Chapter 4 Harper
Harper
Why would I speak like that to Easton Westermann?
Where do I get the nerve?
What has he ever done to me to deserve that kind of treatment?
Not a thing.
Loathing myself, I hang my head. My stomach is in knots as I work.
Actual knots, because I like Easton.
Like him, like him.
Don’t tell anyone, but I literally lay in bed last night wide awake, staring at the ceiling, because when I closed my eyes, it was Easton Westermann’s face I kept seeing.
Except wouldn’t you know it, the last time I’d looked at him, he was making eyes at Madison Miller, self-appointed princess of senior year.
Gag.
Give the girl fifteen thousand followers on social media and she thinks she’s influencing, when all she’s actually accomplished is filming a few dumb choreographed dances when she’s supposed to be eating lunch.
I’m embarrassed to have been caught watching Easton while he was staring at another girl.
My hearts sinks.
Is that seriously the type of girl he’s into?
If it is, then there is no hope for a girl like me: A bit too confident for someone a tad nerdy. Bookish. Studious. Smart-mouthed.
Throw in the fact that my parents are a mess…
I wish I didn’t care what he thinks of me, but I do.
Why did I open my mouth today?!
Because, Harper. It irritates you watching him make sad eyes at Maddie Miller, who isn’t smart enough to give a nice guy like that the time of day. She is a stuck-up asshole who thinks she’s living her own version of a teenage movie.
And now Easton thinks I’m a jerk.
I turn my attention back to the task at hand: raking the lawn, despite the fact that it’s getting dark. We have company coming over this weekend, and neither of my parents has time to tidy up the backyard or clear the leaves from the fire pit. Therefore, the task falls to me.
I’m at the far end of the yard, near the edge of our wooded lot. Behind our house is the football field of Parker Lane Prep—as close a rival school as we can get for simple proximity and the fact that they’re in our conference even though they’re private and we are public.
Which creates even more tension.
When I was a kid, I loved playing on their gym equipment when students weren’t using it—it felt taboo. And illegal. As if I were committing a crime by swinging on their swings or using their slides.
I wasn’t, obviously, though technically was I trespassing?
I still get a rush seeing the white lights of the football field shining bright, glowing through the tree in my backyard on Friday nights. Hearing their fans cheer.
We are rivals—but that never stops me from sitting in their stands on the nights our Lancer Knights aren’t playing the Rhinos (that’s Parker Lane’s mascot), cheering them on, eating nachos from the concession stand with extra cheese finagled from my neighbor Gwen, who manages their pep squad.
One of the perks of living behind a high school.
At once, a wave of nostalgia hits me. Instead of continuing my task like I’m supposed to, I abandon the rake to lie in our hammock, shining my flashlight on the new paperback I stuffed down the back of my leggings. Some might say I’m shirking my duties, others that I’m taking a union break…
I settle in, hammock swinging on its frame in the subtle breeze, rake leaning against a tall oak tree; I keep it handy on the off chance Mom—or Dad—decides to check my progress.
I lift my head and glance toward the house.
Naw.
Mom is busy clearing the kitchen table. I can see her moving around the counter, probably wiping it down with a rag, probably listening to a podcast as she does it, blissfully unaware of my lack of choring.
I rock the hammock, enjoying its sway.
Behind me, a branch snaps.
Leaves crunch.
A squirrel? Chipmunk?
Could be a raccoon. The sun is starting to set and daylight is disappearing over the rise, making it increasingly hard to see, minute by minute. Animals are normal around here—sometimes we have deer in the backyard as they find their way back to the woods.
Snap.
I lay the book on my chest, alert, raising my head again to scan the yard, eyes straining in the near darkness.
Then…
I see it.
A scream lodges in my throat as a creature darts across my yard, skirting the fence line before leaping over it like a hurdler on the track team. One second I’m clutching my heart with fear, the next there is a thud, followed by cursing.
There, lying along the fence in my mother’s flower bed, someone wearing a disguise—a costume?—has gotten their foot caught, and now they’re flat on their back in the dirt. Marigolds. Pansies.
