Tyler turns to Evan. “Don’t get me started. You wanna talk crazy? Crazy is the guy who refuses to date anyone because nobody stacks up to his ex, but he can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to fix things with her. That is fucking crazy.”
In a surprising moment of maturity, or maybe simply because to deny it would be to lie to Tyler’s face, Evan ignores Tyler’s outburst. “Can we please focus?” Evan waves his hands in my direction. “Ryne. Remember?”
“I’m not afraid of emotions. I’m allergic to them. There’s a difference.”
“Cheers to that.” Roman tilts his can toward me.
“Y’all are hopeless,” Tyler grumbles. “You need a new strategy because ‘staring and glaring at Dacen’ isn’t working for you.”
I lace my fingers behind my head and rest against them. “What strategy would you suggest? For my distraction problem,” I reiterate.
“Well, the way I see it, it’s not so different off the field as it is on the field. The same strategy applies. You play hard, you get dirty, and ultimately you hope to score.”
Evan pipes up before I have a chance to. “But no ball-kicking off the field. Rub ‘em a little bit, sure, but don’t kick ‘em. Save that for on the field.”
Roman hops off the barstool and takes the few steps over to where Evan’s sitting on a large ottoman. He raps his knuckles against Evan’s forehead. “Were you dropped on your head as a baby?”
I give up.
“Okay.” I stand up. “I’m done with this conversation. Are we ordering pizza or what?”
Evan stands and stretches. “We can order pizza, but Mom made lasagna last night and there’s a whole extra tray.”
My face perks up. Mrs. Kennedy’s lasagna is out of this world delicious. In part because there are no tomato chunks in it. Why anyone would deem it necessary to ruin a perfectly good lasagna by having recognizable chunks of tomato in the sauce and between the layers is beyond me.
“I’m definitely good with lasagna. Ty?”
He nods. “Works for me.”
Roman flops onto the ottoman Evan vacated and stares up at the ceiling. He stretches one arm up and moves it in a circle in time with the blades of the fan circling overhead. Watching him watch the blades makes me dizzy. I blink and look away.
“Roman? What’s your vote?” Roman isn’t a huge fan of Italian food other than pizza, but he tolerates it.
He flips onto his side and props his head up on his fist. “I won’t be an asshole and veto it this time. It’s fine.”
The four of us have had this thing since we were kids where if one of us really doesn’t want to do something the rest of us do, they can veto it and that’s it; we have to find something else. But we each only get three vetoes a year so we use them sparingly. All these years later and we’re still doing this stupid shit. I bite back a smile. It’s also acceptable to give your veto to one of the other guys to use. That happened once, in the middle of junior year.
Roman and Tyler had wanted to hit up this party at someone’s cousin’s best friend’s brother’s lake house, or something like that. When Evan and I walked into the kitchen, there stood Evie alongside Tim Jameson, a senior basketball player. I maintain it looks like they were just talking and not there on a date, but Evan was absolutely crushed and out of vetoes. Tyler and Roman had disappeared as soon as we entered the house, so they were clueless why, when we finally found them, I’d given Evan my last veto of the year and we all left the party. The use of them isn’t usually so dramatic but it happens.
“Hey boys!” Mrs. Kennedy calls out to us a little while later as we shuffle into the kitchen in a single file line. “I hope you brought your appetites because, well…” She gestures to the island counter and I want to weep. Not only is there lasagna, but there’s also garlic bread, breadsticks, multiple dipping sauces, and salad. It’s not like Aunt Lily’s a bad cook, she’s actually a very good one, and so is Uncle Nathan. But Rylee’s been on a ‘no meat, no gluten’ kick again lately and almost everything Lily makes for dinner is meatless or meat on the side. It’s not the same. Sometimes you just wanna sink your teeth into a huge, juicy, slightly bloody burger. And we haven’t had pasta or much bread at dinner since she started this. I give Rylee another two weeks tops before she caves and digs into her favorite wings the next time we all go out to eat, or grabs a slice of bacon and a biscuit from the platter some Sunday morning. If she doesn’t then I’m going to start waving all sorts of good-smelling stuff under her nose while she sleeps so she dreams about it and wakes up craving it. I can’t put up with this much longer.
We dish up our food and each take a seat at one of the high-back chairs surrounding the kitchen island. Mrs. Kennedy sticks around for a few minutes to see how we’re doing but she smiles and raises her eyes to the ceiling when all she gets in response are hums and head nods. After promising via thumbs up we’ll put the food away and take care of our mess before we leave the kitchen, she heads out and leaves us to chow down in peace.
I still don’t have a solution to my whole distraction problem, but I’ve had Mrs. Kennedy’s lasagna and been sent home with what little leftovers remain, and that’s almost as good.
22
Dacen
After all of our thorough planning, spirit week is finally here and I’m completely psyched about it. Each day this week has a different theme. Monday was Pajama Day. Tuesday was 1980s Day. There was an obscene amount of baggy neon shirts, acid wash jeans, Adidas tracksuits, and leg warmers seen in the halls yesterday. Today is Alphabet Day, where you dress like something that begins with the first letter of your first name. Thursday is Iconic Duo Day. Evie and I are going to pair our outfits, of course. Friday is School Spirit Day. When we went shopping last weekend to get our stuff for Thursday, I’d also gotten a bunch of red, white, and black so I’m prepared to be fully decked out on Friday. There’s a pep rally Friday afternoon leading up to the football game.
Saturday night is the homecoming dance and I have it on good authority Ryne, Tyler, Evan, and Roman will be there (side note: it really is easier and faster to just call them the horsemen, I totally get why Evie does that when referring to the four of them, but I digress). It doesn’t seem like their thing so I’m only letting myself get half-excited that maybe I’ll see Ryne at the dance. I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up not showing or ditching early. I’ll still be paying particular attention to how I look. Just in case. For reasons.
For good reasons, really. Things have been different between Ryne and me lately, ever since he stopped over at my house after Matt’s party and he shared a little bit about himself. Nothing major, but still. He told me about the house he’s working on with his uncle, the Greek Revival. It was pretty cute listening to him go on and on. It’s the one thing I didn’t have to prompt him much to talk about. I don’t think he realized how much he actually said, or the level of excitement in his voice. I hope someday he can have a house like that. He was very passionate about it, even though I guarantee if I straight up asked him he would deny it until his last breath. Because of emotions and all.
So things now are not exactly easy between us, and definitely not less tense, but they’re definitely different. Tense in a different way. More like he’s fighting hard to keep his eyes off of me, trying to ignore me, but losing the battle more and more every day. I’ve taken up a personal challenge to insert myself into his field of vision as often as possible. I want to push him. I want him to want me. I want him to give in. I want him.
I’m grabbing my things from my locker before homeroom when Ryne walks up. The heat from his stare permeates deep into my bones before I even turn toward him. When I do, he presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh.
