck.”

Shane teases me about the way I flinch at night noises and jump at shadows. Before I know it, we’re outside my house. The lights are all off; Aunt Gabby’s car is parked out front, but since she went to Rudolfo’s with Joe, that doesn’t mean anything. I let us in and slide the bolt behind us; I lived in scary places too long to feel safe with the doors unlocked, even in a town like this. I go around flipping on lights, not just because of the movie. As I look out, the drizzle turns into a downpour, rain coming down in sheets that I see rippling in the wind.

Shane looks around, admiring pictures of my aunt and me while I go into the kitchen. I don’t ask if he’s hungry. I just start making grilled cheeses. And these aren’t ordinary sandwiches; I use sourdough bread, butter, and three kinds of cheese. While those are in the pan, I also open a can of tomato soup and start stirring, so it’ll be ready around the same time. By the time he realizes I’m making food, it’s pretty much done. I set the table for two, not wanting to deal with the stress of eating on the sofa. There’s a zero percent chance that doesn’t end with my shirt covered in red splotches.

“This is so good,” he says, after the first bite.

No point in false modesty. “I do make a mean grilled cheese.”

“I was talking about being here with you.”

I have no idea what to say, but I feel heat creeping into my cheeks. Fortunately—or unfortunately—depending on your point of view, my phone rings. It’s my aunt checking in, so I have to take it. I hold up a hand at Shane, motioning him to silence.

“How are things?” I ask Gabby.

“Good. But it’s raining pretty hard and Joe’s worried about the drive back.” My aunt’s never indicated she wanted to stay out all night before, so this feels oddly like she’s asking my permission. The weather is an excuse.

“Don’t take any chances,” I tell her. “It’s bad here, too.”

“Are you sure you won’t be scared?”

I glance at Shane. “No, I’m fine. I’m home already. The movie was fun.”

It’s not lying if she doesn’t ask, right?

“Okay, Sage. Make sure you lock up and check all the doors and windows. I won’t make a habit of this, I promise.”

It’s okay, I think. You deserve a life.

“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Have fun. I expect all the hot, sweaty details tomorrow.”

This is a safe joke because I know Aunt Gabby will never open her bedroom door to me. Proving me right, she makes a horrified noise, and I laugh, disconnecting the call. Shane has paused, waiting for me before he continues eating. This strikes me as incredibly polite.

He gives me a questioning look as we go on with our meal. “You’re on your own tonight?”

“Apparently,” I answer. “Do you want another sandwich or more soup?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I’m glad he’s not complaining anymore about how I feed him like a stray dog. That’s not it at all; I just can’t stand anyone going hungry, mostly because I had my share of it, growing up. Shane’s not a helpless kid like I was, but I can’t change how I respond to his situation. Efficiently, I fry another grilled cheese and pour the rest of the tomato soup into his cup.

“At school, you said you lived in a bad area before.” It’s not a question.

I get that he deserves to know more about me, but I can’t spill everything. Not yet. The whole truth will probably change how he sees me. But … this is the first time I’ve wanted to let anyone else all the way in—and it’s fairly terrifying.

So I nod. “Before I moved here, I lived in a scary part of Chicago with my mother.”

“Where is she now?” he asks.

Sickness roils in my stomach. “Gone.”

All kinds of questions percolate in his gaze, but this isn’t something I can confide over bowls of soup. In fact, nobody here knows about my life before I moved. At first it was because I was struggling so hard to keep my head above water, and then my silence came from shame. I didn’t want anyone to know the girl I was before. In order to survive, I had to reinvent myself. I glimpse the moment he decides my mother abandoned me … and she did, when I was a baby. But the whole truth is so much worse.

“What about your dad?”

That’s simultaneously easier … and harder. “When I was seven, he died in a car wreck.”

“Oh God, Sage.”

This, I can talk about with him, an offering out of respect for what he shared the other day. “I was in second grade … the police came to school.”

In halting words, I tell Shane how I sat outside the principal’s office after the teacher pulled me out of class, wondering what I did, why I was in trouble. Up until that point, my life was pretty normal. Like other people, I had one parent at home. My dad had a mail route; I took the bus to after-school daycare, where he picked me up around four thirty. But that day, I sat for half an hour outside the main office waiting for someone to explain all the whispering and sad looks. Eventually, a policewoman came and said, “I’m sorry, honey.”

