THIS WASN’T A CONVERSATION I should overhear, but my feet—like solid ice against the floor—refused to move. A quick, hot sweat washed over the rest of me. Chlorine prickled against my skin, and I fought the urge to vomit.
I could see the first bank of lockers to the left, a flutter of shirts and jeans, doors opening and closing. To the right, I caught a glimpse of Jodi next to the entrance to the showers. She glanced backward from time to time, peering into the space, standing guard for when I came in from the pool.
I almost hated to disappoint her.
A crash shook the second row of lockers. A muffled sob. And then, “I hate him.”
The flutter of clothes died as girls clutched jeans or a hoodies to their chests. Jodi looked on wide-eyed. No one else moved, afraid to let on they were eavesdropping on a pain so personal, it hurt to witness.
“I hate, hate, hate all guys. All of them. But most of all, I hate him.”
My bedroom walls had absorbed those words a dozen times over, every time some guy picked another girl over Nissa, every time no one asked her to a dance. A hallway diss, a bad party, and me always with the same refrain.
“Screw him. He isn’t worth it. They deserve each other.”
Only now, Sierra said those words to Nissa. I felt as though I’d walked into a very odd and very wrong alternate universe.
“It isn’t fair. Even from the start, it wasn’t fair. I met him first, but it was MacKenna he always wanted to play with, because MacKenna climbed trees, MacKenna could shoot a gun, MacKenna wasn’t afraid of leeches.” Nissa’s tone went sing-song and snotty, almost like we were back in elementary school.
I remember telling her not to chase Landon. “Don’t try to kiss him,” I’d always say. “Boys don’t like that.”
Up until middle school, I’d been right, too. Then it seemed Nissa had all the answers about boys—at least temporary answers—because some of them did like to be chased and didn’t mind when you kissed them. Except we never understood the rules to this new game, so it never lasted.
And she was right, at least, about the leeches. I was terrified of wasps, but after Dad poured salt on a leech stuck to my foot and I watched it shrivel up and die, I only felt sorry for them. It was like I’d done that to Nissa somehow, poured salt all over her dreams. Now I had no choice but to witness the aftermath.
“I was the one who friended him on Facebook,” Nissa said, her flow of words unstoppable. “I wanted to welcome him back, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I’m never speaking to either of them again.”
I swayed a little on my feet and realized I’d locked my knees. I bent them carefully, silently, and wriggled my toes. My muscles twitched from standing so still. My heart burned with shame and sorrow.
“What a bitch.” Nissa fairly spat the sentence. “Did you know—?”
“Enough.” Constance padded into view, her damp hair soaking up the fluorescent light, the black strands taking on a greenish hue. Her gaze darted—briefly—toward me, but her stride remained smooth. “Why don’t you consider not speaking about either of them? Trust me, it will make things a lot easier.”
“Eff off, Radley.” This was Sierra.
“Seriously,” Constance continued. “This over-sharing with the whole school makes us all look pretty fucking unbalanced.”
“Who cares?” Sierra said. “It’s just us in here.”
“Hello. The window.” Constance paused just long enough for everyone to confirm that, yes, one of the upper windows was cracked open. “Boys’ baseball also has Saturday practice. I’m sure they’ve enjoyed this emo-coaster ride you’ve been giving them.”
As if on her command, the sound of sneakers scuffing against asphalt, along with a few rude remarks, floated into the locker room.
“Assholes,” Constance muttered. “Like we don’t have enough problems.”
“Why don’t you ...” Sierra began.
A few things happened then. Kylie caught my eye, her expression a mix of sympathy and horror. I decided that I really needed to go home, and to do that, I needed my clothes. But most of all, this needed to end. Not even Constance could do that, not at this point. But I could. So with a persistent buzzing in my ears, my mouth parched and foul tasting, I stepped all the way into the locker room.
Everything stopped.
Jodi’s mouth hung open and she threw a quick look at the showers, as if she expected me to appear there as well. Sierra smirked like this made the whole emotional breakdown complete. I couldn’t think of a time when I loathed her more.
Nissa ducked her head, turned toward her locker, and started shoving a soaked towel into a drawstring sports bag. I took a step forward, but Constance touched my shoulder and gave her head a shake.
“I think it’s over,” she said.
