Chapter 22
QUINN
It was weird going back to school on Monday, and I don’t know if it was by habit or obligation, but I dressed in a skirt and a cute sweater and pulled my hair into a bun. I kept my makeup minimal, a coat of mascara and strawberry lip gloss.
“You look lovely,” Mom said as I came into the kitchen.
I flashed her a smile, though the smile hadn’t left my face all weekend, not since the walk with Miller. Afterward, we’d sat on the porch, Mason as well, and played ball with Hamish.
“All ready for school?” Mom asked, handing me my lunch bag. I peeked inside at the sandwich, Oreos, and carrot sticks, and sighed.
“Yeah,” I said, a little nervous at having to ride the bus, but at least Mason would be there.
It was impossible to know if the rumors would’ve hit yet, but I was bracing myself for some sort of backlash.
Of course Miller would ride his motorbike, but I was excited to see him at school later, knowing he’d have my back.
“I’ll see you at the salon after school. ”
“Take a jacket,” Mom said as I headed to the front door. “It’s going to rain later.”
I pulled my rain jacket off the coat stand, folded it into my tote bag and wandered down the driveway, a couple of minutes ahead of schedule. My skirt and sweater combo seemed too preppy after two weeks in jeans and t-shirts and my scalp felt tight with my hair pulled into a bun.
Nearing the lane, my pace picked up when I could see both Miller and Mason hanging around their gate. I smiled to see them both wearing flannel shirts, Miller’s a black and white one I hadn’t seen before, and Mason’s blue and green.
“Hey,” Miller said, coming to meet me, just one word setting the butterflies on a wild rampage through my stomach.
“Where’s your motorbike?” I asked, calling over to Mason, “Hi, Mase.”
“I thought I’d ride the bus,” Miller said with a smirk and we fell into step, Mason a stride behind.
“Thought you hated the bus,” I said.
“I do,” Miller said with a wide grin. “Didn’t you get the Hoco memo about PJ and Flannel Day?”
“Oh that,” I said, “I didn’t really think kids did that.”
“Oh, they do,” he said, peeling his flannel off, revealing his familiar red and black flannel beneath.
“Double flannel?” I joked.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be prepared,” he said, helping me put it on over my sweater, “don’t want you looking like the odd one out.” He fixed the collar and murmured, “I was hoping you’d wear the pink skirt.”
“You’re color co-ordinating me now?”
“Someone’s got to,” he said with an easy laugh. He gave me back my tote bag and reached for the Squishmallow attached to it. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Austin...the, the...Avocado,” I spluttered, acutely aware that he was riding the bus for me, to be with me, near me.
“An avocado?”
“Yeah, one of our first conversations was about avocado toast. There’s actually a Squishmallow that is an avocado toast, but I don’t have him.” I squeezed Austin.
Miller laughed our loud. “Okay, so you’re saying you thought I was a jerk, right?”
I tossed my head with attitude. “Maybe. You did slam avocado toast.”
“Well, what about the time you declared you didn’t want to be our delivery girl.”
“Huh? When? I never said that,” I protested.
“When you dropped off a parcel that got misdelivered to your house. You were like,” he mimicked a high pitched female voice, “I don’t have time to be your delivery girl.”
“I never said that.” I shoved him in the side. “I think you’re making it up.”
“I’m not,” he said, taking hold of my upper arm and stopping me, a playful glint in his eyes.
“I can still remember you saying it. It was last summer, a hot sweltering day in August. A Wednesday, I think. You knocked on our door and you were wearing a yellow sundress and were so fierce and brutal about our parcel getting delivered to your house.”
“I don’t even have a yellow sundress!” I butted in.
“Well, yellow, light yellow, with a pattern over it. It had thin straps and...”
“I’m pretty sure you’re making this up,” I said but my heart rate accelerated sharply as I recalled my short beige dress—it had yellow flowers on it. How was it that Miller could remember exactly what I’d been wearing on a day over a year ago?
“And you had your hair in a ponytail,” he said, his gaze now distractingly intense. His hand moved from my arm to the back of my head, resting on my bun. A tingle swept up my spine, then down it, every nerve awakening from his touch.
“We’re gonna miss the bus,” Mason said, marching past us, arms swinging at his side.
“Yeah,” Miller whispered, swiping a finger across my jaw before taking hold of my hand and following Mason.
The Fisher twins, dressed in matching Winnie the Pooh pajamas, asked how the potato harvest went and I let Miller answer, still dreamily processing how he remembered a dress he’d seen me wear once when I barely did.
