Chapter
ten
I want to drive to Maple Valley to talk with Ricardo,” Britt told her sisters the next day over lunch at the Edge of the Woods Bakery and Tearoom. “But Zander doesn’t think it’s safe, and I’m having a hard time convincing him otherwise.”
Britt and Willow had just accompanied Nora to her final wedding dress fitting, where they’d clucked appropriately over how fantastic Nora looked in her gown.
They were carving out time for a sisters lunch before all three returned to work. So far, Britt had selected a seat, decided that seat didn’t suit her, and forced her sisters to play musical chairs until she’d found the right spot. They’d placed their orders and their iced tea had been delivered.
“Convincing Zander of stuff didn’t used to be so hard,” Britt said.
“Hmm,” Willow said noncommittally.
“I noticed that he slipped out of your birthday party early.” Nora sipped her tea. “What was that about?”
“He couldn’t stand that guy Reid.”
“The well-built blonde?” Willow asked.
“Right.”
“He seemed gregarious,” Nora said.
“If I knew what that meant, I might agree,” Britt told her.
“Gregarious means affable. Convivial.”
Britt smiled. “Way to define a big word with more big words, Nora.”
“Gregarious means outgoing. Social. How’s that?”
“Better,” Britt replied. “And yes. Reid is outgoing and social for the most part. But he and Zander almost came to blows when Reid spilled his drink on Zander’s shirt.”
“Really?” Nora’s brown eyes widened.
Another noncommittal “Hmm” from Willow.
Britt zeroed in on her oldest sister. “What are those hmms a placeholder for? What are you not saying?”
Willow gave her an innocent look. “Nothing.”
Suspicion needled Britt. “Nora?”
She, too, put on an innocent look. “Nothing.”
Britt could guess the direction of their thoughts.
They were thinking that Zander hated Reid because Reid had been flirting with her. And Reid’s flirting would only have caused Zander to hate Reid if Zander liked her as more than a friend.
Their server arrived and set their plates of food before them. Willow knew the woman personally and inquired about her children while Britt considered her bistro salad. Goat cheese, spiced pecans, dried cranberries, pulled chicken, and sliced apples dotted a base of spinach.
Over the years, each time Maddie had suggested to Britt that Zander liked her as more than a friend, Britt had done everything she could to blow the idea off as absurd. Her sisters knew this. Even though Britt sensed that they agreed with Maddie, Willow and Nora had been too tactful and too careful to confront Britt openly on the topic of Zander.
Which had suited Britt perfectly. In the past, whenever they’d reached a point in a conversation—like the one they’d reached now—where a discussion of Zander’s feelings toward her had become an option, Britt had avoided talking about it. So had Willow and Nora.
No doubt her sisters had avoided discussing Zander’s feelings because they’d known Britt wouldn’t take it well. But now that she was thinking it through from their perspective, it seemed logical to assume that they’d avoided that discussion for Zander’s sake, too.
Willow and Nora were two of Zander’s biggest admirers. It could be . . . Great Scott. It could be that they’d remained quiet out of loyalty to him, not wanting to blab about a subject Zander himself had never broached.
For two weeks straight since her trip to the Central Library with Zander, Britt had been at war with herself over him. Praying over it hadn’t helped. Waiting for her infatuation to fade hadn’t helped. Scolding herself hadn’t helped. Neither had her attempts to lose herself in her newest truffle recipe.
Until now, she hadn’t wanted to hear Willow and Nora’s thoughts on Zander. But now she did.
When their server left, Britt said, “I have a confession to make about Zander,” before either of her sisters had time to reach for their forks. The statement had the desired effect. It immediately commanded Willow’s and Nora’s full attention.
Britt tended to view her sisters through a lens of deep familiarity. When she saw Willow, she saw gentleness and steadiness. When she saw Nora, she saw kindness and trustworthiness.
It took more scrutiny to notice that the pale pink of Willow’s top complemented her pale pink lip gloss and blond hair. Her highly observant green eyes were set into startlingly perfect features.
Nora wore a navy cardigan, accented by a thin belt at her waist. Her side-parted cinnamon-colored hair framed a pale, heart-shaped face. A face so approachable that it invited confidences.
“After thirteen years of friendship,” Britt told them, “I seem to be developing a . . . crush on Zander.”
Both sisters’ mouths hinged open. Then, simultaneously, both began to smile.
“I keep tying to ignore these ridiculous swoony feelings,” Britt continued, “hoping that they’ll go away. But so far that hasn’t been working.”
