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“You call that out of nowhere?”

He shrugged. Because he knew it was bullshit. He just wanted to protect himself by giving me an out. Any out.

“I don’t have anywhere else I’d rather be,” I said.

I touched his arm. Looking up at me, not taking his eyes away, he shifted his weight so he could lift one hand to take mine.

We laced our fingers back together and rested our hands between us.

He looked at our hands, then back up at me.

And then he smiled. Soft. And really not rare at all.

“Okay.”

TWENTY-THREE

Self-Analysis:

Darcy Phillips

Is not set in stone.

The swim meet was indoors, but the upper half of an entire wall was a grid of windowpanes, allowing the morning summer sun to stream through and glint on the pool’s surface. The effect was a little like a greenhouse, and combined with the heat radiating from the water and the strong smell of chlorine, it was hot, muggy, and stifling.

Our spot in the bleachers was behind the lifeguard station, where a girl in an oversized T-shirt kept an eagle eye on all the swimmers. On the ground was a line of white plastic tables where people with pens, papers, and timers sat watching the endless parade of swimmers. Along the sides of the pool, girls and guys hovered with jackets thrown over their swimsuits or towels wrapped around their shoulders, cheering on their teammates or awaiting their own races.

The bleachers we sat on were fairly empty, with only a smattering of family and friends from each team sitting at either end. But those of us who were there were enthusiastic enough to make up for the sparseness, getting to our feet and shouting for our team in every race. And there were alotof races.

A few families down from us, one particularly engaged mom was playing “We Will Rock You” by Queen through her phone speakers and waving it from side to side. Near the pool, her daughter kept sending stricken looks and widening her eyes before pointedly looking away from the bleachers.

Even Brooke, whose idea of a good time was practicing with new makeup or sitting in a clean meeting room planning to organize a school event, stomped and cheered and held out her hand linked with Ray’s in a victory punch when we were winning.

Brooke, Ray, and I really were a trio these days. Months ago, I could barely imagine tolerating Ray joining us every time I did something with Brooke, but now I more than tolerated. I loved having her here. She balanced out Brooke’s sweetness with a brash, confident energy that made me feel we were sort of invincible, all together. And if it weren’t for Ray, I’d probably be here alone today, but Ray insisted we stick together for this kind of stuff, every single time.

And in even better news, it seemed Ray would be hanging with Brooke and me for the foreseeable future. A few days after my birthday, Ray had sincerely offered to tell the school about the rigged votes, which was enough to clinch Brooke’s complete forgiveness. Brooke wouldn’t let Ray do it, to be clear. I think, for Brooke, it was enough that Ray offered to, and seemed to mean it. So as far as I was concerned,they were endgame at this stage, and I intended to do whatever I could to support that. Minus any meddling.

Even though we were reaching the end of the meet now, Brougham still checked on us at regular intervals while he stood with the rest of his team on the ground, kind of like a toddler checking their family was watching them on a jungle gym. Every time he caught my eye, his expression softened, and he’d look away with a glow about him. It wasn’t the first time I’d come to one of his meets, but the novelty of having someone there to watchhim, to supporthim, had yet to wear off for Brougham.

We only had the relay to go when a girl with long, straight blond hair and a pointy face I vaguely recognized sat next to me out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to give her such a startled look, but to be fair, random people who don’t know you didn’t usually come up and sit in your personal space with several feet of bleachers free for the sitting.

“Hey, you’re Darcy, right?” she asked.

My shoulders tensed of their own accord. Straight away my gut told me this was locker related. I’d finally gotten to a point where I didn’t feel judged by half the school, and now someone was here to bring it all back up. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m Hadley. My brother’s on the team with your boyfriend.”

“Oh, nice. They’re killing it today.” Hadley, Hadley… I vaguely recognized the name, but I couldn’t match it to a letter. Or maybe she was one of the unlucky few who got her letter snatched during Lockergate.

“Yeah, I’m really proud.” Hadley hesitated, and Brooke looked over in interest to eavesdrop. “Hey, I came over because you helped me out a while ago. I wrote in about my ex-boyfriend… the orbiting…?”

I blinked, then it all came back to me. “Oh, he was liking all your posts, right?”

“Yes! I loved your response so much. Especially the line about deserving to be courted with fervor.SoJane Austen. It’s, like, my life motto now.”

Okay. This didn’t seem to be going the route of righteous indignation. The tension flurried out of my limbs. “What ended up happening?”

“Well.”Hadley folded her arms and leaned forward, storyteller mode activated. “About a month after that he started texting me all like ‘I miss you, I’ve been thinking about you, I saw your photo with the Rollerblades and I haven’t gotten your smile out of my mind all night.’” She pulled a face.