On the bus, Miller sat next to me and pulled on Austin the Avocado again. “So how many of these things do you actually have?”
“A lot,” I said with a giggle, “but not enough.”
“You collect them?” Miller asked.
I nodded, but unclipped Austin. “Here, have it.”
“No, it’s yours,” Miller said, shaking his head.
“I want you to have it,” I said, clipping it to his backpack. “Austin likes drawing aliens and dreams of living in outer space.”
“We have so much in common,” Miller said, flashing me a mocking smile.
“You might think of me every time you see it,” I said, returning the same expression.
“Believe me, I don’t need a Squishmallow to make me think of you,” Miller murmured, lowering his head next to mine, our foreheads touching. The connection was instant, a rush of warmth spreading through my chest, his words filling my heart.
And as improbable as this relationship seemed, I’d never felt anything so real in my life.
Miller acted a little different as we walked to our lockers, separating himself from me like we were just two people headed in the same direction. We swapped out our books and checked our timetables because after two weeks of harvest, I couldn’t remember mine.
“Hey, you’re back!” Elise came bounding up to us, and I almost thought she was going to bear hug me, but she went straight for Miller. “We missed you.” The embrace lingered and I could see Miller grinning.
“Okay, don’t suffocate me,” he said while Elise asked, “Hi Quinn, how did the harvest go?”
I waited until he’d been released before saying, “Oh, really good. I loved it.” And by that time, Brayden and Sienna were headed toward us.
“Miller,” Brayden said, shaking his shoulder vigorously like he hadn’t seen him for a year, “Miller...dude, I missed you.”
Sienna and I exchanged hellos and Brayden nodded at me. “So you’re officially a Spudder now,” he said, “you survived the harvest. And you’re dressing like one of us too.” My cheeks flamed as red as Miller’s shirt.
“She said she loved it,” Elise chirped.
“Yeah, I really liked it,” I said, offering smiles all round, wondering if any of them had heard my family rumors.
The whole group had gone quiet, Miller included, and a sense of doom and gloom descended on me, like they were waiting for me to leave so they could gossip about the downfall of the Devereauxs.
One thing to be known as Prep School Reject, another to be Poor Prep School Reject.
“Uh, I have to go to the office,” I said, my gaze meeting Miller’s for the briefest moment in time.
I probably imagined the half smile on his face.
Nobody stopped me, or queried why, or suggested meeting up later, and I trudged to the front office, a stone in the pit of my stomach, already hearing the whispers behind me.
Doubt crept in, and by the time I reached the office, it had swallowed me whole and the optimism from earlier completely vanished.
I’d been swept away by the romanticism of Miller’s attention but really, he’d been the enemy and probably still was.
What if this had all been a ploy, a master plan of playing nice and acting all friendly to lull me into a sense of false security, and then—wham—he was going to stick the knife in, play the final card to burn and humiliate me.
Heck, he was probably telling his friends right now how my father had lost his business and we were too poor to afford prep school.
He was likely telling them all about how my card declined over a cup of coffee.
And in hindsight, it was plain to see Miller had ridden the bus to keep an eye on his brother, not to be with me.
And his memory of my dress was likely a fluke because since his friends showed up, he’d acted low-key, standoffish even.
Gah, I was such a fool! An absolute fool.
A stupid, stupid girl in a flannel shirt. But one I didn’t want to take off.
I stood in front of the lady at the desk ready to say my name, when she said brightly, “Quinn Devereaux?” She shuffled through some papers, “How are you?”
“Fine,” I muttered, suspicious of her cheeriness.
“Mrs. McLean wants to see you after school today,” she said, handing me a note.
I glanced at the paper, directing me to meet in the Coach’s office and tucked it in my tote bag. I was pretty sure I hadn’t taken a training shirt or any equipment so couldn’t imagine why she wanted to see me. Did I somehow owe money even though I hadn’t made the team?
“You know, it’s amazing to see your mom back at the salon,” the office lady said, “I love my new hair cut.” She smiled as she gave a little flick of her shoulder length bob.
“Oh yeah,” I said like a well-rehearsed actor, “she wanted to keep busy after the divorce.”
“Oh, and I heard—”
I stiffened, hearing the words in my head already—that your family lost all its money—but she carried on, “that you did a wonderful job at the Spud Harvest. Did you enjoy it?”
I managed to nod, relief flooding through me.
“Good for you, it’s such a terrific experience.”