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My phone buzzes with a text.
From her.
Control freak: Winter heard us in the bathroom this morning. She knows.
Control freak: It’s only a matter of time before Kendrick finds out. I’m working all afternoon, but I think we should tell him tonight.
He’ll get over it. Kass’s words loom in my brain.
And it kills me…
Because she’s wrong.
Kassidy
The end of my shift rolls around quicker than expected—all credit goes to Luke on that one. I was cleaning the fish tanks when he came strolling through the front door with his tail between his legs. It would seem Isabella abused her aunt status and demanded her nephew apologize for trying to get me fired.
The apology in itself didn’t come as a surprise.
The invitation to prom, on the other hand… Pretty sure my jaw took a dive into the fish tank.
Isabella stopped by the store last week and asked me if I had a boyfriend to take to prom. I told her I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure I’d be going at all. Best part is, I didn’t even have to blow off Greg, the jock Luke set me up with. He got expelled for stashing a massive amount of weed in his locker.
Will hadn’t asked me to go with him yet, which broke my heart to an embarrassing extent. Isabella exclaimed, “Why, a pretty girl like you?” and, by the looks of it, took it upon herself to remedy the situation.
Luke apologized and said he felt like an ass for meddling in my relationship. Seemed to be under the impression that I’d broken up with Will since I didn’t want to go. Then he offered to take me if I didn’t have anyone to go with. As friends, he specified. I didn’t have it in me to correct him.
Especially considering how things are looking right now. At this rate, I probably will be single soon. I thanked him, promised I’d think about it, and he left.
It’s past seven when I pull into my driveway and amble inside a quiet house. My mom is at work, I’m guessing Winter is holed up in her room, and heaven only knows where the boys are. I check social media on my way up the stairs.
There’s a party tonight.
It’s all everyone’s been talking about. I close the Instagram app, noticing I have two unread texts from Will.
Willy Wonka: Hey, I thought about it and… we can’t tell him tonight.
Willy Wonka: I’m sorry.
I reread his messages five times, trying my best to swallow the pill. Swallow his lies. Yesterday, he said tomorrow. And this morning, he promised he’d talk to him. If I let him push it back again, odds are “later” will never come.
In a shit mood, I swing my bedroom door open with every intent to change into the ugliest, most comfortable sweats I own until I have to get ready for the party. If only Will wasn’t sitting at my desk.
My breath catches when I see him. I don’t make a sound, kicking the door shut and enabling us to speak freely. He spins on my desk chair and rises up, trailing toward me.
“Why are you in my room? Kendrick will—”
“Kendrick’s out. Booty call.” He shrugs. “Come here.” He leans in for a kiss, which I deny him instantly, flicking my head and introducing him to my cheek.
“What are you doing?” I say dryly.
I’m not sad anymore. We passed “sad” a million stations ago. Now I’m on a speeding train to “angry.” Last stop: chew-his-head-off town.
“Kissing my girlfriend?” Will frowns.
His girlfriend?
Good one.
