As I searched through my drawers for my underwear and bra, I took my time, and the way my skin pebbled, I knew he was watching. I could feel it, and if the sensation of being watched wasn't enough, when I turned around, I saw him sitting on his bed, arms crossed, staring directly at me. My eyes widened. Believing he was watching and catching him in the act were two completely different emotions. One was the thrill of being caught, the other was the act. His expression was impassive, much like most of our interaction last night, but the fact that he didn't move said something—or at least I thought it did when I came outside an hour ago. The high I felt when I walked outside is long gone, and now I'm questioning everything.
Last night, London admitted we weren't kids anymore, and I've replayed every ghost of an expression that crossed his stoney face since the words left his mouth. I may have taken liberties, letting my eyes drift over all the parts of him that had changed over the summer, but his eyes blazed a trail over every inch of the exposed skin on my tanned thighs to my braless breasts covered only by the thin material of my sleep tank.
It's that endless loop that has me anxious to see him again. A summer of no contact, as shitty as it felt, may have been exactly what we needed. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I thought he was forgetting me, but maybe it was fanning the flames. Maybe in our time spent apart, he felt the same as me. Being apart sucked, and now I need to know if I'm destined to be a dreamer or if last night was a turning point in our relationship.
Honk, honk, a horn sounds, and I turn around to find a red convertible I'd know anywhere pulls up to the curb. Long auburn hair, red lips, and frosty blue eyes that mirror the frigid heart that beats inside her cold chest giddily bounce out of the driver seat. Riley Heron. She's a sophomore, like London, and captain of thejunior varsity cheer team, a title that's really a technicality because of her year. With her dad running the football program, she walks the hallways like she owns every brick, making the varsity team look like mere accessories to her reign.
Before our eyes can connect, I finish pulling the toilet paper off the base of the oak tree and stuff it in the trash bag I've been hauling around. The last thing I want is to be on Riley's radar. The girl is as fake as they come. If she's being nice, it's never for your benefit but for hers.
"Lyndsey." I hear her footsteps come to a halt behind me, and I cringe.
I roll my lips as I slowly turn. This morning started out great, but my day is quickly turning to shit. "It's Laney."
She flips her long red hair over her shoulder. "What is?"
My eyes widen. I knew she was a mean girl, but I didn't realize she was stupid too. "My name is Laney. You called me Lyndsey."
"Right…" She flashes me a big fake smile. "So you did all of this to make the dance team, right?"
I look around at what remains of the mess I made last night. Toilet paper still hangs from every branch above my head, but I highly doubt she's here to congratulate me on my TPing skills, and I'm starting to regret my choice to correct my name.
"Yes," I answer cautiously as the screen door opens, and London waltzes out with a quickened pace.
"Riley," he greets as he meets her on the sidewalk, wearing a crisp V-neck, dark jeans, and white sneakers. The shadows that hung around him last night as we stood between our windows have faded, and in their place is what looks like the London I used to know…until my eyes meet his. They're still different. "I thought we said we'd meet at The Twisted Cone?" He shoves his hands in his front pockets.
"I know, but I was right around the corner, and I remembered you mentioning that you don't get your license for another week, so I thought I'd pick you up."
Wait, he was planning on meeting her? Since when is Londonfriends with Riley Heron? His eyes stay pinned on hers like he's lost in thought, and I can't tell what he's thinking. Hopefully, he's plotting his way out of whatever plans they made because I don't like it. I hate it. She's the last person on the planet I'd want to see him with if he didn't choose me. I'd learn to deal with anyone—anyone but her.
"Did you have other plans?" Her eyes drag back to me. "I thought you were asking me on a date, but now that I'm here…"—she holds her palms out—"maybe your plans have changed. I mean, everyone knows there's only one reason the dance team upholds this silly tradition?—"
"He was out of town. That's why I chose this house," I cut her off in hopes of ending this conversation so that the two of them will go away, and I can sulk in peace.
"Sure," she says condescendingly as her eyes drag down my body. I'm wearing a pair of athletic shorts and an oversized band t-shirt while she looks like she's ready for a night at the club, wearing a black mini skirt, cropped tank, and those stupid platform shoes everyone thinks are so cute. They're hideous, but it doesn't matter what I think. All that matters is what he thinks. "So are we leaving or what? It's hot out here, and I'm starting to sweat," she whines as she checks her phone.
"You caught me off guard. I need to grab a few things. Wait inside. I'll be right behind you."
She quirks a brow and twirls her keychain around her forefinger before conceding. "Fine. Don't keep me waiting. I don't like it."
He watches her walk up the pathway toward the house, and when she reaches the steps, he throws his hand in his hair and tugs at the roots. "Hey…" He turns back to me. "Sorry, I can't help clean this up." He pulls his grandfather's knife out of his back pocket. "You might need the chief to help cut the twine around those yard bags." He hands me the knife. "Just leave it on the porch when you're finished."
'Sorry, I can't help you clean this up. Take my knife.'Really, that's all youhave to say right now? Not you went MIA all summer, and now you're back for less than twenty-four hours and taking the meanest girl in school on a date? What the actual fuck?Those are the things I want to say, but I don't.
"It's fine. You didn't make this mess. It's not your responsibility to clean it up." His dark pools lock on mine, and while they're different, the hardness I saw before has softened, but something else is there too. I don't know what it is or why it's there, but I know that puzzle will not be solved standing on this front lawn while Riley Heron impatiently waits inside. All this is doing is dragging out my mortification.
Logically, I know he can't read my thoughts, but I feel incredibly exposed right now. It's as though he sees through every lie. Yes, I TPed your house because I like you. Yes, I still dream about marrying you, and yes, I walked in front of my window this morning hoping you'd see me. Instead, I say, "You should go. Wouldn't want to keep your date waiting," I say with a sarcastic tone that speaks to my disdain.
My eye catches a subtle clench in his fist, my words hitting a nerve. I just wish I knew on whose behalf he was offended. I can tell it's on the tip of his tongue to say something. London is not the guy who will spare you his words to save your feelings, so his silence now is as bemusing as it is infuriating. Words I can process. This version of the boy I used to know, I can't. He turns back to the house, and I go back to picking up toilet paper when he pivots on his heel back to me. "Oh yeah, and Laney…" I look up and meet his eyes. "You should probably close your curtains."
His midnight gaze collides with mine for one electric heartbeat before he deliberately tears it away, those obsidian depths guarding secrets I'm desperate to unravel. His message is a warning that only makes my defiance burn hotter. Why give it at all if he was unbothered? I won't be closing my curtains.
Chapter 2
Freshman Year
LONDON
AGE SIXTEEN
