Chapter 12
Loud laughter filters in from the backyard as I heap more roasted potatoes onto my plate. They’re the tiny, perfectly round kind, almost impossible to cut. It’ll give me something to do for the rest of dinner.
Archer glances at me as I walk out onto the patio, his smile small and a little tentative. It’s just the two of us tonight—well, the two of us and our parents. But no loud friends. No rap music. No distraction from the few words we’ve exchanged since his family arrived two hours ago.
It’s Mrs. Hathaway’s birthday. My mom went all out with the food, spending most of the day cooking in the kitchen.
“How’s senior year going for you, Elle?” Mr. Hathaway asks after swallowing a bite of steak.
“Good, thanks,” I respond.
Why is school always the topic adults ask about?
Mr. Hathaway nods. “Still getting those straight A’s?”
“She sure is,” my dad says proudly.
My lips curve into the expected smile before I reach out for my water glass.
“And balancing student council with cheerleading,” my dad continues. “Only reason she’s not doing Mock Trial this year is that it conflicts with everything else she already has going on. She’s taking an Architecture elective instead.”
“Architecture, really?” Mrs. Hathaway says. “How interesting.”
“Tell her about the class, Elle,” my mom encourages.
I’m too busy staring at my dad. We haven’t discussed school since the first day of classes. And yet he managed to make it sound like he’s the most involved parent to ever exist. It’s a special, annoying talent of his.
“It’s, uh … we’ve mostly observed buildings and conveyed our observations into sketches. Next week, we’re translating on-site measurements of a building into scaled drawings and adding design elements based on style and symmetry.”
A beat of silence follows my explanation.
“Well, it sounds very interesting,” Mrs. Hathaway tells me. “Maybe you’ll pursue architecture instead of ending up in law school.”
I glance at my dad. He’s sipping wine, appearing unconcerned by the suggestion. Confident I’ll follow through on the plan that’s been in place for as long as I can remember.
“Maybe,” I say.
“Archer, what elective are you taking this semester?” my mom asks.
Archer straightens from his slouch at the opposite end of the table. “Uh, Pottery.”
“How fun. Is your mom going to get a mug as a birthday gift?” my mom asks.
“We’ll see,” Archer replies. “It’s still in the shaping stage.”
“I’m trying to get Walker to relax his policy a bit,” Mr. Hathaway tells my dad, loud enough for us all to hear. “Rather than playing with clay, Archer could use the extra football practice. Any college recruiter is going to laugh in my face with the stats he’s put up so far this season.”
Archer’s expression resembles a marble statue as he glowers at his plate.
“These potatoes are delicious, Mom,” I say, attempting to cut into one. It slides away into the pile of dressing left behind by my salad.
“Yes, everything was incredible, Frances,” Mrs. Hathaway says.
Murmured agreement sounds around the table, and my mom beams.
We finish eating and sing “Happy Birthday” to Mrs. Hathaway. My dad disappears into his study with Mr. Hathaway. My mom stands to clear the dishes, and I rise too.
She waves my hands away. “You keep Archer company.”
My mom and Mrs. Hathaway head inside, chattering the whole time.
I slump back in my seat, watching the leaves dangling from the wooden terrace dance in the slight breeze.
“Fun dinner,” Archer comments dryly.
“Yep.”
“I’ve barely seen you all week.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.”
And actively avoiding him. He showed up here the day after Maddie’s party with soup, saying he hoped I was feeling better. We watched a movie, and I spent the entire time trying to come up with the right words to end things. Before I could, one of his buddies called, and he left. Since then, all we’ve done is exchange a few words at school.
Archer exhales. “Yeah. Me too. My dad has me running extra drills when I get home from practice each night.”
“That sucks.”
“Caught Watson talking to that Two kid a few days ago,” he tells me. “Guy caught a can of beer at a party, and they act like he’s Tom Brady. Be nice if the guys had a little faith in me.”
I stiffen, certain that Two kid is Ryder. Literally bite my tongue to avoid mentioning the guys have watched Archer fail for three seasons. Faith runs out eventually. It doesn’t help that this year seems to be following the same pattern as years past—rusty start, followed by extra drills and a burst of determination, then deflating into blaming receivers, and skipping practices. It seems like we’re rapidly approaching phase three.
Archer looks around the backyard. “Too bad your folks never put in a pool. Warm enough for a swim.” He glances at me and grins. “Miss seeing you in a bikini.”
My answering smile is forced.
