Page 22 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

The two-hour drive to Spokane flies by in a blur of music and half-dreams. Clay streams an upbeat playlist through the car speakers, singing along as his fingers tap out rhythms on the steering wheel.

I drift in and out of sleep in the passenger seat, lulled by the warmth of the seat heater and the steady hum of the tires on the road.

I’ve always been a terrible road trip companion.

Not that I’ve had many chances to improve.

Outside of the occasional drive to visit Sarah, I haven’t ventured far from home.

When Roman got into Berkeley, my first thought wasn’t excitement for him—it was how far away California sounded.

I’ve never seen the ocean. The closest I’ve been is Eastern Washington, and that hardly counts.

The furthest south I’ve traveled was Salt Lake City for a shopping trip, and after the nightmare that was Utah traffic, I never went back.

Someday, maybe, I’ll take a real road trip.

See something beyond the borders of familiarity.

But I’d have to stay awake long enough to enjoy it .

Clay doesn’t seem to mind that I sleep. He hums along to the music, perfectly content behind the wheel. He never complains about being our chauffeur—mine and Alayna’s. We've mastered the art of being passenger princesses, and he’s leaned into the role like he enjoys it. I think, deep down, he does.

There’s a strange comfort in the silence between us.

We don’t fill it with small talk or forced laughter.

Simply existing in the same space feels natural.

Still, I keep wondering—has he thought about kissing me again?

Is that on the table tonight? Has he imagined something more than burgers and trivia and the low hum of flirtation we never quite address?

I try not to think about it too much. But the truth is, I already have.

That kiss—it was sweet. Both familiar and easy.

But now that Roman has kissed me too, I can’t help but compare.

Not the kisses themselves. Not even the men.

But the way each one made me feel. Clay’s kiss warmed me from the inside out, like slipping into a favorite sweater.

Roman’s felt like a lit match pressed against my skin—unexpected, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

Neither felt entirely safe. Kissing is risky business.

And my heart? It doesn’t do well with uncertain things.

There’s a warning simmering in my gut, but I can’t quite translate it.

Clay gently shakes my shoulder when we cross into the city limits. “Hey, we’re here. You hungry?”

“Sure. I could eat.” I slide my sunglasses down, shielding my still-blurry eyes from the sharp glare of the late afternoon sun. It’s bright enough to fool you—like it could be a summer day. But the chill in the air and the bare trees don’t lie. It’s fall, through and through.

Still, a cold shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the weather.

It’s already after four, and we haven’t eaten since breakfast; Clay is probably starving.

Alayna had slept in this morning, and no one in our house dares to wake her early.

She’s a storm cloud when she’s tired, and Clay and I had no desire to get caught in the downpour.

Instead, I’d taken advantage of the time while she slept, choosing my favorite plan for the play and filling out an online order form for the supplies we would need to achieve it.

It was nice to check off an item on my to-do list, and it helped distract me from my nerves.

Clay and I had debated if we should tell Alayna about the trip as we shared eggs and toast, but in the end we decided not to tell her we were heading to Spokane without her—it felt too loaded, too strange to explain.

So when she took her time with her shower and curled every strand of hair and blended her makeup to perfection, I didn’t rush her.

I didn’t tell her we had plans. How do you explain something like this?

“Hey kid, hurry up—your dad and I are going on a maybe-date, but don’t worry, we don’t know what we are either”?

Of course, Clay told my mom. Thought it was smart to let someone know we’d be in Spokane.

In case of emergencies. And maybe he’s right, but I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head from here.

She’s been watching us closely for weeks, all but bursting to say something.

I hope she keeps it to herself, at least around Alayna.

If this becomes a thing—if it’s ever real—we’ll tell her. Together.

Clay takes the exit, pulling into a strip mall. “Burgers? Pizza? What do you want, Keke?”

The nickname makes me flinch—not because it’s new, but because it isn’t.

Alayna’s been calling me Keke her whole life.

Eventually, everyone else did too. Clay saying it now, in the context of whatever this is, feels…

off. Like he’s trying to mix the past and present into something that doesn’t quite fit.