I stayed at school for a long time while they tried to figure out what to do with me. My dad didn’t have any near relatives on file, so I ended up with a foster family in the district. The courts thought it was best not to disrupt my routine any more than necessary, but I’d just lost my dad. Everything was messed up, and it got worse when the system located my mother.

I stop talking then. This feels like a fair distribution of facts; he knows one of my secrets and I know one of his. I take a deep breath because it’s hard talking about my dad. He was a good guy, who made pancakes with smiley faces on Sunday mornings. He took me to the park and he helped me with my homework. But when your whole world hinges on one person, it’s like a house of cards that collapses at the first gust of wind. Yet when things were at their worst with my mom, I clung to those memories. In the end, they weren’t enough to keep me from the flames.

“Wow,” he says softly. “You really do understand.”

I’m glad he didn’t offer sympathy for my loss. That’s bullshit. Most people who spout platitudes have no idea how you feel, the way loss chews at you until you’re a bottomless hole. They just want to fill an awkward silence.

“Maybe not exactly.” I’ve never nursed anyone I cared about, but I know the feeling once they’re gone.

“Closer than anyone else.” Shane’s got this look in his eyes, like he’s about to open some door between us.

“Are you done?” I ask.

He nods, so I take our plates and stack them in the sink. The rain patters on the roof, but it’s warm and cozy inside. I head back into the living room and turn on the TV. There’s never anything on—we don’t have cable since Aunt Gabby thinks it’s a waste of money—but we have a decent DVD collection. I drop onto the sofa and wave toward the shelves.

“Pick something.”

Shane puts in a slightly campy movie filled with aging action heroes. Then he sits beside me, though I didn’t leave him much choice by picking the middle of the couch. I’m glad when he puts an arm around me, so I can settle against him. We watch for a few minutes in silence, but I’m too conscious of his fingers on my shoulder to pay much attention.

Trying to seem relaxed, I turn my head to say something about the plot and realize he’s really close. In fact, I’ve caught him smelling my hair. He freezes like it’s not okay, and embarrassment raises red flags in his cheeks.

He pulls back with a mumble. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t mind.” I’m trying to tell him so much more than that, but I don’t have the words.

Neither of us is watching the movie. He’s just staring at me through his tousled curls. Shane shakes his hair out of his face, eyes intent on mine.

“So this is definitely a date?” I ask.

“What do you think?”

“I wasn’t sure. You said you needed a friend—”

“And I wasn’t sure what your deal was. Everyone thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend of two years, but you claimed you were never together. So what was I supposed to say when you showed up at my house?”

Put in that context, it was surprising he hadn’t suspected I was crazy. You don’t get over a long relationship and move on that fast, unless there’s something messed up in your head. “I’m glad you gave me the benefit of the doubt. I mean … you did, right? You believe me or you wouldn’t be here.” I remember how he suspected I might be using him to make Ryan jealous.

“Yeah. But I have to ask. Do you go after all guys you like this way?”

“All I did was bring you some soup,” I say, indignant.

“And multiple lunches. You also got me involved in your environmental group, then invited me to Sunday lunch with your other friends and your aunt. Plus, you found me a job indirectly.”

Put that way, it does sound like I’ve made a project of him, but it wasn’t a conscious endeavor. As far as the P&K goes, I only wanted to help, plus it’s not like I ran around town. Big deal, I asked my aunt if she knew of anything, then Shane got the job on his own. The other stuff just kind of happened.

“I had nothing to do with you coming to help clean up the lot,” I mumble.

Which is true. I didn’t invite him; he volunteered.

Shane smiles. “You had everything to do with it. I wouldn’t have been there if you weren’t. And you still didn’t answer my question.”

The heat in my cheeks actually burns, and I can’t meet his gaze. “No. I’ve never liked anyone before. I mean, last year, I had a bit of a crush on Ryan, but he didn’t seem interested, so I left it alone. It seemed better not to ruin our friendship.” I lift my chin to check if he believes me.

His eyes darken at the words crush and Ryan. “You need to explain exactly what happened there. I know he’s not happy with me, but I don’t understand the problem. If you liked him last year and people thought you were already going out…” He’s getting tense, I can tell, and he said he doesn’t want any drama.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” I whisper.

“I’ll keep it off my vast gossip network.” The irony in his tone doesn’t escape me.