“Neither of you is looking sympathetic,” Britt noted.
“Oh! Sorry about that.” Nora attempted an expression of contrition and failed.
“I guess,” Willow said, “I’m happy because . . . maybe . . . this is a good thing?” She gave an elegant shrug.
“Yes! Have you stopped to consider that this might be a good thing?” Nora asked.
“No. I’ve had Zander in my life all this time and we’re as close as we are because we’re friends.” A movie reel of images whipped through her brain. She and Zander sitting together at high school football games. She and Zander eating the chocolate soufflé they’d made. She and Zander kayaking. She and Zander painting the inside of her house before she moved in. She and Zander dancing at a club to brighten her spirits after her relationship with one of her boyfriends had disintegrated. He was the one she called when she needed help, when she received good news or bad, when she was discouraged or elated or uncertain. “Breakups don’t usually happen between friends, but they happen all the time between boyfriends and girlfriends.”
“I hear you,” Willow said. “But not every romance ends in a breakup. Mom and Dad’s hasn’t.”
“John’s and mine hasn’t,” Nora said.
“Corbin’s and mine hasn’t,” Willow said.
“You’re suggesting that Zander and I might fall in love and live happily ever after?”
“Why not?” Willow asked.
“Who better to fall in love with than him?” Nora spoke in the reasonable tone she used when guiding her library patrons toward the next sensible step in their ancestry research. “You already know him very well, and you already like him tremendously.”
“You share history,” Willow added. “You have the same interests. He’s wickedly smart.”
“He’s a Christian,” Nora said. “You know his character.”
“Plus,” Willow added, “he’s handsome.”
“That dark hair!” Nora sighed. “Those blue eyes!”
Willow nodded. “He’s got that whole fiery but introverted thing down.”
If her sisters were trying to be impartial, they were doing a terrible job. “And in this happily-ever-after scenario of yours, you assume that Zander will want to date me and then love me forever. Even though he’s never given me a reason to think that’s the case.”
Her sisters regarded her with hopeful patience.
“Do you think he wants to date me?” Even as Britt asked the question, the muscles at the back of her neck constricted. Some uneasy part of her didn’t want to hear their answer. Why? Why was it hard to confront even the idea that Zander might want to date her?
“Are you sure you want to know what we think about Zander’s feelings?” Willow’s level gaze cautioned Britt not to plunge thoughtlessly into information that might end up changing things she didn’t want changed.
Was she sure that she wanted to know? Yes. No. “I’m sure.”
Their plates of food continued to sit before them, untouched. “You need to keep in mind that this is just my opinion,” Willow said. “I’m not speaking for Zander.”
“Me neither,” Nora said. “I’ve never talked to him about this.”
“Nor I,” Willow said.
“Fine,” Britt told them.
“And you won’t hold what we say against Zander?” Nora asked.
“No.”
“Or let it damage the relationship you have with him?”
“Oh, good grief,” Britt said irritably. She already knew what they were going to say because they wouldn’t have bothered with such a big lead up if they were simply going to say he didn’t want to date her. They might be a few years older than she was, but there was no reason to treat her like she was twelve. “Just spit it out.”
Willow’s posture radiated calm. “My answer is yes. I think Zander wants to date you.”
“So do I,” Nora said.
She’d anticipated what they’d say. Even so, hearing it out loud rattled her old beliefs so fiercely that it stole her breath. “Let’s eat.” She speared a bite of salad.
Ordinarily, she found the tearoom soothing. All at once, the hum of conversation among the largely retirement-age diners, the whitewashed walls, and even their table’s bouquet of daffodils and green berries grated on her nerves.
As Britt chewed, she watched a drip of condensation zigzag down the exterior of her glass.
Willow spoke first. “If Zander does want to date you, then that might explain why he doesn’t want you anywhere near Ricardo, who might be dangerous. And why he couldn’t stand Reid, who might become your next boyfriend.”
Britt took another bite of salad and directed her vision beyond the tearoom’s windows. Neat storefronts marched down the opposite side of the street, their cheerful signage and awnings contrasting with the day’s drizzly weather.
Here’s why it was hard to confront the idea that Zander might want to date her: Because she knew that Zander’s love was a very serious thing. He wasn’t someone who loved lightly or easily. He didn’t slide into and out of relationships like she did. His love had gravity. Depth. His love held within it the potential of disaster for him. If he loved her, how was he going to come out of that intact?