“Whatever you want is fine. I’m not picky.”

“Aw, come on,” he says, grinning. “Without the opinionated kiddo here, we can go wherever you want. You don’t have a single craving?” He reaches over and gives my shoulder a squeeze .

I don’t. Not really. I could eat anywhere.

Alayna usually makes the call, and I find something on the menu.

But Clay’s looking at me like this is part of his plan—to make today special.

And I want that. I want to want that. But everything in me is still off-kilter.

Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s hunger. Or maybe it’s something I’m not ready to name.

I force a smile. “A burger does sound pretty good.”

“That’s my girl. Burgers it is.” He turns back to the road with a little smirk, clearly pleased.

I rub my hands over my jeans, trying to ground myself.

I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but there’s a hollowness in my chest I can’t quite shake.

Like I’m playing a part again, trying to please everyone around me.

That scares me more than I want to admit.

Maybe I need food. Maybe I need to relax.

Or maybe… my gut is waving a red flag, and I’m pretending not to see it.

“This place look good?” he asks, pulling up to a faded plum-colored building with “Billy Bob’s Burgers” painted across the front. There’s a small line outside. Usually a good sign.

My stomach growls. “Guess my stomach thinks so.” I’m quiet. And weird. But I can’t snap out of it.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Clay hops out of the car and jogs around to open my door. “Let’s get you fed. Can’t win trivia night on an empty stomach! Need that brain food.”

I try to remind myself—this is Clay. One of my best friends. Not a stranger. Not someone I have to impress. We can just hang out, like we always have. There’s no pressure. No expectations.

But the truth lands hard as he opens the door for me. No matter how this night goes, things are going to change.

After our meal, Clay and I wander into a shopping mall to kill time. Our stomachs full, we browse a few stores, chatting about the holidays and making notes of things Alayna might like for Christmas. Despite our best efforts, the conversation always circles back to her.

As the afternoon fades, Clay grabs our bags from the car and suggests we find a restroom to change into something more bar-appropriate.

It’s a little like sneaking into a party you weren’t supposed to be at, the kind where you change in the locker room at school.

I linger in front of the mirror, applying mascara.

My hand shakes more than usual as I run the brush over my lashes.

“Wow, you look great.” Clay’s voice makes me jump, his grin wide as I step out of the restroom.

I’m wearing a tight pair of jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt with lace trim and bare shoulders.

It’s simple, but I feel sexy as hell. The black peep-toe heels are the perfect finishing touch, lifting me enough that I almost meet his gaze.

He looks good too, his dark eyes warm and velvety against the deep blue of his button-down shirt. His caramel-colored oxfords give him a polished yet casual vibe. It's almost annoying how effortlessly he pulls it off. “You look good yourself.”

“Shall we?” he asks, offering me his arm.

I slip mine through his, the scent of his cologne surrounding me as we head back to the car.

The silence is different now, a little less comfortable.

My palms are clammy, my nerves unexpectedly on edge.

I count my steps to distract myself from the ridiculous jitters twisting in my stomach .

The Quiz and Quench is buzzing when we walk in.

The crowd’s always interesting, a mix of ages and styles, from hipsters to cowboys, all equally at home here.

The bar is huge, lively, and brightly lit, with gold and blue décor that reaches from floor to ceiling.

This isn’t a place for drowning your sorrows in solitude.

It’s a place for meeting people, for having fun, and maybe leaving with a trophy.

Clay signs us up for the trivia contest as I grab a seat by the stage. A live band is covering "Sugar" by Maroon 5, and I sway to the rhythm. The line at the bar is long, so by the time Clay returns with our drinks, they’re announcing the start of Trivia Night.

“Raspberry Mojito?” I raise an eyebrow, eyeing the mint sprig and raspberry-colored liquid.

“Yeah, hope that’s okay,” Clay says, nodding to his own drink. “Got myself a vodka soda if you’d prefer that.”

I shake my head and take a long sip. I’m surprised he remembers my favorite drink. We’ve hardly been out together where alcohol was involved. “No, you did good.”