Page 37 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“Right?” She rolls her roller in the paint tray. “They actually arrested Mrs. Campbell.”

I’m full-on gawking now. Mrs. Campbell was the PTA president, poised, polished, and put together. She wore pearls with every outfit. “Is she covered in tattoos now? Has she joined a biker gang?”

Maggie laughs. “Maybe. They moved not long after, so you never know.”

“At least I’m not the only Windfallian tied to drugs. What other shockers did I miss?”

“Well.” She climbs her ladder and finishes the top corner of her wall. “Crystal Tanaka’s a celebrity graffiti artist. Like, world-famous. And Rylee Polat is transgender—he’s now Ryan Polat. Lana Young got knocked up and married Blake Robinson. Pretty sure they’re miserable. Oh, and E’s buddy Ricky Spears came out as gay a couple years after you left, but you probably know that since he’s building your ropes course.”

I mumble a vague agreement, no longer able to form actual words. Maggie’s on her tiptoes on the ladder, reaching up, causing a rip in her T-shirt to flash the side of her bra.

“He got married last year,” she goes on. “Remember Aaron Rothman?”

She turns to look at me, and yeah. I’m busted, doing nothing but staring at her curves, my paint-soaked roller dripping on the drop cloth. “Sorry. Rothman what?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Am I painting the room by myself?”

“Well, you are neater than me. I could just direct you where to paint. Coordinate and delegate.”

“Or you could organize a painting party and pay your friends with pizza.”

“In order for that to work, I’d actually have to have friends.”

I’ve chitchatted with plenty of old acquaintances since returning to Windfall. Quick catch-ups and salutations traded while grocery shopping or walking through town. It’s nice seeing most of the people from my past, hearing about the stories and events I missed from Maggie, but none of my old buddies has specifically reached out, asked to get together. Running into Mizhir was nothing but stilted. Everyone’s busy with their lives. Which is fine. I have other relationships that need tending, the most important one standing in this room.

Maggie climbs off her ladder and saunters toward me.

As a rule, Maggie Edelstein doesn’t walk. She sashays or saunters or swishes, those curves of hers doing seductive figure eights. Knocking me senseless with each tantalizing swivel. I don’t know if she knows she does it. If she tries to exude sex appeal in her every move. Accidental or on purpose, my pulse seems to be connected to her hips, tapping out a hungry beat to her swishy moves.

She stops in front of me. “You said the same thing in high school once, at the pond, that you didn’t have friends.”

Freckles. All I see are freckles, a swell of tiny dots decorating her pale skin. They outline her feline eyes, cover her nose and cheeks and chin. The tantalizing dip between her collarbones and cleavage. “You’re distractingly beautiful.”

A tiny sound escapes her. “What happened to no flirting and no expectations?”

“You’re the one who brought up the pond again.”

The sound she makes is distinctly more disgruntled. “You were friends with everyone in high school,” she says, ignoring my uncontrollable urge to tell her how stunning she is. “The cliques didn’t matter. You liked everyone, and everyone liked you. But when your friends went to college, you didn’t stay in touch.”

“Sure, I did. I called them, tried to connect. They were always too busy.” Hitting up parties, meeting new people, studying while I flipped burgers at the Smash Shack and redid English and math.

Maggie sasses out her hip. “Calling to say hey isn’t trying.”

“What was I supposed to do? Send out a SWAT team to bring them back to Windfall so we could hang out?”

“Keeping friendships takes more than a few calls.”

Paint drips from my roller, splatting beside my boot. She stares at me blandly.

When she doesn’t budge or talk, I sigh. “Am I supposed to ask what a real friendship takes?”

“Bane of my existence,” she mumbles and purses her lips. “Like anything else in life, friendships take work, and you didn’t put in the work. You didn’t have an honest conversation with Mizhir or any of them. You never asked why they didn’t return your calls or tell them getting brushed off hurt. You bowed out of the friendships as much as they did.”

No, I didn’t wax on to my buddies about my feelings of inadequacy, that I felt left behind and lonely. There was no point. Their dismissal wasn’t personal. Life moved forward for them, and it was stagnant for me. Plain and simple. Telling them I was in a weird place wouldn’t have changed anything.

Instead of explaining myself to Maggie, I take my paint roller and do the next best thing.

I roll it up her stomach.