Holy. Ship.
DO SOMETHING, HARPER.
It all happened so fast!
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” I frantically mumble, wondering why the heck I’m not hollering for help. Call for help, Harp. This person could be a criminal!
A thief!
A cold-blooded killer!
I almost topple over as I rise from the hammock, letting my book fall to the ground, my heart racing a thousand million beats per second, ohmygodohmygodohmygod…
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?
What am I still doing standing here? What the hell am I doing walking over to…it?
Run.
No, wrong direction. You’re going in the wrong direction!
Go to the house.
Go. To. The. House.
I do not, in fact, go to the house.
“Hey. You!” I shout boldly, not backing down or crumbling with the fear I feel in my gut.
Hey, you? Real scary and threatening.
Instincts kick in. I bend at the waist and grab the largest rock I can lift with one hand, prepared to lob it into the face of danger. This is my lawn! I must defend it!
I pull my hand back.
Get ready to throw…
A litany of expletives comes from inside the head this person is wearing: loud, muffled cursing. Deep voice. Definitely a dude. At least, I think it’s a guy? I do a quick scan of the outfit: Athletic pants. Running shoes.
One sneaker has landed on one of my mother’s cement garden gnomes. She got the set from a sorority sister as a wedding present and considers it sentimental.
The person moves, shifting his weight under that massive head.
I approach and lean down to get a better look.
It’s a Rhino.
As in: the Parker Lane Rhino mascot, one that I’m quite certain is usually locked up safe and sound in an equipment room, to be worn only during official school events. This…whatever this guy is doing? Is not a Parker Lane Prep–sanctioned event.
I click my tongue.
“Take that stupid thing off your head so I can see your face,” I demand, braver now. I’ve assessed the situation and determined there to be no threat. I don’t think.
“No.” Definitely a male voice.
His legs kick.
“Do it or I’m calling the cops!” I say it louder in case he can’t hear me inside that thing. “I said, take off your head!”
“I said no.”
He moves, trying to adjust his position on the ground, but I stop him, firmly planting one of my shoes in the center of his chest, pinning him to the earth, where he belongs.
Ha!
“FREEZE, MOTHER EFFER.”
He does not freeze.
“I said freeze, mother effer! Do what you’re told and you won’t get hurt!”
Why am I talking like one of the cops I see on TV?
“You’re not the boss of me.”
I tsk. “You’re in my yard, a-hole.”
He doesn’t move, so I continue to make demands. “Take that stupid thing off your head so I can see your stupid face,” I repeat. There’s a long hesitation, so I turn up the heat. “Need I remind you about the cops?”
He still hesitates—not that I blame him. Whoever this is likely already knows he’s in deep shit. Serious trouble. I am in charge here, whoever he—
He tries to shove my foot off his chest, but I pin him harder.
Girl power!
“Jesus! Get your foot off me!” he whines like the baby bitch he is.
I do not comply, obviously.
“Take off the rhino head right now or I’m screaming for my dad.”
One second goes by. Then another.
Then ten.
Just when I think my heart cannot beat any faster, those arms reach up and push at the rhino until I see neck. Jawline. Nose.
Eyes.
Those eyes…
My heart is beating like a drum, my brain about to explode. Oh my god, holy shit, holy crap, there is no possible way. This cannot be happening.
“Well, well, well—if it isn’t the one and only Easton Westermann committing a crime in my very own backyard.”
Easton. Westermann. As I live and breathe.
In my dirt. In my yard. In the dark. Under my shoe.
Before I know what I’m about, I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a few fast photos, blinding us both with the flash.
“What the hell did you do that for?” He tries to shield his eyes but that stupid rhino head is in his way, and he knocks it back with a fur-covered paw.
I didn’t notice the paws…but I’m noticing them now, along with a pile of fur a few feet behind him that he must have dropped when he tripped over the fence.
Good lord.
“What kind of an idiot puts on half a mascot costume and then trespasses through someone else’s yard?” I hiss. “What are you doing? Are you purposely trying to get suspended before you graduate?”