Maybe. But I couldn’t abandon eleven years of friendship. The thought of it choked me. My nose still ached from where Sierra had kicked me. I pressed it gently and the shot of pain cleared my head enough that I could walk over to Nissa. It was like slogging through waist deep water. I perched on the bench next to her, gingerly, like I was approaching a feral animal. Nothing rash. No sudden movements, and everything would be okay.
“I don’t know what I did,” I said at last, quietly. The other girls could hear us, but I was going to make them work for it.
“That’s the whole problem,” Nissa said. “It’s not something you can change. It’s just the way you are and the way I’m not.”
“There isn’t anything to change,” I insisted. “I’m not going out with Landon. He’s not taking me to prom.”
“Go. Don’t go. It doesn’t matter either way.”
“Nissa.” I reached out a hand, but like that feral animal, she scooted back, a fierceness about her.
“Constance is right.” She closed her eyes for one long moment. I thought I might see tears because I felt them in my own eyes. But when she looked at me again, her eyes were dry, tinged red not from tears, but chlorine. “It’s over.”
“But—”
“Please.” She punched a few toiletries into her bag, slammed her locker door, and spun the combination.
“I’m sorry,” I said. My cheeks were damp and I didn’t care who saw it. “I didn’t mean—”
“You can’t help who you are,” she said. “And he can’t help who he is.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the locker room door. “And I can’t help hating both of you for that.”
I tracked her footfalls across the tile floor, while girls scurried back to their lockers, pretending they hadn’t been eavesdropping. Sierra jab Jodi in the ribs and they both rushed through dressing and raced from the locker room.
I remained on the bench and sensed things slowly return to normal around me. A splash of water in the sink, a toilet flush, giggles that didn’t sound cruel. My muscles tightened, my feet went beyond icy. I still didn’t move.
“Hey.” Constance sat on the bench next to me. “You okay?”
I looked at her.
“Sorry, stupid question. Do you ...?” She trailed off.
I glanced at her again, because Constance always had an answer for everything.
“Did you know,” she began again, “that I used to be jealous of you?”
“Me?”
“And Nissa. All three of you. You guys had something special, the sort of friendship only kids in mystery books have. So, yeah. I was jealous. I mean, what did I have?” She gave her shoulders a cavalier shrug. “Except attitude.”
I almost laughed. “Maybe if we weren’t so scared of you—”
Constance shook her head. “Naw, you three belonged together. But I wondered, even back then, which third wheel would fall off. You and Landon—”
I rubbed my face with my hands. “Don’t.”
“You and Landon,” Constance said again. “Fill in that blank however you want. But right now? Come on.”
She dragged me up by one arm and steered me toward my locker. I dressed without showering, and wondered idly if there was some sort of world’s record for not showering after swim practice. We left the locker room together, the last two out.
In the lobby, she headed for the front doors. “Want a lift to the overflow lot?” she asked.
“No, it’s not that far.”
“See ya Monday, then.”
“See ya,” I echoed.
Halfway down the corridor, I realized, belatedly, that I should’ve thanked her.
Outside, I inhaled the scent of warm, new grass, the earthy smell that comes from those first spring days when the ground soaks up the heat. I tried to rid my lungs of residual chlorine and closed my eyes against the bright light. When I opened my eyes, I saw a flame yellow Corvette in the overflow lot—and Landon. He leaned against my Jeep, arms folded over his chest, head tipped back as if to catch the full force of the afternoon sun.
I walked a slow, deliberate pace to my Jeep. When I was three steps from Landon, I let the backpack with all my swim stuff slip from my shoulder and into my hand. I dug in the side pocket for my keys.
Landon didn’t move. “Boarding school,” he said.
“What?”
“You asked where I’d been for the past five years. I was at an all-boys boarding school.”
Oh. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“I need.” I jangled the keys at him.
“I don’t think you should be driving.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t have a broken nose or a head injury.”
“I wasn’t talking about that. I meant after.”
After? As in the locker room?
“Tell me you don’t hang out with the boys’ baseball team.”
“Wish I didn’t, sometimes. Like today.”
Oh, God. He’d heard it all. I could tell by the odd mix of pity and sorrow on his face. It was all out there, from Nissa’s over-share to my pathetic attempts at fixing things.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
“It’s been an awful day.” I clutched my keys tighter. “I want to go home, I want to get there in my own car, and I want to be alone.”