So I give him the rundown on everything that’s passed between us: how we were the best of friends and then I bailed, after learning how he used me to keep anyone from suspecting his real secret. When I finish, Shane looks as shocked as my aunt Gabby.

“That tall, skinny kid? Really?”

I nod. “And I’ve met Cassie.”

“So where do I fit in all of this?”

I realize then; he doesn’t understand that I’m just … drawn to him. He’s trying to figure out the reasons. “You don’t. Ryan has nothing to do with why I’m hanging out with you.”

“Then I don’t get it. I’m nothing special.”

“You are to me.”

There’s no way to explain why some people like coffee and others prefer tea. And that’s how I feel, frustrated because Shane thinks I have an agenda. But it also tells me he’s insecure, too, which is reassuring. With all my other issues, trying to date would be worse if he was all smooth and experienced.

“I’m not used to this,” he says softly. “I was pretty invisible at my old school … until I started causing trouble. Then I became That Kid. Everyone saw me after my mom died, but nobody wanted to. I was just another problem to solve.”

“I do want to help, but only because I’m wired that way. I’m not trying to fix you.” I hesitate before adding, “I don’t see you as broken.”

Not like me. And I’m so afraid that if I tell you everything, you won’t see me as more than the pieces they swept up after.

Shane lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “At this point, I should probably say, stay away from me. I don’t have anything good to give you right now, but then I think about not talking to you anymore and my chest hurts.”

“I can’t,” I point out. “You moved into my locker. Look, we’ll take it one day at a time. It’s pretty clear I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. So … relax.”

“I don’t know how to be a boyfriend,” he warns me.

I cock a brow at him, smiling. “That’s too bad … since I have a PhD in girlfriendology from the University of So Many Feelings.”

He laughs, as I intend. Then he’s leaning toward me. I have a panicked moment when I worry that I won’t know what to do, but when he tilts his head, I go the other way automatically, and it’s pretty natural when our lips meet. He kisses me tenderly, and it’s everything a first kiss should be. I sink my hands into his curls as his arms go around me. Shane’s so warm, his lips moving on mine in slow, gentle glides. It’s a sunbeam of a kiss, all delicious heat and lazy pleasure. When Shane pulls away, I can’t restrain a ridiculous smile. He seems pleased with himself, cuddling me close so we can pretend to watch the rest of the movie. By the time it ends, it’s after midnight and the storm has worsened.

“You’re not walking home in this,” I tell him.

“I wasn’t looking forward to it. Are you asking me to stay over?”

“Not for sex.” It seems best to make that clear.

“Damn.” Obviously teasing, he makes a mock-disappointed face, as if he really thought that was on the table. “I can take the couch—”

“I’d rather have you with me.” This is a unique opportunity to be close to Shane, so I can’t look a gift horse—or storm—in the mouth. We can probably make do in my bed. It’s a daybed, but if we curl up close, it should work. Aunt Gabby has a bigger one, but it would be too weird to sleep in there with Shane. It’s odd as I go about the nightly check, which my aunt usually performs. She looks at all the windows and doors, making sure everything is fastened and bolted. Two women living alone can’t be too careful, she says, and I appreciate that she doesn’t call me a kid.

“Do you do this every night?” he asks.

“My aunt does.”

After I’m sure the house is as safe as we can make it, I turn out most of the lights and lead the way back to my bedroom. Then I find Shane a large University of Michigan shirt that my aunt stole from some past boyfriend and never gave back. I’m wondering, Do we have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom? I think so. Aunt Gabby buys stuff when it’s on sale. So I pull a new blue one from an open package and hand it to him.

“You can wash up and change in the bathroom.”

This isn’t a normal date; I know that much. They usually end because somebody has a curfew, or people waiting at home, but the way things have worked out, nothing is ordinary between us. And maybe that’s how it should be.

While he’s occupied, I put on my pajamas quickly. I’m grateful they’re long-sleeved because I don’t want to have that conversation with him tonight. Most people don’t notice, but I’ve always got on a sweater, shrug, or hoodie, covering my arms. For some girls, it might be the fact that their biceps aren’t toned enough, but I’m hiding something else entirely.

Shane grins when he sees me in the green thermal jammies. Clearly I’ve dressed for seduction. But he’s still wearing his jeans, though he’s barefoot now and I can see he’s washed his face. I still need a turn in the bathroom.

