“Jesus, Evan, you really can’t play for shit,” Miles hollers, laughing as he sinks back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to have better coordination than that. Don’t you play the guitar or something?”
“Piano,” I correct, trying to think of the last time I sat in front of a Steinway. It’s been too long. I try to concentrate on the screen, my player running down in the wrong direction. “And they’re really not the same thing.”
“Potato, potahto,” Miles grumbles. “You’re too stressed out for a twenty-year-old. Just chill. When was the last time you slept with someone, seriously?”
“I dunno,” I say, not ready to engage in this kind of conversation with one of the most talkative people I’ve ever met. I don’t know how Wren copes.
“It might help you loosen up,” Xavier chimes in.
“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, still trying to figure out how to play this fucking game. I throw the controller back to Miles who has been itching his hands like he can’t deal without playing for a few minutes. “Hey, Miles. How’s, uh… how’s Scarlett?”
Miles’ head whips around at me, his eyebrows drawn together as his lips pull up into a smirk. “Why are you asking me? Didn’t she hold you hostage when Wren and I were at her sister’s wedding?”
“Yeah, but not much talking happened. Kinda hard to ask how she’s doing when it was more her shouting at me and trying to get me to confess to something I didn’t do. I haven’t spoken to her since then.”
“She’s fine…I guess,” Miles says, shrugging. “Wait? You’re not asking because of what I said about needing to get laid, are you?”
My breath catches in my throat. “No!” I’m practically yelling.Jesus. This is going great.“No,” I say more calmly. “I was just wondering. You know, mutual friends and all that.”
“Good. You guys hate each other. And if you ever touched her, Wren would have an aneurysm and I would somehow get blamed for it. So don't think about it,” Miles warns, and I nod. “Plus, she has, like, four brothers. That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
“People love me,” I say proudly. Miles and Xavier throw each other a glance before bursting into a fit of laughter. It’s not long before I join in on their hysterical screams.
3
Scarlett
Having a break between second and third period doesn’t mean taking a well-deserved break like the rest of the class, it means running across campus to meet in the middle where Kennedy’s art classroom is.
I have ten minutes to catch up with the girls like we do every time between our double periods but this time we were summoned by Ken for an emergency meeting. The rink that Wren practices at is at the other side of the campus so the art studio is the middle-ground from my business class.
I run through a dark corridor past the school's dark room, towards the art classroom and I make my way through stressed out students until I findmystressed out student, basically ripping out her low pigtails.
Kennedy is sitting in the corner with a sketchbook in front of her, her blue denim dungarees covered in paint splatters, tugging at the band of her pigtails letting both bands break in half as her curly hair springs free.
I inch closer to her, not sure which Ken I’m about to interact with right now. As I take a step closer, I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back into the corridor which I just exited. I recognise the hand immediately because we just got matching manicures a few days ago.
“She’s freaking out,” Wren says when we’re face to face in the corridor, both of her hands on my shoulders, shaking me like an insane person.
“Yeah, I can tell. Why areyoufreaking out? You’re scaring me,” I say, removing her lethal grip from my shoulders. She brushes her blonde hair over her shoulder and exhales deeply, her green eyes searching mine. God, I swear I have the most dramatic friends to ever exist.
“She’s got a deadline for a project and that empty canvas in there is all she’s done. I’ve tried to help, but I think I’m making it worse,” she replies.
“That doesn’t sound like her. She’s usually on top of these things,” I say, trying to figure out how this could have happened.
When we were all freaking out about our exams at the end of last year, she was ahead of us all and helped Wren with her creative writing course. As chaotic as she is, her work always comes first for her and it’s a trait of hers I’ve always admired.
“Yeah, I know,” Wren says. She blinks at me for a minute, not saying anything. Kennedy is the literal glue to our group — if she’s freaking out, we’re all freaking out. “Can you try and talk to her? Darcy will have my head if I’m not back in two minutes.”
I nod and take a deep breath before entering the room again. Her hair has become a wild mess of curls and coils as she runs her hands through it nervously, tapping her pencil on the empty sketchbook. She looks up at me. A faint smile paints across her face before returning down to her book.
“Hey,” she says quietly, not tearing her eyes from the blank page. I check the time quickly, realising I only have a few minutes before I need to make my way back to class.
“Hey.”
“Are you here to give me a pep talk? I really don’t think I can deal with that right now. Wren’s one was really shitty,” she mumbles, finally drawing faint lines with her pencil. I pull out a chair across from her and laugh.
“I’m not here to give you a pep talk, Ken. I am, however, here to tell you that you can, and youwillfinish the project before the deadline.”