He pushed off the side of the Jeep and stepped forward. “I don’t think you should be alone.” He took another step. “I think you need someone.” A third step. “And I think you need them right about now.”
He’d close the space between us, and my feet refused to move even as my head screamed, Run! I went to suck in a gulp of air, then stopped, taking slow, shallow breaths instead, so Landon wouldn’t see me panic.
“I’m sorry about today,” he said. “I never thought things would get so ... crazy.”
Honestly, neither did I, although in retrospect, maybe I should have. I needed to move, before things got even crazier. The air between us shimmered, our combined heat warming the space. I could get to my car now, I thought. Sidestep Landon, jump in, and peel out of the parking lot.
Except I wanted his warmth more.
“Are you ...?” He raised a hand, the move so tentative that I held still. His fingertips grazed my nose, my cheeks, my lips. I felt my eyelids flutter and my swim bag hit the ground. I concentrated on my breathing, as if the second he touched me, I’d forgotten how.
“Are you okay?” he said, voice so soft, so close, it felt like a caress.
Everything stilled around us. If cars drove past, I didn’t hear them. If someone left school, I didn’t see them. Landon’s fingers came to rest on my lips. I closed my eyes, caught a hint of the boy I remembered, warm nutmeg and the sharp scent of sweat. Days on the playground, evenings at the park. Running fast and hard, not to escape, but because we were free.
“I’m fine,” I whispered against his fingertips.
The warmth between us sparked without warning. His body met mine, and he kissed me then. Everything dropped away. I dropped away, my knees buckling. His arm caught me around the waist, his free hand cupped the back of my head. I slid my arms around his neck and had to trust he’d keep me standing.
He did.
When at last, he pulled away, sunspots danced before my eyes. I felt dizzy, and breathless, and like one of those silly girls on TV who go all limp just because some boy kisses them. Apparently there were physical consequences to kissing a boy—or maybe just the right one.
“Let me drive you home,” he said.
That knocked the dizziness from me. My muscles stiffened and standing on my own was a possibility again. “I can drive myself,” I declared. Sure, I sounded tough, but I still hadn’t pulled away, so it probably lacked impact.
A grin bloomed across his face, slow and easy at first, until at last, the dimple appeared. “Okay, but you have to go to prom with me.”
“I have to ... what?”
“Will you go to prom with me? Please? I’ve been thinking about this since seventh grade—”
Whoa. “Really? I don’t remember you being so emo.”
Landon threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, in seventh grade, I figured we’d just make fun of everyone else going to prom and then go play computer games.” He shrugged. “Then, I got older.”
“Will you tell me about—I mean, will you tell me what happened?” I didn’t add five years ago. We both knew what I meant.
“I will, just not right now, okay?” He jerked his head as if shaking off the whole idea of it. “Enough drama for one day.”
“Before prom,” I told him. “You have to tell me before prom, or I won’t go.”
That dimple flashed again. “So that’s a yes, right?”
It was. I couldn’t change my mind, even if I wanted to. You and Landon, Constance had said. Fill in that blank however you want. So I did.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll go to prom with you.”
I suppose there are appropriate responses to accepting a prom invitation. Making out in the Black Earth High School overflow parking lot probably isn’t one of them. And interrupting said make out session to fight? Not on the list either.
Yes, after all that, Landon still insisted on driving me home.
“Look, you got kicked in the face and in the stomach—figuratively speaking. I really don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.”
He had a point. My head still swam and my legs had that unstable, wet noodle feel to them. “I don’t want to leave my Jeep.” It seemed so vulnerable sitting here alone. And while I didn’t think Nissa would be vindictive, I had doubts about Sierra.
“I’ll come back for it,” he said. “Even if I have to walk.”
I laughed at that and gave in.
Dad barely glanced up when the flame yellow Corvette pulled into our driveway. But his grip tightened on the rake handle, and the rake itself traveled the same path, once, twice, until I’m sure whatever he was trying to do to the lawn was beside the point. His jaw tensed; and I knew: This would not be easy.
