Chapter Twenty-One. Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
REID
NOW
@haikuforyou
A light, searching knock
Soft eyes at the open door
Breaths become tumbling.
MITCHELL AND KENJI ARE determined to be the two most annoying people on the fucking planet.
We’re supposed to pick up Clara for the play, which was their idea, but they’re so caught up in their warped version of Shakespearean English that we haven’t even left yet.
I forgot what they’re like when they get together; they eclipse everyone else for each other.
But I can’t really be mad because Clara and I used to be like that, too.
I wonder all over again if Kenji has a thing for Mitchell. Mitch has always had girlfriends, that I know of, so I don’t know if he even notices.
I catch one last glimpse of myself in the hall mirror before we go, and I almost laugh because I spent thirty minutes nervously messing with my hair only to get it to look how it did before I even touched it at all.
And I can’t believe I’m wearing this shirt.
As soon as I walk into the living room, Mitch throws something at me.
“A notice for thee from the outside world!” he announces. The sharp corner of the letter hits me square in the forehead before landing on the floor. I glare at him while I rub the spot.
“‘Thou art a boil, a plague sore,’” I mutter.
“Dude, you can’t actually quote Shakespeare; that ruins it,” Kenji complains.
But their voices fade to the background as my focus narrows to the envelope on the floor with the Stanford logo. The one holding a letter that probably says the same thing the email did this morning. Heart racing, I tear it open.
Fuck.
That’s exactly what it is. The official notice about my academic probation. There isn’t enough air in this room. This ridiculous shirt, too tight.
What’s my dad going to say when he sees this? What’s he going to do? The memory of his recovery flashes through my mind. How he had only been in the hospital a few days but had looked like he’d aged a year. How Julianne pled with the insurance company with panic in her voice.
I promised myself then that I’d do everything I could to help our family. And I’m failing.
If I don’t figure out what to do, I’m going to lose everything we’ve worked for.
Everything my dad wanted for me.
Hopefully buying myself a little more time, I crush the paper and toss it in the kitchen trash. “We’re late.” My sharp tone cuts through their jovial one.
“You okay?” Mitchell asks me as we walk to the car.
“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
At least my knee is feeling better after the hot springs. If I can manage to stay off it the rest of the weekend, the rumors should die down and no one will be the wiser.
Well, except Clara.
We arrive at her house ten minutes later, and I’m a sweaty, nervous wreck.
Still stressing about the letter sitting in the trash can, and the fact that Mitchell’s warped perception of things probably gassed me up too much.
Gave me too much hope that she’ll talk to me.
Her front door opens before Mitchell even comes to a complete stop, and she stares at the car with a furious look on her face.
“Damn,” Kenji says appreciatively as he watches her slowly walk toward us.
Both of us smack him simultaneously.
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
He’s not wrong.
She’s wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt that clings to her. Her hair is tumbling across her shoulders, free from its usual ponytail, and her eye makeup is dark. She looks … problematically good.
Kenji rolls down his window. “Looking hot, milady.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Reducing carbon emissions,” Kenji says.
She twists her lips, trying not to smile. Thank god Kenji has that effect. Mitchell leans well across him to yell out his window at her. “Be the change, Clara. Get in.”
Still she hesitates.
“You know parking sucks at the amphitheater,” Mitchell goads.
She looks as though she may be considering it when her eyes dart to me in the back seat.
Get in. Please get in.
“Fine,” she huffs. She gathers her gear and marches over to the other side of the car and slides into the back seat next to me.
Her flowery scent has me gripping my hands tighter.
She doesn’t look at me, instead turning away to stare out her window.
Not great. But she got in when she didn’t have to, knowing she’d be sitting beside me.
It’s a start.
Kenji continues the Shakespeare talk the rest of the ride to the amphitheater just outside of downtown, but I notice Mitchell is significantly less enthusiastic about the game.
God, I wish I could just reach for her. Grab her hand and pull her close and fix this.
But neither of us speak the entire drive, and the air becomes so taut between us by the time we arrive, Kenji and Mitchell practically leap out of the car.
They busy themselves with getting the stuff from the trunk.
Clara reaches for the door handle.
