“You ran away from your grandmother?” Erin’s holding up one of the cardboard signs she made using a whole lot of purple glitter glue. We’re standing on the sidewalk in front of a gas station, hollering at every car that passes by—and most of them do. We’ve only managed to persuade three cars into the parking lot in the past hour. So, yeah, this fund-raiser pretty much sucks. Like everything else in my life.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Well, it’s hard, right? Seeing her like that?” Erin waves her sign at a guy in a red convertible trapped at a stoplight. “I mean, I get why you wouldn’t want to go. I don’t think I could handle it, either.”
Tears unexpectedly sting my eyes. Erin’s the first person who seems to understand where I’m coming from. My mom and Celia both think I’ll regret it if I don’t at least try to visit Gran again. Even my dad, the king of bad choices, thinks I was wrong for running away.
“So guess who was playing basketball at Ryan Anderson’s when I got home?” I fill Erin in on my conversation with Wesley yesterday. I’m still working through what happened with him. I was superemotional, obviously, and I’m willing to admit I may have overreacted a tiny bit.
“Hm,” Erin says.
“Hm what?”
She smiles. “He left his basketball game to talk to you.”
“So?”
“So you think he would do that if he wasn’t into you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I shake my sign at a passing car. The kid in the passenger seat sticks his tongue out at me. I stick my tongue out back at him. “All that proves is he has some human qualities after all.”
But there’s a fluttering in my stomach when I remember the way Wesley looked at me yesterday. Like he really cared about my feelings. Like I mattered to him.
No one has looked at me like that for a while. Maybe not ever.
And how did I react? I shut the door in his face.
“Where is Wesley anyway?” I keep my voice casual, but Erin is smart and I can never get anything past her.
“Why do you want to know?” she asks in a singsong voice.
“He’s supposed to be helping us.” My arms are tired from holding up this stupid sign. I’ve been here all morning, slaving away washing cars, and I’m not even going to London. Wesley doesn’t even bother to show up, but he’s still going on my trip. I can barely stand it.
“He’s babysitting his sisters,” Erin says.
I turn and stare at her. I wasn’t really expecting her to have the answer. “And you know this how?”
“Well…” I know Erin well, too, and the big show she’s making out of examining a tiny mole near her elbow is all so she can avoid meeting my eyes. “Travis is sort of friends with him now.” Her gaze flicks up at me, gauging my reaction, then quickly away when she catches my scowl. “I was going to tell you, but you’re so sensitive about anything to do with Wesley. Travis felt really bad about what happened at the restaurant, so—”
“Nothing happened at the restaurant,” I interrupt. “Wait, did Travis tell Wesley that you’re his girlfriend? Erin, he’s going to ruin everything!”
“Calm down, Wesley doesn’t know anything about your crazy-ass plan. Travis told him that we just started dating and he hadn’t met you yet and that it was a complete coincidence he was even in the restaurant.” She grimaces. “I’m not thrilled that he lied. And if Wesley thinks about this for even a second, he’s going to put the pieces together. So can you just give up already?”
“Why would I do that?” Sure, Wesley may have demonstrated he isn’t completely soulless by trying to comfort me, but that doesn’t get him off the hook for destroying my family. Even if I did like him—which I don’t—I wouldn’t know how to get past that.
Talking about my plan, though, reminds me that I don’t currently have one. I am fresh out of ideas on how to get Wesley fired. But if Erin believes I’m going to give up so easily, then she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.
“Quinn.”
“Erin.”
She pinches my arm. “You’re seriously messing with your karma,” she says. “It would be so much more fun to forgive him! You know, London is supposed to be one of the most romantic cities in the world.… I’ll bet you won’t be able to resist each other once we’re over there.”
England. Right.
“About that…” I guess now’s as good of a time as any to tell her. This was never going to be an easy conversation. I take a deep breath. “I can’t go.”
The smile slips off her face. “Can’t go where?”
“To London.” The lump in my throat is so big it hurts to swallow.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
Neither do I, really. “I … don’t have the money.” My face burns. It is nothing short of humiliating, telling her I can’t afford to go on the trip. I guess I should get used to the feeling; everyone else in band is going to find out, soon enough.
“But you’ve been saving all summer. You said you were almost there!”
“Yeah, well…”
“What did you do with all that money?”
I really, really don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to know about my dad’s gambling problem. I don’t want anyone to know about that, ever, but Erin won’t let this go without some kind of explanation. “I spent it,” I say.
“You spent fifteen hundred dollars? On what?”
Quick! Quick, brain, what did I spend it on??
“Just … stuff. I don’t know. Clothes.”
She narrows her eyes, taking in my ratty old T-shirt with a map of the London Underground on it that I wear almost every other day.
