Page 17

E VENTUALLY, I FILL HER IN on the basics, ignoring the smile playing on her lips when I tell her that I might like a boy. As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a message from Claire, begging me to send her an update on The Guy, and my mom leaves so I can chat with her. Much as I hadn’t wanted anyone to see me like this, as soon as I tell her that I’m home for an appointment and she asks if she can come over, I say yes without any hesitation.

I have really, really missed my best friend.

It seems she missed me too, because twenty minutes later, we’re chatting on my bed like nothing has changed. “Wait.” I curl my fists in the blanket to stop myself from flailing. “Lowen told you they like you on a Post-it Note ?”

“It was cuter than it sounds!” she insists, whacking me with a pillow. “It was very sweet and very brave and you do not get to mock anyone, considering you have not told Salem in any way at all.”

“That’s different,” I grumble. “And we are not talking about it. So tell me what else I’ve missed.”

“Well, you can probably guess the biggest news around school…”

“Tell me what I missed that doesn’t have anything to do with my sister. Or Craig. I don’t need to know a thing about what he’s up to.”

“Good. Trust me—that boy remains trash.” Claire takes a drink of water from the purple Nalgene she carries everywhere. “But Oscar and Vivien broke up, and then got back together, and then broke up again when she found out he hooked up with Kaya while they were broken up. Oh, and Mrs. Taber got knocked up again. She’s leaving at the end of the semester.”

“Remember last time, when she said she wasn’t coming back?”

“Pretty sure she means it this time,” she says with a grin. “Oh, and my cousin Angi got engaged.”

“Angi of the sublime mac ’n’ cheese?”

Claire throws back her head and laughs, and I wish I could bottle up the sound and take it to Camden with me. “She will love that that’s how you know her, oh my Lord. Anyway, that’s about it. You already saw all the art from my show, and I have another one coming up in the spring. Otherwise, you haven’t missed much. Frankly, your life at boarding school sounds way more interesting. Or it would if you’d tell the boy how you feel.”

“How I maybe feel,” I amend stiffly, because part of me is clinging to the idea that this is some sort of temporary brain blip, confusion born of a combo of his surprising talent and even more surprising caretaking.

Judging by the roll of her big brown eyes, Claire’s not buying it. “Do you miss him?”

Shockingly badly. “People miss their friends,” I say defensively. “Hell, I missed you. A lot.”

She takes one of my hands, squeezes it. “I missed you too, Eves. Let’s not do this again.”

“My doctor’s appointment isn’t until one, so I’ll still be here tomorrow afternoon. Dunkin’ run after school?”

“It’s a date.” She leans over to give me a hug, every bit as warm as I remember. “I should get home, but just FYI, I’m going to need an update when you talk to that boy, and I’ll point out that if you’re nervous about talking to him face-to-face, I’m pretty sure you’ve got his number in your phone.”

“Or I could just leave him a message on a Post-it.”

“Shut up. ” She whacks me with a pillow again as I crack up, and I don’t mind it at all.

Claire’s comment about calling Salem is still ringing in my head an hour and two episodes of cheesy TV later. Avoiding having to look at him when I say something is tempting, but avoiding the issue entirely sounds even better.

Then again, what if I avoid it so hard that Salem sails right into someone new? I hadn’t seen him and Jenna coming; what if someone else slips in? The thought is enough to make me grab my phone without even realizing I’m doing it until my fingers curl around the rubber case.

Am I really gonna do this? What do I even say ? I’m tempted to put my phone back down, but then I think about how Claire will be asking for updates, how Lowen found a way to ask her out even though they were clearly nervous about it, and how I want to be able to tell her I got brave too. Without giving it another thought, I dial his number.

He answers way more quickly than I’m ready for. “Skeevy? Is everything okay? Did you die?”

Ugh, I really did miss his stupid voice. “I hope not. It’d be such a waste of a good hair day.”

“Skeevy. Are you really having a good hair day?”

I yank out a curl and let it bounce back. “Can you not just let me have this, please?”

“Never.”

Never. That one word seems to inflate like a balloon until it’s taking up all the space in my brain. Is it playful? Cruel? A harbinger of romantic doom? A hint that he knows why I’m calling and he wants to cut me off at the pass before I embarrass myself?

Or, you know, is it just the logical next word in our conversation? Who can say, really??

“Skeeves? You there?”

“Whoops, sorry! Yes, I’m here.”

“So what’s up?”

Oh, right, I called him. I have to actually say something. This is so much worse than talking face-to-face somehow. There is no chance on earth I am doing this right now. Is it too late to pass this off as a butt dial?

“Um, nothing. I just…” Just what ? How do I possibly finish that sentence? “Wanted to make sure you hadn’t burned Rumson down in my absence.” God, that was pathetic.