Archer is attractive. Classically handsome. But I can’t say I’m dying to see him shirtless.
I thought that apathy was because I’d known him since we were toddlers in diapers. Because we’d been dating for months and so the thrill of newness had worn off.
But I think those are excuses. That chemistry is this mystical force that can’t be created or duplicated. It’s there, or it’s not, and you don’t get to choose which. Or with who you experience it.
Archer shoves away from the table and stands. “Come on. Let’s play some H-O-R-S-E.”
Reluctantly, I stand too. Basketball is better than just sitting here, I guess.
Archer heads into the garage to grab a ball while I pull my hair back into a braid.
“Ladies first,” he says, bouncing the ball to me.
I catch it, which bodes well for my chances of winning. When I was little, I’d wait in the driveway for my dad to get home from work, and we’d shoot around some. I’m decent, and last time we played, Archer wasn’t any better at basketball than football.
“Who said I’m a lady?” I ask, smirking.
Archer snorts. “You’re a virgin who always makes high honor roll.”
A vein in my temple pulses. He’s insecure because I won’t have sex with him, but that doesn’t make the belittlement okay.
“How do you know I didn’t have sex with Perry?” I ask.
Archer laughs like the idea is ludicrous. “He would have told me. Any guy would have told me, rubbed my face in it.”
Not any guy.
I smile, suddenly so grateful to my younger self for choosing Ryder as my first. He wasn’t the obvious choice. Keira and Juliet would have tried to talk me out of it, which is why I never told them. But he was the right choice.
I take the first shot, my grin spreading wider when it swishes through the basket.
Archer grabs the ball and strolls over, stopping about a foot away.
“Not from there. From here, behind the line.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Elle. You always have to be such a rule follower?”
“You’re the one trying to cheat,” I snap.
Another eye roll before he takes the shot.
He misses, and a petty part of me wants to smile.
We alternate taking shots in silence, the bounce of the basketball against the asphalt the only sound aside from the occasional street noise.
I make a three-pointer, then pass the ball to Archer. He has four letters. If he misses this shot, he loses.
So, part of me isn’t surprised when he drops the ball and reaches for my hand instead, tugging me over to the side of the garage.
“I’m sorry,” he says, resting one hand against the shingles as he leans toward me. “I shouldn’t have brought up you being a virgin. That was a dick move.”
I don’t disagree. And I’m so tempted to tell him the truth—that I’m not one—but it’s none of his business. Not to mention, it’ll prompt a whole bunch of questions I don’t want to answer. Archer already has a vendetta against Ryder because of football. Finding out I had sex with him will make that a thousand times worse.
He leans closer. I let him kiss me for a few seconds, then turn my head to the left.
Archer huffs. “Come on, Elle. I’ll stop mentioning sex. If you want to wait, that’s fine. But now, you won’t even kiss me?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Let me change that.” His hand lands on my hip.
“No.” I push his chest, and he doesn’t budge. “Archer, I mean it.” I shove his chest harder, adrenaline spiking through my system. I’m breathing heavier now than I was when we were playing. “I-I need some space.”
Archer scoffs as he steps away, turning and retrieving the basketball from the spot it rolled to in the grass. “I don’t fucking get you, Elle. I gave you space all week, hoping you’d reach out, and you just take it. I try to spend time around you; you ask for space. What the hell do you want from me?”
Nothing.
There’s never going to be a good time to do this.
“I want to break up.”
He stares at me, his expression absolutely incredulous. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry if?—”
“Nah.” Archer shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for dating me.”
“I-I just think we’re better off as friends.”
“Friends,” Archer states flatly.
I nod.
He flings the basketball toward the garage door. I flinch when the rubber slams into aluminum.
“No thanks. Have fun telling our moms.”
I stare after him as he stalks around the side of the house toward the front drive. That’s the best he can come up with?
Although I am dreading it.
I blow out a long breath, then head for the French doors that connect the patio to the kitchen. My mom and Mrs. Hathaway are standing in the kitchen, sipping from full glasses of wine and giggling. The dinner dishes sit in a dirty pile in the sink.
“Hey, honey,” my mom says, spotting me. She glances behind me. “Where’s Archer?”
“Dunno. We broke up. I’m going to Keira’s.”
I breeze past their shocked expressions, snagging my car keys from the hook by the front door and heading outside. My convertible is the only car in the roundabout, which makes me think Archer had keys on him and took off. Great. Him stranding his parents at my parents’ house will inevitably be considered my fault for breaking up with him.