Landon bounded around the car before I even had a chance to open my door. He helped me out, although I really didn’t need it. Still, it was a good excuse to touch him, the sensation an intoxicating mix of old and new. His warmth, I remembered. Landon ran hot, always felt like he had a fever. Grandma Adele had stuck the thermometer in his ear countless times, only to stare at the readout, bemused.
“You’re normal,” she’d tell Landon.
“Oh, no you’re not,” I’d whispered. And we’d be off, Landon chasing me around the yard.
His touch felt so reassuringly the same and ... different. A little dangerous. A lot grown up. I wanted to spend at least an hour studying his hands, looking for the boy I remembered, figuring out where he’d changed.
But not with Dad standing over us, clutching what might be a lethal weapon.
“Hey, sir,” Landon said. He went from close contact to putting an arm’s length between us as we walked to where Dad stood in the center of the lawn. “I drove MacKenna home today. She got kicked in the face—”
“What?” The rake plopped to the ground and Dad launched himself forward.
“I’m okay,” I said.
Dad was in full combat mode and I knew there was no stopping him. He clutched my chin, tilted my head upward, and commanded, “Open your eyes,” when I squinted against the sunlight.
“Patti checked for a concussion.” About a dozen times. “And I don’t have any symptoms of a head injury.”
Dad grunted, clearly unimpressed with Patti’s first aid abilities. “Inside,” he said.
We marched into the house. I thought Dad might shut the door in Landon’s face, but he relented at the last moment. In the den, Dad settled me on the couch with an ice pack wrapped in a semi-clean kitchen towel. Then in half infantryman and half nerd mode, he began stage two of Operation MacKenna Head Injury.
He went online.
I closed my eyes, relaxed into the sofa cushions, muttering answers when Dad barked, “Nausea? What year were you born in?” And so on.
“Mayo Clinic,” Landon said. “It’s the best.”
I opened my eyes enough to squint at Landon. For a moment, I thought he meant for Dad to drive me all the way to Rochester, which in itself might have been a sign of a head injury. When Dad’s fingers clacked against the keyboard, I realized we were only traveling as far as the Mayo Clinic’s website.
More questions followed, at which point both Dad and Landon came to some sort of agreement that didn’t involve a hospital emergency room. Dad sat on the coffee table across from the couch, leaning forward, arms braced on his thighs.
“You okay, princess?”
“It was a rough day,” I admitted.
He brushed a few strands of stiff, chlorine-encrusted hair from my forehead. “You might consider a shower.”
I gave a short laugh.
“Hungry?” Dad asked.
All at once, I was starving, my body hollowed out from the day’s events. I wanted to fill it with everything warm, spicy, and savory. “Orange chicken and Pad Thai,” I said.
“I’ll get it.” Landon popped up, Corvette keys rattling.
Dad glanced at me, an eyebrow raised, a we’re talking about this look on his face.
“That sounds great,” I said over Dad’s shoulder.
“Back in twenty.”
Landon sprinted from the house. In the quiet that followed, Dad studied me.
“So,” he said. “You and Landon?”
That seemed to be everyone’s phrase for the day.
“Anything I should know?” he asked.
“You mean besides the fact we’re going to prom?”
“Prom. Interesting.” His words were bland, but I sensed a tension behind them. “Landon wouldn’t be the same boy who asked you the other day, would he?”
I nodded.
“And the other girl?”
“Nissa.” I squeezed my eyes shut as a single tear made a track down my cheek. Dad eased my clenched fists open and tucked a wad of tissues between my hands.
Dad on tissues: If one helped, fifty could mend a broken heart.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Landon,” Dad said. “He’s not twelve anymore.”
Oh, yeah. I sighed to myself. I’d noticed.
“People change, princes, and not always in a good way.”
I gave him another nod and swallowed hard.
“And Nissa?”
I tried to explain, what I did, what I didn’t do, how nothing worked, how despite everything, my best friend had slipped away from me. Dad handed me another wad of tissues.
“I’m sorry, princess,” he said. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to. And I’m really sorry I have to state the obvious here.”
I peeked at him from behind a gauzy shield of blue Kleenex.
“Landon’s done at least one favor for you, by my count. This is going to sound old fashioned, and I suppose it is, but when a girl has a rich boyfriend who does her favors, it has a way of coming back to bite her in the ass.”
