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“Hey, Adams.” Harrison mirrors Holden’s polite, detached tone.
I play with the zipper of my jacket as he glances between the two of us.
“I’ll see you guys later.” He gives me another smile, one that looks more forced, before he walks off.
“Your bag is in the car.”
I glance over one shoulder, meeting Holden’s gaze. “Thanks.”
A small nod and then he leaves as well. I can see Finn waiting on the opposite side of the lot, along with Mark and Jordan and a bunch of his other friends.
My parents start piling all the younger kids into the van. Maggie walks over and nudges me in the side. “So really, how was it?”
It’s rare my little sister is interested in what I have to say. Most of the time, it feels like our roles are reversed. Like she’s the wiser one between the two of us when it comes to life experience.
“It was fun.”
“Did you—y’know—do anything?”
“There were tons of trips. We went to the Empire State Building and the Met and—”
Maggie snorts a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
Belatedly, I realize what she was actually asking. The senior trip debauchery is legendary, and she was asking if I partook.
For a split second, I indulge the idea of telling her I drank tequila, went skinny-dipping, and then had sex with Holden Adams.
Would she even believe me? She’d probably consider it a joke. Even if she did believe me, Maggie is notoriously terrible at keeping secrets. She spoils group gifts for our parents every year.
“I think he likes you.”
My head snaps to the side. “What?”
“Harrison Baker. I think he likes you.”
“He was just being nice.” I fall back on my standard answer, smothering the disappointment Maggie wasn’t talking about a differenthe.
“He came over here, Cassia.”
“So did Holden.”
“Yeah, but he’sHolden.”
I have no idea what that means, but I think it’s a slight at me. As in, Holden would never be interested in me, but Harrison might be.
“Let’s go, girls!” I turn around to see my parents, Sally, Regan, and the twins, have all piled into the minivan. I climb into the way back and move a few toys off the seat before buckling in. My dad pulls out of the lot, and I keep my gaze firmly fixed on the road ahead, not the group gathered in the corner of the parking lot.
It was fleeting between us. Temporary. I knew that all along. But I admit to myself, just for a moment, that I wanted it to be more. Want it to happen again.
“This tastes funny.” Sydney holds a spoon out to me.
I take a bite of the chocolate chip cookie dough she’s offering and chew. Swallow. “Did you add salt?”
“I think so?”
“Syd,” I groan.
Sydney is usually as fastidious as I am. But when it comes to certain things—namely baking—she’s totally scatterbrained.