“You can take them off,” I say, embarrassed. “You have on boxers, right?”

He nods. As I head off to brush my teeth, I tell myself it’s no different from shorts and a T-shirt and I’m wearing enough clothes for both of us. I putter, taking more time than usual. When I get back, he’s already in bed. He’s left the cushions behind him, pressed up against the back of the daybed to leave me more room. It’s a good idea and if I sleep on my side, too, we should manage. I flick off the light, then walk toward him, wondering if he’s as nervous as I am. What if I snore or drool? We don’t know each other well enough to get past that. Do we? In some ways, it feels like I’ve known him forever, as if I’ve waited for him twice that long.

Crazily, it feels like this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lying in Shane’s arms is the best thing in the world.

I mean, it takes us a while to work out the perfect position—and there’s some awkward squirming—but once I settle against his chest, I feel like a bomb could go off and I’d still be safe. I’m not used to that feeling. The last time I had it, I was with my dad. When I was little, he’d always take me to see the Fourth of July parade and he’d toss me up onto his shoulders, so I could see better and I never once thought he’d let me fall. Snuggled up against Shane, that’s exactly how I feel right now. Well, the security part, not the dad part. Not even close.

“Can I ask you something?”

He stirs against me, moving his hand over my back. “I think you just did.”

“What was it like with your mom?” Maybe the question is too personal, but I want to understand him, and this seems like the obvious place to start.

“There were good days and bad days. When she was in remission, I could pretend everything was fine. She did more then. Worked on her songs.”

“She was a musician, too?”

“Yeah. She’s the one who taught me to play the guitar. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t singing … except at the very end.”

“Alto or soprano?”

“Alto. When I was a kid, I thought all moms made up songs about broccoli.”

“She sounds like she was wonderful.”

Shane nods; I feel the movement against my head. That’s how close we are. Maybe it’s easier for him to talk about her because it’s dark and he can’t see my face. “It’s been nine months, but sometimes I forget. Like, I wake up in a panic because I can’t remember if she’s had all her meds.”

“I have bad dreams, too.” Hopefully he won’t ask about them. I also hope he doesn’t think I’m saying that for attention. I just want him to know that he’s not alone.

“Not tonight,” he promises. “Not when we’re together.”

“You either.”

“I feel okay,” he says.

That’s enough to make me smile. “Night,” I whisper.

I expect to have trouble sleeping, but the next thing I know, it’s morning with light shining through my window and birds making a racket outside. (Did I ever mention that I hate birds?) Shane looks cute, even at this hour. He’s grown faint scruff on his jaw and his lashes are tangled, giving glimpses of his blue eyes like glimmers of sky through a canopy of leaves. He’s smiling, I think, as I roll out of bed. I’m a little stiff from staying in the same position all night, but nothing serious.

I’m weirdly nervous and excited at the same time. I’ve never slept with anyone before, not even girls at sleepovers because life with my mom didn’t permit anything like that … and I didn’t have any close girlfriends before this year. Besides, I don’t think Lila would want to spoon in my bed even if she did stay over. I picture her camping out on the floor instead.

“You want some breakfast?” I ask.

According to my alarm clock, it’s 8:10. I can’t imagine Joe will bring my aunt back too early, so we have time. It’s nearly an hour from the city, too. Shane rolls out of bed and scrambles into his jeans so fast that I don’t see much, then I’m left thinking about morning wood. He was holding me away from him, so I wonder—

He interrupts my blush-inducing thoughts with, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Then I need to get home. I have some things to do before my shift.”

As I look on, Shane swaps the U of M tee for his button-up and I suddenly have butterflies in my stomach. His bare chest is … delicious. He’s lean and strong without being too muscled. I don’t let on that I’ve never seen a half-naked guy up close and personal before. It’s my private opinion that I should win an Oscar for being so very cool about all of this.

I search my brain for reasonable response. “When do you work?”

“Three to eleven, Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday.”

I’m pleased to hear he’ll have Fridays free, though I can’t assume he’ll want to do this every week. And he certainly can’t stay over all the time. “Noted.”

In the kitchen, I whip up some scrambled eggs and toast. He eats quickly, but I think it’s a sign that he’s worried about being here when my aunt gets home. Afterward, he leans down to kiss me. For a few seconds, I forget my own name.

