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The Reed in this car was nothing like the Reed from last night, smiling at me from his bedroom window across the street, sending me semi-flirty texts. It was like they were two different people.
“I can’t believe I wasted my first kiss on you,” I muttered, and yeah, it was petty, but being petty was the only way I could keep from melting into a puddle of absolute mortification.
“If I’m remembering correctly,youwere the one who askedme.”
“Yeah, andIwas ready to walk away.” And it washishand that caught me around the elbow.So, after that pep talk, you’re not going to follow through?“You should’ve let me. But you wanted to beselfish.” The word he’d used last night took on a different meaning now.
Reed frowned, looking so much like the grumpy brother I’d known him as. The one who would roll his eyes when we asked him to play in elementary school, the one who would hog the TV in middle school, the one who pretended we didn’t exist in high school. When he spoke, his voice was frigid. “If I’d known it was going to get this complicated, I would’ve let you walk away. You never should’ve asked me in the first place.”
I let out an abrupt breath and directed my gaze out the side window, glaring at the scenery passing us by. “You’re right,” I said finally, clenching the material of my backpack, the dagger in my chest sliding to the hilt. It pierced me through and through, popping the bubble of anger, allowing for a rush of pain. “I shouldn’t have.”
Normally, football games did a fantastic job at brightening my mood, but as the clock ticked down toward the end of the fourth quarter, I found myself eager to go home. Or really, go to Dad’s apartment downtown. He was supposed to pick me up at the end of the fourth quarter, the first time I’d see him in weeks, and I’dfinallyget to see the space he’d been living in. I’d be able to wake up with the coffee maker again.
I feltexhausted, like my energy reserves were fully running dry. Distantly, I realized I’d been feeling this way often. So often that I’d almost come to expect it. I used to be the girl who pulled all-nighters binge-watching Netflix dramas, and here I was, ten minutes to ten at night, feeling like I was about to fall asleep standing up.
It wasn’t just being sleepy, but a sort of exhaustion that left me absolutely drained.
The game had dragged out as the Haven High Ravens fought tooth and nail for the victory, even though they should’ve known it was pointless. At this rate, I wouldn’t get to Dad’s house until after ten, and with my energy levels rivaling a grandma’s after nine-thirty, I’d be bolting to bed.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” Maisie said as she looked over at me, and even though I’d been standing beside her the whole game, it was still a shock to see the blue and gold Bobcats colors adorning her normally anti-school spirit self. She even had a pawprint on her cheek, looking cuter than ever.
“It’s been a long day,” I said, trying to appear somewhat less zombie-like by blinking my eyes and stiffening my spine. “I didn’t really get much sleep last night.”
Of course, I hadn’t, because how was I supposed to sleep when each time I tried to count sheep jumping over a fence, they turned into little Reed Mannings doing mundane activities, like mowing the lawn, watching a movie, and making my heart race?What kiss?And then the not-so-awesome ones that followed.You never should’ve asked me in the first place.
I also couldn’t forget thatanotherManning man made things hard. Mr. Manning’s email asking about Rachel and Reed had sat in my inbox until Friday after school, where I used homework as an excuse for a late reply. Totally not professional, but he’d started it first.
And I’d closed it out with a simplehappy to be working with you, not talking about Rachel or Reed at all. He hadn’t sent a reply yet, which made me feel icky with nerves. What if I upset him?
Chill out, I told myself sternly, ignoring the building buzzing sensation in my ears.Stop stressing about everything. Stop worrying. Focus on the game.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to babysit after this,” Rachel muttered, and when I turned toward her, her gaze was locked on her cell phone. “At least heshouldbe in bed when I get there.”
“Babysit?” Maisie echoed. “It’s, like, ten o’clock.”
“Oh, well, the parents went out of town, and I’m filling in for the day babysitter,” Rachel replied quickly. “I have to spend the night there.”
“You’re getting paid to sleep?” Maisie asked. “I’d love that job.”
The crowd behind us erupted as a football player started pressing toward the endzone, students rallying as if their volume would propel the player across the line. The colliding bodies made it hard to read the jersey number, but I thought it might’ve been number twenty-two. Connor Bray’s number. They didn’t even need this touchdown, really. We were ahead with a fourteen-point lead with four minutes left on the clock. At this point, running down the timer was a formality.
“I can’t believe nothing came of the tips about Connor in that closet,” Rachel said loudly, catching the attention of some students around us. “But it looks like him and Jade are still together, doesn’t it?”
I hadn’t really been paying attention, but I did see the two of them talking near the water bottle station earlier—and they seemed normal. Maisie had been right to talk me out of posting about it. The rumor was nothing but.
“Did you ever get to the bottom of why Reed quit football?” Maisie asked. “Did he ever tell you, Rach?”
“Nope. He tells me to drop it every time I bring it up.”
“Weird.” Maisie cast a sidelong look at me. “Haveyouheard anything?”
She was only asking because of Babble, not because she had an inkling of Reed and I’s super-secret friendship. Not that it really existed in the first place. I gave him comic books. He gave me ulcers. Wasn’t really a fair trade.
I had to lie, but no guilt followed; I felt too numb for that. “Haven’t heard a thing.”
“Homecoming is next week,” Rachel said, leaning her head closer to me and giving me a smirk. “You think Josh is going to ask you?”
This year, it seemed like homecoming was approaching way too quickly. It was a busy time of the year with Babble. Submissions had already come in about who asked who to the dance, how they asked, and things like that. Each time there was a dance, I was more overwhelmed with tips than worrying about who I’d go with. “He might,” I said, but even as I said it, I found myself shifting uneasily. “Maisie, has Alex asked you?”