Keira only lives three blocks away. I could easily walk, but blaring music on the short drive here is somewhat therapeutic.
Mrs. Parker answers the front door. “Elle! How lovely to see you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Parker. Is Keira home?”
“She’s upstairs. Come in.” She steps to the side for me to enter, then turns toward the staircase. “Keira! Elle’s here!”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and smile at the new message.
KEIRA: Come up.
“She said to come up,” I tell Mrs. Parker.
Keira’s mom shakes her head. “You kids and your gadgets. Let me know if you girls need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.”
I head upstairs and down the hallway, tapping lightly on Keira’s closed door.
It opens a few seconds later.
One sec, Keira mouths at me, gesturing for me to enter.
I walk into her bedroom and take a cross-legged seat on the mattress, watching as she shuts the door and smiles.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she says. “I’ll, uh, talk to you then. Okay.” She smiles. “Bye.”
“Who was that?” I ask as she drops her phone on her desk and then joins me on the bed.
“Tucker.”
“Tucker? Tucker Franklin?”
“Uh-huh. He gave me his number at Maddie’s party, and we’ve been talking. He’s nice.”
“You’re blushing,” I tease.
“Fine. Nice and cute.”
“Do your parents know?”
The Parkers aren’t as obviously snobby as my parents are, but I’m guessing they’d have a lot to say about their only daughter dating a guy from the trailer park.
“No. We’re just flirting. It’s no big deal.” She sips from a can of seltzer, then glances at me. “What are you doing here? I thought you had that dinner with Archer and his parents tonight.”
“I did it.”
Keira gasps, her eyes wide. “You had sex with him?”
“What? No. I broke up with him.”
“Oh my God. How did it go?”
“Great.”
She winces. “That bad?”
“He threw a basketball at the garage door, then took off and left his parents at my house.”
“Well, he’s always been a sore loser. Remember the game against Alleghany last year?”
“Yeah, I sure do.”
“I’ve got some vodka hidden in my closet,” Keira tells me.
I lie back on her bed, relaxing against the same pink comforter she’s had forever. “I drove here.”
“You can spend the night,” she offers.
“Thanks, but I should get back soon. My parents will want to … discuss tonight’s events.”
“Your dad won’t care.”
“My mom will though.”
Keira’s silent for a moment, knowing I’m right. “She’ll get over it. She wants you to be happy.”
I grab one of the pillows on her bed, playing with the tassel in the corner. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Tucker have been flirting?”
“You’ve had a lot going on. And I don’t know what it is really. We don’t talk at school, but we text during lunch and stuff. It’s been kind of fun, keeping it a secret, you know?”
I do know. I know exactly what she means.
“Have you guys kissed?”
“Yeah. At Maddie’s party.”
“Have you met his friends?”
“Other Twos, you mean?”
“I guess.” I keep fiddling with the tassel.
“No. He was alone at the party, and we haven’t hung out in person since. We just text and talk on the phone.”
“What do you guys talk about?”
“Random stuff. He’s not one of those guys who just talks about himself and expects you to listen, you know? He’s a big baseball fan. His mom is gone, so he just lives with his dad. He works at his uncle’s garage. He’s building a coffee table out of scrap stuff he found. He mentions Ryder James a lot.” Keira reaches for her seltzer again.
“I had a thing with him.” I didn’t plan the words; they just came out.
A few drops of water land on my arm as Keira sputters.
“Keira! Gross!”
“With Tucker?” Her voice flies through a couple of octaves, and I know she’s underplaying how much she likes him.
“No. With Ryder.”
“You had a thing with Ryder James?”
“Uh-huh.”
“When?”
“Freshman year. And, like, a little since he’s been back. There have been a few moments.”
“I … what do you guys talk about?”
“Everything.”
“Wow. I—wow. I get the physical thing—he’s hot. But he’s so scowly and serious all the time.”
“Not when you get to know him.”
“How come you never mentioned it?” she asks.
I shrug the best I can while lying down. “Same reason as you. It was fun, keeping it a secret. And then he left, so …”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Keira?” Mrs. Parker says.
“Yeah?” Keira calls out.
“Mrs. Clarke just called. She needs Elle home for a family matter.”
Keira and I exchange a glance, both knowing exactly what that is.
I sigh and roll off her bed. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Yeah. Good luck.”
I nod, then leave to face my mom’s disappointment.