She didn’t want to injure him in any way. But if he loved her, then she may have been injuring him every time she’d fallen for a new boyfriend—a horrifying thought. If he loved her, how could she not injure him?
If he loved her, how could their friendship survive?
If he loved her, why hadn’t he told her? Likely because he’d known she didn’t feel the same way.
She’d been far too immature and headstrong at age fourteen and twenty and even at twenty-four to settle into a love-with-an-uppercase-L relationship with anyone. She’d been well aware that commitment would cost her a measure of her independence, and she hadn’t wanted to give any of it up.
Why should she? She’d never longed for a serious boyfriend or a husband. She could support herself. Her work fulfilled her.
Those were all sentiments she’d expressed often to Zander. Had she hurt him when she’d said all that?
“She’s not saying anything,” Nora observed to Willow as if Britt wasn’t within earshot.
“I think she’s processing.”
“Right. She looks like she’s deep in thought.”
Britt swung her chin to them, narrowing her eyes. “If you’ve never talked to Zander about this, then what evidence do you have to support your theory that he wants to date me?”
Nora swallowed a spoonful of soup and dabbed her lips. “The first time I met him, I could tell how he felt about you based on his body language and the way he looked at you.”
“No!” Britt exclaimed. “Not the first time you met him.”
“All right, then,” Nora allowed. “The second time. It was very early on, little sister of mine.”
“Remember when he gave you his concert ticket so that you could see Nickelback with your friends?” Willow asked. “You forgot to buy your ticket until it was too late, and when you tried, they were sold out.”
“He gave me his Nickelback ticket because he got sick,” Britt said.
Willow looked at Britt as if Britt were being purposely obtuse.
“Remember when he drove you thirteen hours to San Francisco so that you could go on that private tour of the Ghirardelli company?” Nora asked. “Nobody voluntarily drives someone thirteen hours for the fun of it.”
“Remember how sad he was for the entire two years that Britt was in France?” Willow asked Nora.
“I do.”
“I didn’t know he was sad,” Britt said.
“That’s because he didn’t want you to feel bad for him while you were having the time of your life,” Willow said.
“Remember when he took a week off work to help you get Sweet Art ready and open for business?” Nora asked.
“Which reminds me.” Willow rearranged her plate so that she could rest her forearms on the lip of the table. “He learned about chocolate because of you. How many books has he read on the subject?”
“I don’t know. Several.”
“He didn’t read them because he has a passion for chocolate.”
“But he does have a passion for chocolate,” Britt argued.
“Why, though?” Willow asked. “Does chocolate seem like a common thing for a good-looking young guy to become passionate about?”
Britt felt duty-bound to play devil’s advocate. “Zander’s had girlfriends over the years!”
Both sisters’ faces told her they thought the comment was beneath her.
“Those relationships were very halfhearted,” Nora said. “Brief and few and far between.”
Britt groaned. “If all of this is true, then why did he leave Merryweather?”
“Because he lost hope that things were ever going to work out for the two of you,” Willow answered. “And he refused to watch you fall for any more men who weren’t him.”
“No,” Britt said.
“Yes,” her sisters replied in unison.
Willow and Nora glanced at each other. “Jinx!”
Britt had talked at length with Zander about his decision to travel. He’d told her that he wanted to expand his boundaries, see the world, make it on his own. Was it possible that she had been another of his motivating factors?
She needed time to mull over all of this and contemplate her history with him through this prism.
“Zander’s wonderful,” Nora said.
“Incredibly wonderful,” Willow agreed. “I think I can say that I speak for Corbin, Nora, John, Mom, Dad, Maddie, Hannah, Mia, and everyone else who loves you when I say that we’d really like for you to consider him as a boyfriend.”
Quiet descended.
“Keep in mind that he hasn’t asked to be my boyfriend,” Britt said. “If he does make a move, I have no idea how I should respond because I want to be smart about this.”
“It’s not easy to make a move on a person who doesn’t ever seem to need anyone,” Willow pointed out. “‘I’m fine’ could be your mantra, Britt.”
Britt rolled her eyes. “Move on to another topic, please. This one’s giving me hives, and I’d like to enjoy my poor, neglected salad.”
Humanely, Willow took it upon herself to ask Nora a question about her honeymoon plans.
Early in her life, Britt had learned that Willow’s mom had left Willow behind when Willow was a baby and that Nora’s mother had died young.