“Can promise I have not burned the dorm down. Can not promise I haven’t been using your private bathroom.”

“Salem!”

“Your shower is so much bigger than ours!”

Cool, cool, Salem’s been naked in my room. That’s fine. I am definitely not picturing it. Definitely not thinking about how he looks without a shirt on, now that I possess that information. “Don’t get used to it,” I manage to choke out. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“Got it. Morning shower it is.”

I am simply going to die on the spot. “I better return to a spotless bathroom, Grayson.”

“You know you didn’t leave a spotless bathroom behind, right? Your hair shit is everywhere.”

“Because it’s my bathroom! But feel free to make yourself useful and neaten it up.”

He snorts. “You haven’t made me that good, Peach.”

My teeth find my lip and bite so hard I nearly draw blood. I have to get off this phone call. Now. “I gotta go ice my ankle. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Try not break anything else before you get here. But if you do, I totally claim your room.”

“Oh, screw you.” I hang up over the sound of his laughter and fall back onto my pillow.

Yeah, I don’t think romance is in the cards for us.

The visit to the orthopedist the next day thankfully goes well, with the X-ray confirming there’s no break and the doctor graduating me from crutches to a boot. It’s still clunky and makes for uneven walking, but at least my armpits aren’t sore anymore. I celebrate with a Dunkin’ run with Claire after school, and then my parents drive me back up that night when they get home from work, the sun having long faded behind the fiery golden leaves lining the highway.

We’re already past dinnertime at the Beast, so we make a stop at a roadside diner about halfway to school and I get a BLT with a mountain of delicious greasy fries. Then we get back on the road, and as we pull into campus, I realize that my parents have never actually seen the school. “I wish I could give you a tour,” I say as they park in the lot nearest Rumson. “But between the boot and the dark—”

“We’ll find another time to come see everything, honey,” my mom assures me, reaching back to squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry we had to miss Parents’ Weekend. We really wanted to be here.”

Talking about Parents’ Weekend feels like a minefield, so I just give a brief smile and then together, we get me and my things into my room. I point out as many buildings as I can along the way, but I can see they’re eager to get back home, so I let them go with hugs goodbye and collapse onto my bed, pulling out my phone.

There are about fifty messages from Claire, begging for updates. In the middle of them is a photo of her and Lowen, both of them cheesing for the camera with their cheeks pressed together. Lowen is extremely cute—their curly brown hair frames a face with dimples big enough for their own zip code—and beneath them, Claire has texted You can have this too!

With your own person, she added underneath, making me snort.

Even in the best-case scenario, I don’t think I’ll be getting Salem to smile hugely for any cameras, but it does look nice. Stop bullying me, I text Claire back. I just got back.

She replies with laugh-cry emojis, followed by some big eyes, and I groan and tuck my phone under my pillows, then rest my head atop them and close my eyes.

A minute later, I hear footsteps through the ceiling.

He’s there. One floor above me. All I have to do is drag this stupid boot up one flight of stairs.

I can’t.

I try to go to my happy place, reflecting on some of my best poker hands, but once again, Claire gets in my head. Why are you so good at gambling when it comes to everything but your own happiness?

Fuck it. I’ve worked too hard at becoming a badass to stop going for what I want now.

Embracing my newfound courage for as long as it lasts, I retrieve my phone and tap out a new message.

Evie In the interest of honesty, I need to admit something.

I am kind of head-over-ass for your brother.

And I’m going to tell him.

I’m sorry.

Please don’t hate me.

Then I toss my phone to the side, take a deep breath, and hobble upstairs.

My heart is pounding so heavily that I can’t even hear the sound of my fist knocking on Salem’s door. For all I know, it’s silent. Except then, the door opens, and Salem is standing there, and my first thought on seeing him and the flannel pants hanging off his hips and his mess of midnight hair is I cannot believe I ever thought there was anything about this boy that needed fixing.

“Evie, hey, you’re back. And booted! That seems promising.” When I don’t respond, don’t—can’t—even smile, his face grows serious. “Everything okay?”

I shake my head, and he steps aside to let me in, then closes the door behind me. My eyes sweep the room, not just looking to confirm Matt’s out (he is) but to drink it all in. So many of my memories of this first semester at Camden are wrapped up in this room, and if this all goes to hell and I’m not welcome back here, I want to at least know that my last time is my last time.

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” he says as he sits in his desk chair, rolling back and forth across the linoleum. “Are you leaving? Don’t tell me you’re leaving.”

It’s something to cling to, so I do, wrapping myself in it as I take a seat on his bed so I can elevate my ankle. In an ideal world, I’d have a quicker escape route if I need it, but nothing about this is ideal. “Would you be upset if I was?”

