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“We definitely saw him,” Maggie replies. “Right, Mae?”
“Uh-huh,” I confirm, taking another drink of water in the hopes it will preclude me from contributing anything else to a conversation about Weston Cole.
“Forget it, Jess,” the girl who waved at Maggie when we arrived says. “I’m sure Natalie already has her claws in him.”
“But they’re not exclusive,” Jess argues. “Weston doesn’t date anyone for real. You know that.”
“Doesn’t matter. You remember what she did to Amanda after she hooked up with him last year.”
I shift awkwardly, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken, and annoyed with myself for feeling this way. Weston Cole’s sex life shouldn’t be of any interest to me aside from hoping he contracts chlamydia. I can’t force my ears to tune out their continuing commentary, though, so I set my now empty cup down on a nearby side table and whisper to Maggie that I’m going to the bathroom.
She nods, but doesn’t even glance at me, too absorbed in the ongoing speculation.
I wander out of the living room and through the massive house, finally finding the bathroom. Along with the line of eleven girls waiting to use it.
Since it was more an excuse than a necessity, I pass them and head outside through the first exit I come across. It’s a sliding door that opens onto a stone patio. I close the door and walk over to the perimeter of the stones, next to a wrought iron couch with a thick cushion. The weatherworn fabric is still saturated with rain from the downpour earlier, so I continue further into the backyard. Several plastic Adirondack chairs sit around an empty fire pit. They’ve all dried, but I remain standing as I stare at the black hole where the fire would be.
A voice startles me, and I experience a flash of déjà vu.
“Good night for some stargazing.”
I still at the sound. It’s been two years since I heard the deep timbre, and yet I immediately know who it belongs to. Even more concerning? I’m thrilled to hear it. Elated he’s not upstairs with a girl the way the cheer team suggested.
I glance up at the swirling remnants of vapor still dancing angrily overhead.
“Yup. Hardly a cloud in the sky.”
I feel rather than see him come stand next to me.
“Never seen you at an Alleghany party before,” Weston says. His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. I’m tempted to look over to see if I can discern it in his expression but choose to keep my gaze on the overcast sky above us instead.
“One of my best friends moved here a few weeks ago. She forced me to show up.” I wince internally as soon as the words are out. I don’t owe him an explanation. Worse, I sound lame. Boring.
Should I care what Weston Cole thinks of me? Absolutely not.
Do I? Apparently.
“Huh,” Weston replies, and I stand there, completely stupefied.
What the hell does one respond to that with? I desperately grope for something funny or clever to say. I come up with nothing. My wit has entirely abandoned me when I need it the most.
“So, what’s your name?” he asks after a long pause.
Fiery embarrassment burns through me. Of course he doesn’t remember me. Of course the indifference in the kitchen wasn’t an act.
A wave of humiliation engulfs me as I recall all the wasted minutes I’ve spent reliving our encounter in the woods over the past two years. He’s done the opposite.
I turn to head back inside, absolutely disgusted with myself. Suddenly, listening to Maggie gossip with her new friends doesn’t sound bad at all.
I’m stopped by the feel of a hand on my arm that sears through the denim jacket I’m wearing over Maggie’s dress.
“I’m fucking with you, Maeve.”
I meet Weston’s eyes for the first time. The startling shade of blue seems especially vivid in contrast to the shadowed yard and stormy sky.
“I don’t share secrets very often. Ever—as a matter of fact.” His words hang between us. “It’s not something I’m likely to forget.”
I swallow. I’m simultaneously rejoicing he remembers who I am and pissed he purposefully pretended like he didn’t.