“Wait,” I say. “Please.”
She freezes. She doesn’t look at me, but she doesn’t get out, either.
Something heavy hangs in the silence. That fortress of hers I can’t ever seem to break through.
“I just—I know you blocked me, but I wanted you to know that—just that I’m still in for the doc if—if, um, you need me.
” My words are halting. Stumbling. Because something about this moment feels like we could really be broaching an ending.
I hold my breath waiting for her response.
“I talked to Delaney.”
My eyebrows rise.
“I’m sorry for not hearing you out.” She finally looks at me. “I should’ve—” She stops, her gaze landing on my shirt. The mix of bewilderment and delight in her expression makes the hour in my dusty garage worth it. “You are not wearing that.”
“I’m not?” I ask, looking down at my neon pink BOP TIL YOU DROP shirt that barely fits. I loop a finger into the collar and tug, trying to stretch the cotton away from my throat. “Pretty sure I am. And in public.”
Her laugh is wild. Radiant. “Why?”
Our eyes meet briefly, and her eyebrows come together in question. But she’s flushed, which is all the encouragement I need to be as honest as I can. “You asked me to.”
She blinks at me, disbelieving. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Hard to forget the way you laughed at homecoming when we talked about it. Your hair was down just like this.” My gaze roves over the dark waves that I used to clutch in my fist when we kissed.
“And I knew then that I’d do anything you asked—even wear this ridiculous shirt—if it made you laugh like that. ”
Her eyes dig into mine, green and fierce.
A quick rap on the window startles us both.
Kenji leans down to peer in at us, his voice muffled. “Hellooo? Have you kissed and made up yet? Because we need to go find a spot.”
I glare at him, and he backs away slowly. But with the moment officially broken, we both climb out. Kenji’s and Mitchell’s arms are full with supplies for the picnic, and they both offload a few of them to me.
Clara clears her throat and turns to me as we walk. “What you said about helping with the doc—can I ask you for a favor tonight?”
“Anything.”
“I think it might be Amaya making the posts.”
I tip my head to the side. “Really?”
She fills me in on her reasoning, and while it does sound possible and also dispels the last of my worry it could be Delaney, the whole thing still mostly reeks of Josh to me. Maybe he and Amaya are in it together. I say as much.
Clara nods. “Good point. With Amaya onstage, it makes the most sense to interview him tonight. I doubt Josh will admit anything outright, but if I can get him talking about last year and their relationship, maybe he’ll let something slip.”
“What do you want me to do?”
The setting sun streaks through the trees behind her, haloing her in a soft glow. “Try to get under his skin. He’s more talkative when he’s mad.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Easy enough.”
Her eyes fall to my shirt and flit back up to meet mine, full of amusement. We exchange a quick, nervy smile. Both aware that something’s shifted again. Something that has my heart punching me from the inside out.
She takes out her camera to capture everyone walking through the stone arched entrance. All holding some combination of blankets and lawn chairs and bags of food.
“I’m going to get as much footage as I can before we lose the light.” With that she takes off, weaving through the crowd.
Mitch and Kenji flank me, and I don’t realize I’m still staring at her until a hand waves in front of my face. I blink and swat it away.
“You’ve still got it so bad,” Kenji mutters, then pulls Mitchell with him to scout a spot to sit.
I glare after him even though he’s right.
I survey all the familiar people laughing and talking.
A lot of the adults have full picnic setups on the grass, pouring wine from the vineyard next door.
If they don’t have students who go to Woodhurst High, they’re likely alumni themselves.
Everyone seems genuinely excited to watch a high school rendition of Romeo and Juliet.
Something about their enthusiasm chips away at the loneliness I’ve felt since going to school.
As weird and warped as this town is, I guess it’s kind of nice being back in Woodhurst.
“Reid!” It’s my dad. He’s got his usual coach apparel on: running clothes and a baseball hat. His face is lined with concern that stops my thoughts short.
Did he somehow see the letter from Stanford? Maybe that was the second notice I threw away. Sweat forms at my hairline, my entire body too hot.
“I noticed you came in with Clara,” he says.
Oh god, this again.
“Dad, don’t—”