“And other stuff, too. I don’t know. I wasted it.” God, this is the worst. From the way Erin’s looking at me, it’s clear she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“You must have some money left, right?”
I shake my head. I feel terrible about lying to her. I really do. But I can’t tell her the truth. I just can’t.
“Okay … well. The whole reason we’re doing this car wash is to help us all get there, right?”
“We’ve only made a hundred dollars so far,” I say. “It’s nowhere near enough. Besides, that’s supposed to be split between everyone.”
“You can have my share.”
That lump is back in my throat. I smile weakly at her, feeling like the worst friend ever. “Thanks. But it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“You have some time before we go. Maybe you can make it up,” she says.
“There’s no way I can save that much. Even if I worked night and day.” I would do it, too, if it meant I could still go. “It’s not possible.”
“What if my mom fronted you the money? I could ask her.”
“Erin, it’s okay,” I say. “Really. I’ve made peace with it.” This is not even remotely true, of course. I will probably never get over not going to London.
“There has to be a way.” Her face suddenly sags. “Oh my God. You know this means that I’ll have to bunk with Ashley and Jasmine.”
“Maybe it won’t be that bad. You’ll probably all end up best friends.” It’s my feeble attempt at a joke, to lighten the mood, but Erin doesn’t laugh.
“At least tell me you blew your money on some fabulous designer bag or something,” she says.
“Or something.” The lie is a weight in my stomach.
“This trip will be zero fun without you.”
“You’ll still have Travis,” I remind her.
“It’s not the same. You think Travis is going to hit Oxford Street with me?”
He probably would, if she asked him. But she’s right—it’s not the same. I can’t feel sorry for her, though, because I’m way too busy feeling sorry for myself. After all, at the end of the day, Erin is still going to England. I’m the one being left behind.
“Have you told Mr. Aioki?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to tell him soon.” I haven’t told him yet because there’s a small part of me that’s still holding out hope for a miracle.
“Maybe he’ll have some ideas. I mean, you can’t be the only band member who doesn’t go. We’re a team. Maybe they have a reserve fund for—”
“Poor people?” I say bitterly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I know it’s not what she meant. I shouldn’t take my bad mood out on Erin. It’s not her fault I can’t go.
It’s Wesley’s.
This downward spiral my dad’s been on, he wouldn’t be on it if my parents were still married. And my parents would still be married if Wesley hadn’t blabbed to my mom that my dad had lost his job. True, he’d lied to us and pretended to be going to work for weeks after he was fired, but still. I know we would have been able to help him with his gambling problem. Instead, everyone just gave up on him.
Fast-forward five years, and here I am standing on the side of a road, shaking a sign in front of a gas station. Not going to London.
All because of Wesley James.
So whatever delusions Erin’s having about Wesley and me, that’s never going to happen.
“Come on,” she says, lowering her sign as the light changes and a convertible speeds past us. “It’s someone else’s turn to stand here and make a fool of themselves.”
A few of our bandmates are gathered around a blue station wagon. The rest are standing around or sitting on overturned buckets, eating snacks from the tiny convenience store attached to the gas station. Erin hands her sign to Alisha and we head over to help finish washing the car.
Erin hands me an orange sponge she pulled out of a bucket of sketchy-looking water. “Hey, isn’t that Wesley?” she says as a black Ford pickup pulls into the parking lot.
Yup, it’s him. I can see his blond head through the tinted glass. He slides out and my heart picks up speed. His head is turned my way, but the lenses of his sunglasses are so dark I can’t tell if he’s actually looking at me. I’m pretty sure he’s about to walk over when Jasmine intercepts him. Jasmine, with her cheerleader body and long red hair and ridiculous fake eyelashes. She says something and Wesley smiles. This smile is not meant for me, but it still lights up my entire body, hitting every nerve ending and throwing my insides into a tailspin.
This is not good. In fact, it’s terrible. I shouldn’t be feeling anything other than deep hatred for Wesley James. But instead, I am stupidly, insanely, tremendously jealous, all because he’s talking to Jasmine.
Worst joke ever, universe.
I busy myself with scrubbing the hood of the car so I don’t have to watch them. Erin pats my back. I know it means she’s noticed them talking, too, and that she knows it’s bothering me, and that makes this whole situation infinitely worse.
A few minutes later, Wesley extricates himself from Jasmine and wanders over. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “My mom had to work. I was trapped at home with two cranky three-year-olds.”
I concentrate on washing the car. I’m afraid my emotions are written all over my face, and I don’t want Wesley to figure out I’m weakening. Plus, it’s much easier to remember why I hate him when I don’t have to look at his ridiculously handsome face.
“How’s business?” he asks.
“Not great,” Erin says. “It’s been slow.”