He furrows those dark brows. “Is that a trick question? We’ve been over this. I know I’m an asshole, but yes, Evie, if you need to hear me say it, we are friends. Happy now?”

“Even though I ruined your relationship with Jenna?”

“ You didn’t ruin my relationship with Jenna, if you can even call it that,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Nothing about that was your fault.”

“Well, it’s my fault if she was picking up… feelings.” I take a deep breath, steeling all my nerves. “Because I think I have them. For you, I mean. And I don’t just think; I don’t know why I said that.” I shake my head, trying to get out a little of the panic. “I’m a mess, I know, and this is probably not the kind of thing you want to hear from me, but I feel like I miss you and maybe I’ve been missing you a little bit ever since you took your arm off my shoulders at the movie that first Friday, like I’ve just been waiting for you to put it back. And instead you went to Jenna, and I get it— obviously I get it, she’s Jenna, and I’m me, and clearly she realized this before I did, but—”

“Evie.” He braces his hands on his thighs, those long fingers fidgeting against the soft fabric. “Stop. Breathe. And hear me when I tell you that Jenna picking up vibes isn’t your fault either.”

“What do you mean?”

I’ve been avoiding direct eye contact, but his gaze locks on mine, as stormy and serious as I’ve ever seen it, and I can’t look away. “I know how to do my own damn laundry.”

I snort at the weird turn this conversation is taking. “I should hope so, after I spent an entire evening—”

“No.” The slightest of smiles creeps onto his lips, twisting something inside of me. “I know how to do my own damn laundry. You really should do whites separately, by the way. And unlike you, I even know how to use fabric softener.”

“Now you’re just bragging,” I say, trying to keep my voice light so it doesn’t shake like the rest of my body is trying to.

“No, I’m bragging and I’m telling you that the reason I didn’t ‘correct’ Jenna is because she was right,” he says as he rolls up to the bed, “and it would’ve been a dick move to pretend she wasn’t when everyone knows it except you.”

“Everyone knows…” My face flushes with warmth as my brain finally catches up and registers what I think he’s saying. What I hope he’s saying. What I really, really need to make sure he’s saying. “Words, Grayson. I need words.”

“Do you, though?” And then the warmth is everywhere as he slides onto the bed and slips one of those rough, callused hands into my hair, pulling my mouth to his. The kiss is soft, tentative enough to let me pull away, but I kiss him back without hesitation and it quickly turns hungry. Fevered.

Electric.

And I know that this time, I finally got the person right.

At that thought, I yank myself away, because I can’t start something here without putting everything else behind me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him as I catch my breath. “I… really, really want to keep doing that—like, wow, a lot —but I need to tell you something. I said honesty was important to me, and you deserve it too, even if it’s going to make you think a little less of me.”

He rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, as if he’s still feeling a little tingle there. Lord knows I am. “If you’re the one who drew that picture of Hoffman on the bathroom wall, for the record, I support that a thousand percent. It was hilarious.”

“I thought you did that.”

“Oh, yeah, I did do that.”

“Salem.”

He flutters his eyelashes innocently, and God, I am so mad at how attractive I find him. People should not be able to creep up on you like that. But there’s no question—Salem and his rock-star hair and angular jaw and stormy eyes are stupid hot. Which, considering he landed Jenna London, seems like another thing everyone knew before I did. “Peach, whatever it is, it’s going to be fine.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Another deep breath. Another silent prayer for courage. Maybe I should be going to chapel on the weekends after all. “I made out with Lucas.”

“Oh.” He scratches the back of his neck and looks up at me. “Wait, Lucas Burke? I thought Sabrina told me he’s been with Heather since the school year began.”

I look away, and get another, quieter, more heartbreaking “Oh.” He takes a deep breath and shifts a few inches away from me on the bed; it feels like miles. “That… doesn’t really seem like you.”

“It isn’t,” I say quickly. “I mean, I didn’t know he was with Heather—it was literally my first day. But he’d seemed sweet, and interested, and after everything with my ex and my sister, I just… wanted to be with someone who chose me, I guess? And of course, even he’d chosen someone else first. So much for being a nice guy.”

“You know he’s the kind of guy who tells everyone what a nice guy he is and is an actual, certifiable douchebag, right? Everyone on the team hates him.”

“Well obviously I know he’s a dick now. ” I swipe a tear off my face, and another one quickly appears in its place. “Anyway, there you have it—I’m a bad girl after all. Sooo proud.”

“Hey.” He lifts my chin, wipes the new tear gently with his thumb before tugging on a curl. “You are like goodness incarnate, Evie Riley. You are a fucking literal ball of sunshine. I was dreading everything about this year, thinking how incredibly fucking stupid I was getting myself sent to boarding school, and then you rolled into that orientation you shouldn’t have been at and made me laugh. Do you know how many people here make me laugh?”

