Chapter Two
NOW
I’d extricated myself from my conversation with Shannon and Chase with mumbled excuses earlier, but by the time I slide into my seat behind him in my second period calculus class after fruitlessly spending first period history scouring every corner of social media for clues as to what the hell Jasmine is doing here, I’m determined to shove her out of my mind and get my shameless flirt on.
Apparently, so is he.
“Yo, you coming to my game Friday night?” His face is turned just enough for me to be sure he’s talking to me, his right dimple displayed in its full glory. I have dreams of doing weird things to those dimples.
“We’ll see.” As a rule, I limit how many football games I go to in a season.
It’s a little too sad to spend all my time drooling over Chase and his magical shoulders.
(Or watching him wipe his face on his jersey, revealing his lickable abs.
Or making up odes to his butt.) And I certainly don’t need him to know how happily I’d give up any night to watch him play.
Shannon put me on a strict limit of two games a month, and I’ve found it to be a good rule.
“We might go to Kiki’s—gotta get in all the night swimming possible while the weather’s still good. ”
Translation: I am not that interested in you and I’d sooner hang out with the same girls I do all day, every day, and also, I’ll be in a bikini.
“So, you’ll be in a bikini.”
I smile sweetly. “I guess that’s possible.”
“Suddenly I don’t wanna go to my game either.” That dimple appears again, and he turns and faces forward as Mr. Howard calls everyone to attention.
Okay, what the fuck is happening? I’ve spent three years of high school trying to get Chase’s attention, and that’s after God knows how many years of middle school when I never even bothered to try. And now he’s just … giving it up.
I really should’ve given a bigger tip for this haircut.
While Mr. Howard introduces himself for those who don’t know him (he taught me in freshman algebra), I slide my phone under my desk and open my ever-running group text with Shannon, Kiki Takayama, and Gia Peretti. Pool @ Kiki’s Fri night? Just us?
Shannon writes back almost immediately. Are you seriously pretending you don’t wanna go to Chase’s game on Fri?
Then, Good girl.
I have to go, Gia reminds us, followed by a megaphone emoji which, fair, seeing as she’s head cheerleader.
When we were on the JV squad together freshman and sophomore year, we got reamed out if we missed games for anything short of an emergency.
(Aaaand that’s why only one of us continued on to varsity.) Not that Gia would’ve skipped for anything short of landing in a full-body cast. The only thing that girl loves more than cheerleading is being a girlfriend. What about Hunter’s?
Missing Hunter Ferris’s annual First Party does seem like Stratford sacrilege, but come to think of it, I haven’t heard a word about it all day. His stupid posts about cabinets full of booze and the majesty of his hot tub usually take up my entire feed.
He’s not doing it this year, says Shannon, and I can feel her smugness through my phone screen at already having the dirt. Of course she withheld it. Of course she did. And then she drops another bomb. Some new girl is.
Jasmine. I know it in my bones. It’s such a Her thing to do, to swoop in and fuck things up a little just because she can. She wants to give the impression that nothing fazes her. And admittedly, very little does, as far as I can tell. Which is annoyingly compelling.
Almost as annoyingly compelling as being allowed to see what does get to her.
Stop, I order my quickening pulse as Gia responds with a shocked-face emoji.
I hate lying to my friends, especially after years of them holding my hands through my Chase obsession, but there’s no way I can tell them about Jasmine.
What would I even say? How do you tell people who’ve listened to you babble about your crush on a guy for a thousand years that whoops, you spent the summer fooling around with a girl?
Especially if you have no idea what it meant to either of you?
Especially if she’s so clearly over it that she came to your school and didn’t give you a heads-up?
The only thing I can do is feign complete ignorance and try to keep her far, far away from them.
We’re not going to some rando’s house, are we? I type, knowing I have no shot at winning this.
Are you joking? Recon 101. There’s nothing Kiki loves more than high school espionage. She wants to be either a PI or an investigative journalist, depending on the day. We’re going.
Even knowing it was coming, my pulse races at the thought of all of us walking into this party together. Immediately, I try to imagine what my friends will think of her.
Ever the detective, Kiki will dig into what possibly could have brought her here for senior year, and I can’t blame her—I’m dying to know the same.
