He has no idea how crazed I am. “It’ll be fun.”
The outside of his eyes crinkles when he smiles, like warm chocolate chip cookies getting squished after you slide them off a baking tray. I’d forgotten about that. “Hey, remember that time all our shit got rained on? Outside that diner in Virginia?” he says. “We had to buy all new gear.”
I groan on instinct. “Don’t remind me.”
“And there was that guy at Best Buy, with the mustache.”
“Trying to sell us Polaroid film?”
“?‘This’ll give you guys the grain you want, I promise.’?” Max imitates the man’s nasally voice perfectly.
I giggle. Max grins. And for a split second he looks just like the person I used to know… who never would’ve gone along with Ignition’s plans for our documentary. Does Max know? His gut was always as good as mine. After yesterday, he must be suspicious. But then Max, the real one, pushes his hair away from his creased forehead and loosens his smile. “I, uh, think it’s cool how you’ve been working with Arthur. I didn’t realize he would be, like… into you.”
I doubt he meant for that statement to knock me over, my rib cage squeezing in on itself with vise-grip strength. “Oh, I don’t know about that. All the stuff he said in Texas about a crush—he’s always joking, Max. He’s a notorious flirt.”
“He asked to work with you. That’s big.” As Max speaks, he has that look he gets when he’s networking, elbow-rubbing his way to where he wants to be. “You’re like my secret weapon, and I didn’t even realize it.”
“How so?” I ask, wishing I didn’t have to.
“He thinks you’re cool!” Max says, as if this is all that matters: the rich sports guy thinks I’m cool. Roll theGone Girlmonologue. “I’ve been thinking—maybe we could keep working together? I always knew you were like a dude in the body of a girl, but think about how good that is to have around if we make more sports movies.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I mumble. It’s surprising how quickly my voice remembers to be quiet and thankful when he’s around, telling me what to do.
“No, but really, you’ve even been chill about the Sarah thing. I can tell you’re really trying to make things work between us.” Maxshifts from foot to foot. “Maybe we should tell her about what went down? She could be cool with it, too.”
We.
We’re only aweagain when he needs me for something.
Don’t we have homework due tomorrow? Do you think we should ask the landlord if we can install an A/C in my room? Can we try going on a date and seeing what happens?I never said no. Ever. But this isn’t a math test where Max is seated behind me, looking over my shoulders, making surewepass the class. This is real life, with real emotions and jobs and so much money at stake, and my tongue is tied by the realization that I’m culpable for how bad this is going to hurt Sarah. Because it will, I’m sure of it.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to smile. People want me to smile. Smiling keeps me safe. “Please tell her. I’d want to know.”
And just as Max is about to say something else, a door shuts behind us.
Then there are footsteps.
My muscles stiffen as orange blurs past Max and me from the corner of my eye. Arthur gets to a bank of computers before he stops, takes a breath, and turns around. He’s geared up for the race, and huge shock, he’s devastatingly handsome right before a Grand Prix, too. The thick race suit fabric is made to put out fires and prevent the asphalt from chewing him up. It shouldn’t cling to him.
“Hey,” Arthur says.
I think I’m blushing. Why am I blushing? “Hi.”
Max looks between us, then adds in his very own, “Sup, dude?”
This addition to the conversation makes a muscle in Arthur’s jaw jump. He ignores Max, fiddling with the strap on his glove. “Lilah, can we talk? I need your help.”
Well, I knew this moment would come. He’s going to make me choose if I’m going to pretend to be his latest summer fling or not.Cautiously, I walk over to where he’s standing, partly grateful for the excuse to leave Max behind. Arthur glances back at him, then over to the door he came from. Then, surprisingly, he leads me closer to the front of the garage, where engineers are swarming a data-covered screen like honey-drunk bees. I try to stay out of their way, keeping my elbows close to me.
“Sorry, I just…” Arthur chews on his next sentence, his stiff shoulders bouncing from the way he’s tapping his foot over and over. “Why were you talking to Max?”
“What?” I say, all reflex.
“You said we need to be on the same page.” He’s whispering quickly and quietly, his eyes stuck on the computer screen behind me. “I cannot walk into a room and see you smiling at him. I can’t fucking do it, Graywood.”
My throat is entirely cotton balls. He’s mad? Why ishemad? “You can’t—that’s not—I wasn’t.”
“I’m serious.”