Unlike her sisters, no childhood tragedies had befallen Britt. Her mom and dad were married. They loved each other, and they loved her.
All three Bradford sisters called Kathleen, Britt’s biological mother, Mom. And for all intents and purposes, she was mom to all of them. She’d married Garner Bradford when Willow was five and Nora three. However, she’d only given birth to Britt, a fact that never failed to stir guilt within Britt.
She’d always feared that Willow and Nora viewed her as the sister with all the advantages and all the luck. Privileged. Maybe even spoiled. Thus, for as long as she could remember, she’d understood that she—in all fairness—should never have troubles, never need anything, and never complain.
Once, when she was ten, she’d burned her inner wrist on the edge of a cake pan.
“That looks like it hurts,” her mom had said, enclosing Britt in her arms.
Britt stood in her mom’s warm embrace that smelled like home and felt like safety, for a good two or three seconds. Then tears rushed to her eyes and emotion cinched her throat. Appalled, she jerked away and went to the sink to run the burn under cold water.
“Honey,” Mom said, “let me help you—”
“I can do it myself.”
“All right, but let me take another look at that—”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” She felt her chin trembling, so she ducked her head and stuffed down the tears.
The burn hurt. Really hurt.
But Britt said nothing more about it.
Instead, she’d continued baking the cake as if her arm wasn’t smarting viciously. As if everything was as right as rain.
In the end, Zander agreed to visit Ricardo with Britt.
His agreement had little to do with his desire to pick Ricardo’s brain regarding Frank’s past and everything to do with his refusal to allow Britt to meet Ricardo alone.
“Left here,” she instructed him. “The GPS says we’re just five minutes away from Ricardo’s house.”
He steered his Jeep left.
“Then right there.” She pointed. “Then your first left.”
He cut a quick glance in her direction.
When he’d pulled up at the Hackberry Lane Cottages at eight a.m., an hour and a half ago, Britt had been waiting for him in the parking lot. A hiking backpack slumped at her feet. Her hair poured over one shoulder. She’d chosen a long ivory T-shirt, black jeans, and a short black jacket for today’s road trip.
This was the first time they’d seen each other since she’d come to his room at the Inn at Bradfordwood after her birthday party on Thursday. He’d been spoiling for a fight that night, fixated on the fact that the two of them were shut inside a room dominated by a bed. He’d admitted to her that he was lonely. It was a miracle that he’d managed to stop there, that he hadn’t said anything unforgivably stupid.
He’d filled Friday and Saturday with writing. Running. Time spent with Carolyn. He’d talked with his brother, and they’d decided that Zander would fly out in a couple of weeks to see him.
Daniel had encouraged Zander to set aside his expectations where Britt was concerned, accept that they had no future as a couple, and open his mind to new people.
Zander had heard everything Daniel had to say. More than that, he’d agreed with the principle. But now that he had Britt to himself for the next several hours, he didn’t want to waste time setting aside expectations or accepting that they had no future or opening his mind to new people. He only wanted to enjoy every minute alone with her.
“This neighborhood is fancier than I expected for an ex-con,” Britt said.
The homes testified to an earlier, more tasteful time. Each had been carefully restored and stood on a roomy parcel of land.
“If Ricardo was Frank’s accomplice in the Triple Play,” Zander said, “he’s a rich man thanks to the painting he stole.”
“You think he’d still be rich from that thirty-five years later?”
“If you sell a Picasso on the black market and invest the money well, you can live large for a very long time.”
“If he was living large off Triple Play earnings then why did he steal Ming dynasty figurines?”
“Good question.”
“Ricardo’s house should be coming up on the right. Yep, that’s it. Number fourteen fifty-six.” White-painted brick and black shutters marked the structure’s exterior.
Zander slowed, then parked two houses down. They’d decided to stake out Ricardo’s home until they saw him leave. Then they’d follow him to his destination, which would, hopefully, be a populated place where they could speak with him safely.
Britt leaned nearer her window. “There’s someone outside. Do you see that man kneeling in the flower bed?”
“I do.”
“Is it Ricardo?”
“Hard to tell from this distance.”
Britt shuffled through the sheets of paper on Ricardo that Nora had printed for them and found Ricardo’s most recent mug shot. She squinted toward the figure gardening in the yard. “I think that might be him. This street seems perfectly normal, by the way. Maybe we should approach him in his yard. It’s public enough.”
“For now, let’s stay in the car like we planned.”