I open my mouth to answer, and he adds, “Intentionally?”

“Oh. Probably not a lot.”

“No,” he says, sweeping my hair behind my ear, “not a lot. And then you just kept on finding new ways to be such a cute fucking weirdo, and I fell so damn hard for it. Hell, I’m still falling. You are magic to me, Peach, and the best person I know.”

“Most of the people you know are terrible,” I say with a sniffle.

“I didn’t say it was a high bar.” His hand lingers on my skin, so warm and gentle as he swipes away another tear. “But even if you’d known about Heather, there’s a difference between doing something shitty and being someone shitty.” He cracks a grin. “Kind of like doing something slutty and being someone slutty. And if I recall correctly, you’re the one who ripped me a new one over not getting that.”

I know it’s supposed to make me laugh, but all I can do is look up at him in wonder and, if I’m being honest, a little confusion. “That’s it? You’re just… cool with it?”

He shrugs. “I mean, unless you’re still into him?”

“Oh, hell no,” I say with such certainty that Salem laughs, and I take his hands and squeeze them. “No, no, no. I am very firmly in the Salem Grayson cheering section. But if you’ve had feelings for a while, why didn’t you say something?”

“Do you not remember how firmly you said that you had no interest in being with any guys when we established that ridiculous pact? Because you were pretty damn clear. And then Jenna came by and flirted with me, and I guess I just… also wanted to be with someone who wanted me back. She clearly wasn’t taking it seriously, and I figured it’d help me get over you, but.”

“My charm was too much to resist?”

“Something like that.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me onto his lap, and he feels so warm and so good, more solid than you’d think considering his skin-and-bones build. “I wasn’t a hundred percent honest about what Jenna said when she ended it.”

“She didn’t say she thought you were into me?”

“Oh, she did,” he says with a wry smile, “but she didn’t care about that; she’s always figured. It was everyone else knowing it that was where she drew the line. Somehow she figured out a song about having patience and being in it for the long haul was… not about me and her, and she did not appreciate my singing it publicly.”

Now it’s my turn to say “Oh.”

That song. That gorgeous song. Our song. Hot damn.

“Yeah. It didn’t exactly make me feel optimistic when you ran out after hearing it,” he says with a low laugh. “And I knew I was an asshole for singing it. I hadn’t planned to. But then you did that ridiculous card-trick show and you were just so… I had to.”

“Of all things to trigger it.” I bury my face in his shoulder, smothering my laugh in the flannel. “That stupid talent show. God. I heard you singing that song, and I thought it was for Jenna, and it also reminded me of Craig and Sierra, and Lucas, and I couldn’t stand it. That’s why I ran out. But for what it’s worth”—I look up, meeting his affectionate gaze with mine—“it was extremely hot.”

“Was it now?”

“It really, really was. Like, irritatingly hot. Taking the rock-star cliché just a little too far. Ten out of ten would throw my bra onstage.”

That low laugh again, warm against my ear, tingling down to my toes. “Would also accept that lace thing you bought at the mall. I am a big fan of that lace thing. That lace thing is at least sixty-nine percent responsible for my poor decision-making at the talent show.”

“Noted,” I say with a wicked little grin that has him biting the corner of his mouth. “So now you know everything.” I rest my chin on his shoulder. “You still wanna be with me? This is your last call to bail. After this, you’re required by law to be on my side for everything.”

“That’s the dating law, huh?”

“I mean, I only have an incredibly awful dating history, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay?” I look up at him, imagining hope shining in my eyes making me look like a Disney character.

His lips curve into a smile. “Okay. I’m on your side for everything, Peach.”

“You’re really sticking with ‘Peach’?”

“Feels like one should probably not call the girl he’s kissing ‘Skeevy,’ but I can go back to that if—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Truthfully, “Peach” has kinda grown on me.

And then another thought hits, and I drop my gaze down to my hands. “I really, really hate that you’re not my first kiss here.”

He lifts one of those hands and gently bites my thumb. “You weren’t mine either—who cares? I’m pretty sure the point of being in a relationship is for someone to be your last, not your first.”

Just like that, I feel the last of the bricks weighing my shoulders down fall away, and I settle into the warm flannel feel of him, curling into his arms exactly as I’ve been dying to do for days. “You know, for someone who floated into Camden on a cloud of pot smoke, you are oddly profound, Sammy.”

He snakes an arm around my waist and turns me, quick as lightning, so that our lips are mere inches apart. “For fuck’s sake, please just call me Salem,” he mutters before kissing me into oblivion.