I’m dazed when he says, “See you tomorrow?” like that’s a question.

“Yeah. That reminds me … I told my aunt I’d do the shopping for tomorrow’s lunch. So when I show up at the P&K, don’t assume it’s because I’m stalking you.”

“If I was going to think that, it would’ve been when you showed up at my house, out in the middle of nowhere.”

He has a point—and it’s closer to true than I’d like to admit. “Then see you later, maybe.”

“Do you want me to help you clean up?” I shake my head, but he totally gets twenty gold stars for offering. “Later, Sage.”

Shane shrugs into his jacket and he’s out the door at a quick jog. I’d like to say I don’t stand at the window to watch until he turns off my street. That would be a lie. Eventually I get motivated enough to clean the kitchen and hide the evidence of my sleepover. I feel so awful; this is the first truly bad thing I’ve done since I got here. So I work like crazy all morning to make up for it. The house is spotless by the time Aunt Gabby sweeps in at ten; she doesn’t have time to do anything but change her clothes before work. I’m glad Joe doesn’t come in. Though I like the guy well enough, I’m not eager to make conversation on a Saturday morning, especially when I suspect he boned my aunt the night before.

“You have enough money to buy stuff for tomorrow? If not, there’s some cash in the coffee can,” she tells me as she sweeps out the door.

“Bye!” I call, feeling guilty that she trusts me and here I let a boy spend the night.

She can never find out. She thinks you’re better, that you’re good.

I do a couple hours of homework while ignoring the ping of texts from Ryan. Once I finish, I check my phone, still in my bag from the night before. To my surprise, they’re not just from Ryan. I have messages from multiple people, including Lila and the sophomores.

Text from Ryan: did u have fun last night

Text from Lila: will pick u up at 7:15, ok?

I realize then that I haven’t asked my aunt if I can go to a party at the Barn. She thinks we’re making lasagna tonight. Crap. Having a social life is complicated. The other messages are confirming the time for lunch tomorrow. Quickly I send replies: yes, yes, and 2:30, see you then.

If I do some prep work, we can probably put together the pasta before I leave with Lila. So I head to the market to do the shopping, then I get to work in the kitchen.

Later, when Aunt Gabby calls, I say, “All we need to do is finish up when you get here.”

“This much ambition means you want something.”

She’s sharp, my aunt. “Y’know. I forgot to ask earlier, but … is it okay if I go with Lila to a party out at the Barn tonight? Transportation is covered.”

“No drinking to excess,” she says. “And be home by midnight.”

It’s cool that she doesn’t ask if there will be liquor or parental supervision. Since my aunt grew up here, she knows what goes on out at the Barn, and I’m sure she partied out there a time or two, back in the day. Instead she trusts me not to drink until I vomit or do anything ridiculous.

“Done,” I promise.

“And I expect to hear about Shane while we fix the lasagnas. Those are my terms.”

“I accept.”

Just then, I hear the bell jingle, which means she has an actual customer, not an order from the interwebs. “Gotta go. See you in a bit.”

I spend the rest of the day getting ready for the party. This is my first time, but I figure nobody dresses up, so I go with jeans and a sparkly cream sweater. In the dark, I doubt anybody will notice, but I think it’s pretty. Then I put on an apron in case I manage to get red sauce on me. I’ll do my hair and makeup after we finish.

When my aunt gets home, I have everything set out with military precision. She laughs at how prepared I am. “You really want to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I’d like to see what it’s all about.”

“I’m really glad to see you branching out, making new friends. I’m looking forward to meeting them all tomorrow.”

“Should be fun.”

“So … Shane,” she prompts, filling the bottom of the pan with lasagna noodles.

Aunt Gabby is a pro at putting all of this together, so I stand back. I’ve done my share by getting it all ready and I’ll handle the salad tomorrow, plus cleanup. Taking a seat at the table, I watch while she spoons in the veggie and soy filling, cottage cheese, mozzarella, then the next layer of pasta.

“He’s phenomenal.”

“Two words aren’t getting you to a party tonight.”

I grin … and recount how the date went. Pretty much the only things I leave out are the kissing and the fact that he spent the night in my bed. I tell her that he’s a gifted guitar player and that he applied at the P&K after she told me about the HELP WANTED sign and that he got the job to help out with family expenses. I don’t share that his dad is a long-haul trucker who doesn’t even live with him. Asshole.