They sat, watching the man garden. Gentle sunlight sloped over them, then hid as bands of clouds passed by. Neighbors walked dogs. Others peddled down the road on bikes. Some pushed strollers along the sidewalks. Every resident of Maple Valley seemed eager to take advantage of the sixty-two degree weather.
The setting possessed no whiff of danger. In fact, the only people on the street receiving nervous glances were him and Britt. They looked conspicuous, sitting in a parked car, doing nothing.
As the clock ticked off the passage of time, Britt’s nearness began to feel more threatening than did a conversation with Ricardo. Every time Zander inhaled, he drew the scent of blackberries into his lungs. He could perceive the energy lacing her muscles and tendons. Her hand relaxed on the center console. Just inches away, his own hand burned with the desire to interlace their fingers.
“If we wait,” Britt said, “and Ricardo goes inside, it could be hours before he leaves the house again.”
“True.”
“I really don’t think he’s going to murder us on his front lawn or try to shove us inside his house so he can murder us there. At the moment, he mostly seems interested in pulling weeds and planting annuals.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
“Really?” She sent him an alert, expectant look.
He nodded. “Remember that we’re going to use the names we decided on.”
“Right. I’m Adele.”
“And I’m Caleb and our last name is Kingston.” He’d decided to keep it simple by using his parents’ first names and his middle name, Kingston. “We live in Seattle.”
“Got it.”
“We’re not going to mention Carolyn or Courtney or Sarah or Merryweather or anything that might allow him to locate us. We’re also not going to mention the Triple Play, because if he was involved, we don’t want him knowing that we’re hunting for clues.”
“Deal.” She exited the car in a flash.
Zander hurried to catch up with her. “Frank’s my uncle, so I’m going to take the lead.”
The breeze snapped a strand of her hair. “I’ll do my best to practice restraint.”
“You have the ability to be restrained, you know. You exercise it every time you flavor chocolate.”
“I have to. Too much of anything will ruin the recipe.”
“This meeting we’re about to have with Ricardo is like that.”
The sun highlighted pale glints of laughter in her brown eyes. “Are you suggesting that too much of me will ruin this meeting?”
He allowed himself a grin. “You said it. Not me.”
They’d almost reached the walkway leading to Ricardo’s front door. “I admire the fact that you’re speaking to me in chocolate metaphors, by the way,” she said.
“I can’t create chocolate, but I can be trusted with chocolate metaphors.”
“You probably could create chocolate. You know a lot about it.”
“Not that much.”
“More than any other non-chef I know. Why is it that you learned so much about it?”
Of all the times to ask him that question, why now? They were almost within earshot of Ricardo. “I learned about chocolate because you love it.”
Ricardo caught sight of them. He sat back on his haunches and regarded them with a friendly expression.
“Hi,” Zander said. “Are you Ricardo Serra, by chance?”
“I am.” He removed a slim cigar from his mouth and clambered to his feet.
“I’m Caleb Kingston.”
“Adele,” Britt supplied.
“Nice to meet you.” Ricardo shook hands with them both. “What can I do for you?”
Zander pushed his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “We knew James Ross.” If by some chance Ricardo didn’t know that James Ross had taken the identity of Frank Pierce, then Zander had no intention of telling him.
Surprise hitched Ricardo’s brows upward. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“Unfortunately, James passed away recently,” Zander said. “After his death, we discovered some things about him we hadn’t known before. One of those is that the two of you were friends. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions.”
“We’re trying to fill in gaps so that we have a more complete picture of him,” Britt added.
Gray streaked the dark hair that Ricardo wore long around his face. The lines marking his olive skin gave evidence of his sixty-five years. His body, however, was lean and fit. He’d dressed in a collared golf shirt, battered jeans, and flip-flops. “I’m sorry to hear that he died.” Ricardo and James had once attended a down-on-its-luck high school in urban Chicago. Now Ricardo looked rich and well-traveled, like someone who’d feel right at home at a five-star resort in Bali. “What happened to him?”
“He had a heart attack,” Zander answered.
“Ah.” The syllable carried a somber note. Ricardo took a pull on his cigar. “How did you find out that James and I were friends?”
“I spoke with some of James’ siblings,” Zander answered. “One of them mentioned that the two of you met in high school and were friends for many years after that.”
“And how did you find me?”
“Computer address search.” Zander hoped his nonchalant tone made it sound as if Ricardo’s address had been easy to pinpoint. In fact, it had taken veteran researcher Nora days.
