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“You’re saying that Beckett Anderson asked that I be excluded from the squad?”
Warner chuckled. “Asked? Sure. Be careful around him. He’s not right in the head. I’ve got to go.”
He turned and stalked off, walking quickly with his head down. Nervous. What the hell had Beckett done? Had he beat him up? Warner hadn’t specifically said so, but it seemed pretty obvious.He’d certainly blamed the cheerleading squad thing on him. Beckett had always teased me about the cheering thing and my inability to make the cut.
Still, it shocked me that he’d meddle in my life.
The sickening disappointment I’d felt only moments before found its purpose, hardening into anger. He thought he could control me? Tell me what to do? I was so mad I couldn’t breathe for a second.No matter what, I’m not letting him win.There was a running score going on between Beckett and me, and I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Lily. She answered on the second ring.
“I was just going to call you. I got the best table in the library. It’s close to that one radiator that works on the third floor and equidistant between the coffee machine and snack shack.”
Even when molten lava-like anger was boiling in my chest, my best friend could still make me smile. No one got excited about the library like Lily did, and I loved her for that.
“I’ll be there in a bit. I wanted to speak to your dad first, if you could get me a meeting.”
“My dad?”
“Yep. I need Coach Williams.”
The only person who could distract me from my anger at Beckett was my mom, and I was so happy to see her come into the dinerwhile I was working later. The acidic hangover had gradually ebbed, though only a good night of sleep would really fix it.
I ate some salty fries and drank soda between tables, and slowly started to feel human. I was still pissed off about the cheerleading squad and Beckett, but I’d managed to talk to Coach Eric and felt a lot better.
When my mom came into the diner, my day turned around.
I hugged her hard before she slid into a booth. “Well, that was nice! What was it for?” She smiled at me.
“I haven’t seen you all week,” I muttered. Going from seeing her every day at home to just talking on the phone was hard, even if we did live in the same town. I was so busy trying to keep up with classes and as much work as I could shoehorn in, I barely had time to breathe, never mind go home to visit.
“Well, you’re too busy, and I guess that’s good,” my mom laughed. She ordered her usual and pulled her phone out of her bag, squinting at the screen. She needed reading glasses, but those were just another thing on the list that got put to the bottom time and again.
She frowned at the screen and tapped on it. “How do you reply to a comment again?” she asked.
She was always asking for tech advice. Asher was much better at all that than I was, but even I knew some stuff.
I took her phone and showed her. My finger lingered over the message I’d just copied. I glanced at the numbers in the group. None of them had names, just numbers. I was pretty sure my mom only had two numbers in her phone saved with names. Me and Asher.
I blinked at one of the numbers in the group.
“Who is this you’re texting?”
“Mrs. Linton. This is the cleaner’s group chat. Technology nowadays, it’s just so hard to keep up with it. Why do I want to chat online, when I see most of them a few times a week?” My mom shrugged eloquently and dug into her food.
I was still staring at the messages. One of the numbers had caught my eye in particular.
I had a brain for numbers. Patterns and sequences got stuck in my head. The number I’d stared at half the summer had had a small run of prime numbers in the middle. It had caught my attention.
Beckett’s number.
Why would Beckett be in the group chat for the house staff at Cliff Point?
I took out my phone to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Scrolling down, I found the number that had sent me the message that had broken my heart a few months ago. It was the same. It looked like Beckett really was in this group chat. A rushing feeling of anxiety moved through me.
“Mom, whose number is this?” I asked, pointing to the number in the chat.
My mom glanced over. “That’s Mrs. Anderson’s.”
