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Holden has spent the past few years acting like I don’t exist, especially while we’re at school. I’m certain he doesn’t want everyone knowing we’ve kissed, even if it was before high school started.
The longer I’m silent, the more oppressive the humidity around me feels. Everyone is waiting for my response…and I can’t make myself speak the two syllables of his name.
I untuck my legs from under me and stand, feeling the blood rush down and heat my skin further. Eyes follow me as I walk over to the glass bottle. The only other person who has chosen to drink as a penalty was Holden.
The cap of the tequila comes off easily, and I take a healthy swallow. Smoky alcohol burns my throat and pools in my stomach. I want to gag or make a face, but I do neither. I enjoy the surprised expressions around me. Me drinking is almost as shocking as me sharing the truthful answer to that question would have been.
Mark is grinning, which feels like an accomplishment in comparison to his usual stoicism. He was always my favorite of Holden’s friends. Less self-centered than the rest of the popular crowd.
I set the bottle back down. For a second, I entertain the idea of sitting somewhere else. I don’twantto sit next to Holden. I’m trying to get him out of my head, which is especially hard to do when he’s inches away.
Everything he does confuses me. He sat beside me on the bus yesterday. Didn’t talk to me at all today. Then sits next to me now. It feels like a game of tug of war.
And I want to walk away. To not care what he does and why.
But feelings aren’t a switch you can turn on and off. Love doesn’t have to be requited in order for it to feel real. If it were easy to get over someone, there wouldn’t be millions of songs about heartbreak. If it were simple to not care about someone by sheer force of will, moving on wouldn’t be a monumental task.
So I know, even as I glance around, I’ll end up right where I was. Literally and emotionally.
I zone out as the game continues. The whispering over seeing me drink is annoying, but it also distracts from the fact I neglect to choose who goes next. Truth or Dare skips on without me, full of side chatter and inside jokes.
I mostly stare at the smooth surface of the pool, inhaling chlorinated steam and feeling warmth slowly trickle into my bloodstream thanks to the sip of tequila.
Finn comes up with a dance routine for his dare. I take the opportunity to stand and head into the attached locker room. The air is cooler and drier in here. I inhale deeply as I use the bathroom and then wipe my face with a damp paper towel. I linger for a little while, trying to decide what to do next. Should I leave right away or wait a little longer?
When I walk back into the pool area, I’m expecting for nothing to have changed. It has. Instead of a crowded space, there’s only one person left by the pool.
Holden is sprawled out on the lounger we were sharing earlier, hands tucked behind his head as he stares up at theceiling. I glance up, wondering if there’s something to see besides white plaster. There isn’t.
I walk over toward him slowly, scanning the space like everyone else might be hiding and about to leap out. “Uh, where did everyone go?”
“Game got old. They went out to a club.” He keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he answers.
“A club?”
“Yep. New York has a lot of them, I hear.”
I’m expecting a mocking, sarcastic edge, but instead he just sounds matter of fact. “And…you didn’t want to go?” Nothing about his answer explained why he’s still here.
“No.”
I consider that. Stick my hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt and rock back on my heels. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna…” My voice trails when Holden suddenly stands, still shirtless, and now he’s tugging down his sweatpants. “What are you doing?”
He straightens, tossing his sweatpants on top of the hoodie he shucked earlier. I force my eyes to stay north. “Relax, flower. Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” And then he walks over to the edge of the pool and jumps in.
Whatever expression I’m wearing when he surfaces makes him smile.
“Water is warm,” he comments, spreading his arms.
My front teeth dig into the soft flesh of my lower lip. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, and yet I’m embarrassingly tempted. There’s no one else around to wonder or speculate. I don’t have to worry about what anyone is thinking about me—what judgments they’re making about me—except for him.
Maybe that’s who I should be most concerned with. I’m giving him more and more ammunition against me. Providing more and more evidence that he still has power over me—lots ofit. When—and I’m sure it’ll be a when, not an if—he breaks my heart again, I’ll only have myself to blame.
But I know I’ll agree anyway. “They’re not coming back?”
“They’re not coming back.”
I exhale. Step out of my shorts and toss them on top of his clothes. It’s an unexpectedly intimate sight, seeing our clothing mixed together in a discarded heap.