“A musician, huh?” Her smile seems extra curvy. “I dated one in college. Just wait until he writes you a song. That’s a guaranteed panty-dropper.”

“You did not just say that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to use that phrase.”

She shrugs as she puts the lasagna in the fridge. “You’re sixteen. Get over it.”

So Aunt Gabby only gets awkward and embarrassed when discussing her prospective sex life. Mine is apparently fair game. I mumble something about doing my hair and makeup and escape to my bedroom. As I’m getting ready, I wonder if there will be a bonfire out at the Barn—what it’ll be like exactly. This is what cool people do on weekends instead of seeing movies or hanging out in the square.

Just past seven thirty, Lila pulls up in the promised golf cart. I laugh when I see it because the thing is totally decked out with running lights. It looks like somebody featured it on an episode of Pimp My Ride. Aunt Gabby stares out the window, eyes wide.

“Are you two kidding me with this?”

“How did you think I was getting there?”

“Eh. I figured you probably caved on the car thing.”

I shake my fist, making a supervillain face. “Never!”

Then I shrug into my vintage faux-leather jacket. It has a nicely grungy look to it and a vaguely military air. Overall, I look pretty good, so I’m feeling confident as I peck my aunt on the cheek, grab my bag, and run out to join Lila before she reconsiders this idea.

“How many people honked at you on the way over here?” I ask, climbing in.

“Six.”

“Seriously?” I want to ask if it bothers her, but she’s grinning, so that would be a no.

“Yep. But this thing’s fun to drive. I kick it up to the highest setting and it gets pretty close to thirty miles an hour.” I have no idea if that’s fast, and I guess she can tell. “Normal ones do fifteen.”

I wave to my aunt as we pull away. Lila is careful to take back roads as we leave the subdivision and head out into the country. A few cars honk at us as they pass, but since the drivers are smiling and waving, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. The cops might be less amused, but the farther we get from town, the less likely it is anyone will bother us. Since the golf cart is open, it’s cold as hell, but worth it when the alternative is riding in a car. It takes about half an hour to get to the Barn, and by that time, it’s pretty late. There’s a fire crackling away, sending orange sparks up toward the dark sky. I’m glad to see it, as I wish I’d worn a scarf and gloves. Beyond, there are a bunch of cars parked in the field. Lila picks a spot where she’s not likely to be blocked in. Somebody must be in charge of the music because it’s blasting from one of the trucks.

“This is it,” she says. “Impressive enough for you?”

“I guess.” I hop out of the golf cart, ready to be amazed.

“Let me give you the grand tour. Here, we have the social types.” Lila gestures.

The ones she indicates are clustered around the fire while others run around. By the stumbling, it seems like they’re already pretty wasted. I follow Lila across the uneven ground, glad I opted for boots instead of Chucks. She points at the drunken game of tag.

“Those are the hard-core drinkers. They were probably toasted before they got here.”

“Note to self—avoid the pro drinkers to keep them from hurling on me.”

Lila grins at me. “In some cases, you’ll have to be quick. That guy’s kind of a ninja barfer.”

“Why, God, why?” I mumble.

“Hey, you wanted to come.”

I answer her smile with a smirk. “I feel like Jane Goodall, studying apes in the wild.”

“Take good notes. Maybe you can publish your findings later.” She continues by pointing at the open barn doors. “Inside, you’ll find couples doing things they should reserve for seedy hotel rooms and the backseats of cars. Beware the hayloft.”

“Do you know how scratchy hay actually is?”

“Not firsthand. But I’m not the kind to put out in a barn, regardless of what Dylan says.”

I touch her shoulder lightly. “He’s an asshole. Let’s go see who’s here.”

She ignores the kegs and the coolers full of beer. Luckily I spot some Cokes mixed in with the Budweiser and grab two of them for us. I’d prefer hot chocolate or tea, but this is strictly low-rent. A few people have brought bags of marshmallows and packs of hot dogs. I take the former from a guy who might be in my chemistry class. Because I have nothing better to do, I focus on toasting my marshmallow to the perfect shade of light brown. This feat requires absolute patience.

I’m about to eat the perfect marshmallow when Dylan Smith says, “Wow. I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here, Lila.”

In the flickering firelight, her face is pale and tense. Given how much he hates her for breaking up with him, there’s no way this doesn’t get ugly.