My brain hadn’t made the Landon = boyfriend connection yet. Sure, he asked me to prom, but plenty of people went to prom and never spoke to each other again. Leave it to Dad to work out the rest of the relationship math.
“And he’s spoiled,” Dad continued, like he had a very long list he couldn’t wait to recite, “and used to getting his way—”
“Landon’s not like that,” I said.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt. And—” Dad coughed, although it sounded forced. “I want to make sure you’re ... safe.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks so fast, if I hadn’t already been lying down, the force would’ve knocked me over. Not the talk, not after everything else that had happened today. We hadn’t actually had the talk yet—that had been Grandma Adele’s territory, which she’d tackled after plying me with half a dozen OMG, My Body’s Changing type of books. That had been bad.
The talk with Dad?
Excruciating.
“Dad ...” I began.
He raised his hands. “I know, I know, princess. I just don’t want to see you hurt in any way. Seriously, today?” He tapped his chest. “I thought I’d be making a trip to the ER along with you.”
“I’m fine,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time.
“In that case.” Dad tugged one of my pigtails. “You want to wash off some of that chlorine before Landon gets back?”
I looked only marginally better after my shower. My nose was swollen and dark circles gave me a raccoon-like mask that would only get worse before school on Monday. I went heavy on the scented shower gel, the matching lotion, and body spray, so at least I smelled better. Sort of.
I headed downstairs, the tang of promised orange chicken leading me to the kitchen, the sharp spiciness of Pad Thai hitting my lungs as I walked through the door. My stomach growled—loudly. I would’ve been embarrassed except the room was empty. So was the den. So was the entire house.
Only when I returned to the kitchen did I glance through to the mud room. The door to the garage was open, and I caught the barest hint of flame yellow. Barefoot, I picked my way across oil spots and crumbling asphalt.
My Jeep was parked behind Dad’s Blazer, and I wondered how they’d managed that bit of magic. But front and center, taking most of the space in our driveway was the Corvette, the hood popped, Dad and Landon hovering over it like the engine was some grease-slicked newborn. It was another one of those alternate universe moments, this one more bizarre than horrible. Two guys, one muscle car, and presto, instant male bonding. Landon saw me first, his eyes meeting mine, his smile downright evil. Dad turned from the car—briefly—and held out an arm.
When I reached his side, he wrapped that arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Feel better?”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Good, good,” he replied, a bit absently, his gaze focused again on the Corvette. “Have you seen this, princess?”
“Actually, I see it every day at school.”
“Incredible,” Dad said. “Vintage. And it’s in awesome shape.”
I’d never seen him gush before.
“Almost vintage,” Landon said, his tone modest. “And it’s in okay shape.”
“Are you kidding?” Dad stood back and shook his head at the marvel that was Landon’s car. “It’s—it’s—”
“It could use a good road workout,” Landon said. “I’ve been busy with the swim show and haven’t had the chance.” He pulled the keys from his pocket. “Want to take it for a spin, sir?”
The keys struck Dad’s chest and he caught them one handed. I watched his gaze flicker between me and the Corvette.
“I don’t have a head injury,” I told him, “so you wouldn’t be an awful dad if you drove it around the block.”
He was dying to, I could tell. He kissed my non-injured head and let out a whoop. Honestly, he was a big kid sometimes. Landon shut the hood and Dad had the Corvette backed up and in the road faster than was probably legal.
In the haze of exhaust, I said, “I hope the cops don’t stop him.”
“It made him happy, didn’t it?” Landon circled his arms around my waist, pulled my back against his chest, and nestled his chin on my shoulder. I felt complete, like after all this time, this was exactly what was missing.
“It did.” I sighed. “Maybe too much. He … he isn’t always so—” Reckless? Weird? Alternating between hard-ass Dad and a sixteen-year-old with his dream car?
“He’ll be fine,” Landon said. “Plus, this does wonders for me. I’m still the entitled, rich brat, but now I’m one with a little street cred.”
I spun in Landon’s arms. “Oh, God, he didn’t say anything, did he?”
He laughed. “It’s dripping off him. I can’t believe he left us alone.”
Actually, now that he mentioned it, neither could I.
“So, that gives us what?” Landon grinned down at me. “Twenty minutes?”
“Fifteen,” I said. “If we’re lucky.”
“So? What do you want to do?”