I let her rattle on to him about other fund-raising ideas—a movie night, a silent auction, a kissing booth (ew, no way!). Erin’s never been the slightest bit interested in fund-raising before, so I know that she’s holding out hope for a miracle for me, too.
As she talks, Wesley keeps shooting glances at me, but I ignore him and keep scrubbing at a speck of dirt on the wheel well.
“Need some help, Q?”
“No,” I say grumpily.
He crouches down beside me anyway. “Come on,” he says. “Let me do it. I feel guilty for not getting here earlier.”
My hands are shaking as he takes the sponge from me. I stand up, mostly so I can put a bit of space between us. If he was on the moon, it wouldn’t be enough space.
Erin elbows me. I know she’s convinced that Wesley’s offer to help is further evidence that he likes me, but she is mistaken. I’m not sure what is motivating him to be nice to me, especially when I’ve made it clear that I’m not going to reciprocate, but I’m positive it’s not because he likes me. If he did, he wouldn’t have been so interested in what Jasmine had to say.
He can do what he likes with her. Or anyone else for that matter. I don’t care.
All right, fine. Maybe I care a little.
I hate that I care. I hate everything right now.
And okay, I know that I just decided looking at him was a bad idea, but it’s hard to turn away from the sight of the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he gently rubs the wheel well. Erin catches me staring at him and gives me a smug smile.
Stupid Wesley and his stupid muscles.
Someone turns up the music—classical, as Mr. Aioki insisted on being in charge of the playlist. Another car drives in. I don’t love washing cars, but I love standing next to Wesley James even less, so I walk over.
“Hey, Quinn,” Caleb says, smiling as I approach. His khaki shorts and T-shirt are damp with suds and his normally perfectly coiffed brown hair is messy. I’m not used to seeing Caleb anything other than put together. I like this ruffled side of him.
“Is it weird seeing Wesley driving around in your truck?” I ask him.
“A little bit, yeah,” he says. “But it’s all right. He’s a good dude.”
“If you say so,” I say. I just walked away from Wesley so I didn’t have to be near him and now here I am, bringing him up.
Caleb’s eyes widen. “You don’t like Wes?” He says this like he can’t imagine anyone not liking Wesley James. Which just proves that Wesley’s grossly fake personality has fooled everyone in the world except for me.
But given that Caleb is friends with Wesley, I’m not entirely sure how he’ll take me disparaging him, so I just shrug and say, “He’s all right.”
Caleb studies me for a moment. Then he leans over and brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. The gesture is so unexpected that the smile freezes on my face. I’m simultaneously worried that he’s going to try to kiss me, right here in front of everyone, or that he won’t try at all and I’ve somehow read him completely wrong.
And here’s the problem: I don’t know if I want Caleb to kiss me. I thought I did, but then Wesley came back to town and my focus shifted from deciding whether or not to go for Caleb to getting revenge on Wesley James.
“I guess we should finish up,” Caleb says.
I nod.
An hour later, I’m no closer to figuring anything out. I’m exhausted and my clothes are completely soaked. We’ve raised another sixty dollars, including the wrinkled twenty that Wesley pulls from behind Erin’s ear.
“I guess that’s a wrap,” he says, stuffing the money into the converted Kleenex box we’re using as a cash register.
“I guess so,” Erin says. “Hey, a bunch of us are going back to my place—”
I whip my head around and give her an evil glare. I cannot believe she’s about to invite him back to her house. What is wrong with her?
“Uh,” she says, faltering.
An awkward silence descends. Wesley looks back and forth between us, but he clearly gets the message because he says, “Thanks, but I’ve got some errands I need to run.” He holds up the box. “I’ll just take this over to Mr. Aioki.”
Erin waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “What was that?”
“What?”
“You could have let him come.”
“I don’t want him to come.”
“Yeah, that was obvious,” she says. “You’re being insane, you know that, right? This vendetta or whatever it is, it’s just so silly.”
“It’s not, actually,” I say coldly. There’s nothing silly about it.
“Quinn, I know you think he’s responsible for your parents’ divorce, but—”
“No but. He is responsible.”
“Okay, fine. But hating on him … it kinda makes things difficult for the rest of us.” She hesitates, and I can see she’s weighing her words. “You know Travis is having a party on Saturday.”
I cross my arms. “Please tell me you didn’t invite Wesley.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think it was such a big deal,” she says. “And don’t say you’re not coming, because you are.”
Three weeks ago, no one in Seattle remembered Wesley James even existed, aside from me. And now he’s completely infiltrated my life and somehow managed to brainwash my friends.
“Oh, I’ll be there,” I say. I have to go so I can reverse the damage and show them what a tool bag he really is.