“We decided to drive over when we saw that you live nearby,” Britt said. “We’re in Seattle.”
Ricardo took another drag on his cigar, assessing them with pleasant interest as he exhaled sweet smoke. “I’m happy to answer questions, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to help you much. James and I were young when we knew each other.”
“What was he like back then?” Britt asked.
“We were both a couple of punks.” Ricardo’s mouth curved with nostalgia. “We drank and smoked and got ourselves into fights as often as we could. We were trying to convince everyone how tough we were.”
“We learned that James was convicted of robbery,” Zander said, “and served time.”
“That’s right. James and I both.”
“Shortly after he was released, James moved to Washington.” As always, charm flowed from Britt. She was confident, which gave everyone else confidence in her. “Did you move here around that time, too?”
“Yes. James and I drove west together, actually, in my old Volkswagen van.”
“When was that?” Zander asked.
“The spring of 1984.”
“Why did the two of you choose Washington?”
“We were in need of work, and we’d heard that the job market here was good. Plus, my mother’s sister lived here. We moved in with her until we got our feet under us.”
“You both moved in with her?” Zander asked.
“Right. A month or so later, James moved out.”
“Where did he go?”
“To an apartment complex in the Renton area.”
“Do you remember what it was called?”
“I do.” Ricardo released a soft chuckle. “It was called The Ridge. Even then it was old. It’s long since been torn down.”
“If James was able to get an apartment, then I’m guessing he found work pretty quickly,” Zander said.
“We both did. James got a job in construction. I got a job at a restaurant washing dishes. I’ve been in the restaurant business ever since.” His eyes crinkled. “Luckily for me, I don’t wash dishes anymore.”
“Did the two of you remain close?” Britt asked. Her features were arranged in easygoing lines, but Zander could sense the focus beneath the surface.
“For several months, yes. Then we each started to make friends at work. I moved to a suburb a ways from his. We saw each other less and less, and then we lost touch. I remember trying to contact him at some point . . . a year, a year and a half, maybe, after we’d come to Seattle. No luck. I couldn’t reach him. I’ve never heard from him or about him again. Until today.”
Zander scratched his jaw. “We know that James was shot in the leg after moving to Washington, but we never could get him to talk to us about it. Do you know anything about that?”
“He was shot in the leg?” Ricardo asked, puzzled.
“Right. He had a bullet wound in his thigh.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“He never mentioned a leg injury?” Zander asked.
“No. Back when I knew him, his leg was fine.” If Ricardo was lying, he was outstanding at it. Every word sounded like truth to Zander.
“Did you meet any of the friends James made working construction?” Britt asked.
“Yeah.” He seemed to rake through his memory. “I met his buddies a couple of times, but I don’t remember their names.”
“Did James have a girlfriend?” Zander asked.
“Not that I knew of.” The sun came out and Ricardo shielded his eyes with one hand. “Did James ever marry and have a family?”
“Yes,” Zander told him. “He did both.”
“Good for him.” Ricardo gestured with his cigar to his impressive house. “My wife and I got married two months ago. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Congratulations,” Britt said.
“Would you like to come inside and meet her? Have a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, but we can’t today,” Zander said. “We have an appointment.”
Ricardo smiled understandingly. “Sure, sure. I’m glad you two stopped by. I only wish I could have been more help.”
Note passed between Britt and Zander in tenth grade:
BRITT: Why did you quit the debate team?
ZANDER: I changed my mind about it. I’m going to be busy with soccer.
BRITT: I was the alternate, so now that you’ve quit, Mrs. Covington has invited me to take your spot. You definitely didn’t quit just so that I could be on the team, did you?
ZANDER: Definitely not.
Note passed between Olivia and Britt in tenth grade:
OLIVIA: Mia told me that she thinks Zander’s looking really cute lately. They’d make an awesome couple! Please tell me he’s feeling the vibes between them, too.
BRITT: No, I don’t think so.
OLIVIA: Oh no! Really? Maybe you should encourage him to consider Mia. She’s such a doll.
BRITT: I know! I really love Mia. But I don’t think her personality is quite right for Zander. They’re not a fit.
Note from Britt to Carolyn in tenth grade:
Here’s the check to cover the cost of Zander’s soccer camp this summer. Thanks for agreeing to keep this between us. I don’t want him to know that I’m paying for it. And I don’t want my parents to know that I’m paying for it, either. They think I’m spending my allowance on practical things like clothes.