Why do boys do the dumbest shit? We do not go to Parker Lane Prep; I can’t wrap my brain around the reason Easton would be dressed as their mascot. A player for our hockey team wearing our rival school’s mascot costume…a player for our hockey team…
I try to make it make sense, but the math isn’t mathing.
“Answer my question,” he demands, feebly attempting to rise from the ground. “Why are you taking my dang picture?”
I give him a nudge back into the dirt. “Um, excuse me? Answer my question first: Why are you wearing the Parker Lane mascot?”
He huffs. “Because I’m a freaking idiot, okay? As if that weren’t fucking obvious.” His voice is hesitant. “What are you going to do with those pictures?”
I shrug, sliding my cell into my back pocket. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Because it’s true.
I don’t know what possessed me to take his picture, but the damage has been done and I have the evidence. Ha!
Easton Westermann is lying in my yard, at my mercy.
My chin notches higher when he asks, “Will you at least let me up?”
I shake my head. “Not until I figure out what I’m going to do with you.”
“I don’t have all night,” he grumbles. “I’m on the clock here.”
On the clock. What a smart-ass.
“What do you mean, on the clock?”
“I have to get this to the drop zone by eight.”
“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt you. Thanks for scaring the shit out of me while I was minding my own business.” I squint down at him, trying to make his face out in the dark. “Is what you’re doing even legal?” I pause. “Wait. Is this illegal?”
It’s not.
Can’t be!
Easton Westermann would never be lying here like this if it were. On the other hand, it’s dark and he was trying to sneak through my backyard and if this weren’t a crime wouldn’t he have just gone out the front or walked through Parker Lane’s playing fields at the back of the school?
“This is the senior prank, Harper,” he finally confesses breathlessly, arms down at his sides in resignation.
“Ohh.” Duh! Now it makes sense! “This is the prank? You jumping over fences like a prize horse is the senior prank?”
“Harper, don’t be a smart-ass.”
My heart skips a beat when he uses my name.
“This is the senior prank. I didn’t choose it.” His sigh is long and heavy. “If I get caught I’m in deep shit.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously you’re in deep shit no matter what.”
I mean, it’s not as if I’m going to let him off the ground so he can walk off home free after causing me such grief. Not a chance.
“Then why won’t you let me up? What do you even care if I get in trouble?”
I lean down so he can hear what I’m about to say, good and loud.
“Listen, Easton. If I let you up, my mother—who is standing at that kitchen window putting dinner dishes away—will glance up, take one look at you, probably lose her effing shit, and call the cops.”
If I move any farther to the right, the floodlights are going to activate—three of them strategically placed around the property—making it as bright as the Parker Lane football field.
“What are we gonna do?” he whispers.
We?
And why does he suddenly sound…scared?
For a brief moment I feel kind of sorry for the guy—he is a guy, after all, and we all know teenage boys aren’t known for their quick wit and fortitude. Their common sense and decision-making are subpar at best, inferior to girls until at least the age of forty.
I give my hair a toss, feeling superior.
“We? I didn’t realize we were a duo.” I don’t think so, buddy. “This isn’t High School Musical, Easton—we are not in this together.”
I smirk at my quip, quoting a movie I used to watch over and over again as a kid. How clever was that comeback?!
Easton frowns. “Harper. Just let me up.”
I melt a little at the sound of my name. “So what would happen if you get caught?”
“I’ll get kicked off the hockey team for sure.” He sounds dejected and regretful.
I nod. “Yup, sounds about right. What else?”
“My parents will kill me. I’ll probably lose my scholarship to Michigan.” He begins listing the consequences of his actions. “I’ll have to go to a community college and pay tuition, if I can even get accepted anywhere after committing, like, three crimes in one night.”
“Hmm,” I hum. “Must be having some regrets now, hey?”
He looks murderous as he stares up at me from the ground.
“I hate you so bad right now,” he hisses.
Well.
He’s about to hate me even more.