We spent the entire summer together and she never once said a word about anything other than going home to her mom’s in Asheville.
How could she not have told me she was moving in with her dad?
How could she not tell me that the last time we said goodbye wasn’t the last time at all?
How could she show up and expect me not to obsess over what it means? ?
It wouldn’t be the worst thing if Kiki got some answers.
As for Shannon, she won’t like Jasmine. Outside of our little group, Shannon doesn’t really like anybody.
Some days I’m not even sure she likes me.
But Jasmine’s hot and rich enough to ping Shannon’s “importance” radar, so she’ll at least pretend to be friendly and welcoming until she figures out whether Jasmine’s a threat to her popularity, or college prospects, or both.
Basically, whatever dirt Kiki doesn’t get, Shannon will.
I probably need to figure out how to keep them apart until graduation day.
Gia will spend the entire night trying to decide if Jasmine’s prettier than her.
She is, but Gia will pretend not to come to this conclusion, while coming to this exact conclusion.
I love that she always tries to wish her truths into existence.
It isn’t that she’s lying; it’s that she truly believes that if you will it, it is no dream.
Her ex-boyfriend taught her that one, though I’m sure she thinks he made it up and doesn’t realize it’s a famous quote he must’ve stolen from an old yearbook.
Anyway, it’s become her strategy for life.
Granted, she made cheer captain, has a cute boyfriend who’s hopelessly devoted to her, and obviously has the most fabulous friends at Stratford, so maybe she’s on to something.
I’d never tell her this, but I was inspired enough by her success to try it with Chase, spending nights willing him to offer me a ride home or ask me to dance at a party. As I think about him flirting with me this morning, I wonder if it’s finally paying off, but on delay. (Oh, the timing.)
He’ll be at the party; the football players always go, regardless of their opener results.
Whether I’m there or not, he and Jasmine will be in the same room, like worlds colliding.
I wonder if he’ll think she’s pretty. (How can he not?) I wonder if she’ll think he’s hot.
(How can she not?) Did I mention him to her?
I can’t seem to recall any conversations about him, but there’s no way I went the entire summer without any.
Then again, he was oddly unimportant when I was around her.
But he’s definitely not unimportant now.
The problem is, neither is she.
Ugh, what a mess.
There’s a loud coughing sound at the front of the room and I see Mr. Howard trying to get my attention. Frankly, it’s perfect timing, so I slide my phone back in my bag without complaint and focus on the word “calculus” glaring at me in red from the whiteboard.
Within minutes my focus is gone. Jasmine isn’t in this class, and she wasn’t in my first period history class either.
What’s she taking? Is she in AP Calc, like Kiki?
Is she in the other calculus section with Shan and Gia?
She wasn’t in lab with me and she’s not with me now and she won’t be in my Spanish class because she’s fluent in French.
Who. The fuck. Cares. I am not Jasmine Killary’s keeper. I’m not even Jasmine Killary’s friend. If I were, I’d have known she was coming here. I’d know why custody changed hands and when she arrived, and we’d have driven to school together the same way we went everywhere together this summer.
Instead, all I know is we haven’t spoken since I left the Outer Banks, and maybe it’s best we keep it that way.
I fix my gaze on the back of Chase’s head, remembering how flirty he was this morning. That is where my mind should be.
A note falls on my desk a couple of minutes later, crumpled and ink-smudged. “You should reconsider Friday night,” it says. “I could use a personal cheerleader.”
I stare at the handwriting I wish I didn’t know so well, considering it’s the first note Chase has ever sent me that wasn’t asking for homework.
What does it even mean? Does he remember that I used to be a cheerleader, standing on the sidelines in a tiny top and even tinier skirt?
Or does he think I’m so into him I’ll cheer him on no matter what? Or is it just him flirting?
Ugh, I might’ve liked it better when he treated me like his little sister.
Romantic intrigue isn’t my forte; why would it be when my heart’s been in the same unrequited place forever?
Not that I haven’t dated or made out with guys or anything—and this summer was something else entirely—but it was all fun and games, flirting and having company alongside Gia and Tommy and Shannon and “Pick of the Month.” Chase was always real, too real, but also not real at all.
I debate not writing back, but who am I kidding? “I’ll think about it.”