Chapter 20 Harper
Harper
“Know what would be ironic?” I mutter, twisting the combination on my locker. “If Maddie Miller suddenly decides Easton is worth her time because she senses I’m interested.”
I wouldn’t put it past her. It seems like the type of superhuman skill a girl like her would be gifted: the ability to smell my desperation, because prom is this week and Easton hasn’t asked me the big question yet. The CLOCK IS TICKING.
The universe loves pulling that kind of crap—especially on me. The second you start catching feelings—the second you think something good is going to happen—the world steps in and laughs in your face.
Still, the thought barely dampens the giddiness buzzing under my skin.
Easton called me this weekend! To talk!
Not for a favor. Not to argue. Not because of my ridiculous blackmail scheme.
Just because.
I sigh louder than I’ve ever sighed, blissfully lost in my own thoughts. I totally sound like I’m thinking about a boy, too happy to be jealous of Maddie Miller.
“Hey.”
The voice startles me so much I slam my locker shut. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I turn—and find Easton standing there, backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Jesus, warn a girl next time,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest, eyes raking up and down his body.
Joggers.
Hoodie.
Adidas.
He leans against his locker as I reopen mine. “Would you mind doing me a favor? I need a ride home and Marcus is being a prick…”
He shoots me one of his dazzling smiles meant to win me over.
As if I would say no! Alone in the car with him? Again?
Yes, please!
“Didn’t mean to freak you out, by the way,” he goes on. “I thought you heard me walk over.”
Freaked out? Hardly. Daydreaming is more like it…
“It’s fine.” I look around for stragglers, but the hallway is mostly empty now that school’s out. “I can give you a ride home, no problem.”
“You sure?” He sounds apologetic. “ ’Cause I can camp out in the hallway, begging for someone to take pity on me.”
I hide my smile in the stack of books in my arms. Organize them neatly in my locker before shutting the door and facing him again. It’s not lost on me that Easton knows dozens of people who could drive him home, but instead?
He asked me.
“That’s what friends are for.” I hope the dig grates at him the way I intend it to, the subtle reminder that we are friends who kissed.
As my face heats up from the memory, another presence looms, tall and heavy. The fluorescent lights glint off a pair of thick black-framed glasses. Polo shirt (embroidered with the school’s mascot) tucked into navy trousers. HEYDUDE shoes, no socks.
Principal Callahan.
Easton and I straighten our spines like two soldiers called to attention, his easy grin turning sheepish, like we’ve been busted doing something we aren’t supposed to be doing.
“Uh, hey, Mr. Callahan.” He pauses before adding, “Sir.”
Callahan doesn’t return the greeting, his gaze unwavering. “I assume you were present earlier this week for the announcement about the mascot theft?” He emphasizes the word mascot and fails to blink.
“Yes. Um. Sir,” we both stammer. I feel the weight of his scrutiny shift toward me.
Callahan tilts his head, studying us. “You wouldn’t happen to have any information about that, would you, Ms. Conrad?”
The way he says my name makes me squirm.
Easton’s expression flickers, but he recovers quickly, plastering on an exaggerated look of innocence.
“Nope. We’re just as curious as everyone else to find out who did it!”
Callahan doesn’t look convinced.
His piercing eyes linger primarily on Easton, narrowing ever so slightly behind the lenses of his glasses. The silence stretches painfully, and Easton shifts on his heels, doing a terrible job of appearing nonchalant.
If guilt were perfume, he’d be drowning in it.
My throat tightens under Callahan’s stare, and I feel like the coconspirator I am, considering I drove the getaway car…
“Good,” Callahan says at last. “Stay out of trouble—both of you.”
He turns to leave but not before throwing one last, unreadable glance over his shoulder in my direction. It’s the kind of look that has me wondering if he knows everything and is just waiting for us to dig our own graves.
Or if he knows nothing and is suspicious of everyone.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Easton lets out a loud exhale.
“Holy shit. Do you think he knows?”
“How the heck should I know?!” I practically shriek, my stomach twisting into knots. The nerves aren’t for myself—they’re for Easton, who looks like he’s one step away from chasing after our principal and blurting out a full confession.
He runs a hand through his hair. “What if he does? Like, actually knows?”
“Maybe if you didn’t walk around acting guilty, he wouldn’t have his eye on you!” I hiss, pulling him down the hallway toward the exit. “You looked like you were about to confess to a murder.”
He’s going to ruin this for us.
“But you saw how he was looking at me, right?” he goes on. “He could smell my fear.”
“That’s because you reek of it.” I shove through the heavy doors. “Pull yourself together, Westermann—and keep your voice down.”
Easton groans, following behind me, muttering, “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”
“It’s only bad if you make it bad,” I say reasonably, trying to sound confident. “Just stop acting guilty, okay?”
“Easy for you to say,” he whines. “Jesus. I think I aged ten years in those two minutes.”
We walk quickly through the parking lot side by side, late-afternoon sun casting long shadows across the asphalt. The air is warm, but a slight breeze carries the lingering smell of cut grass and exhaust fumes, and I find myself unable to shake the tension that Callahan’s words left behind.
The guy has a knack for making even innocent people feel like criminals, and…well, Easton and I aren’t exactly innocent.
As we reach my car, Easton fumbles for the passenger door handle, glancing at me over the roof.
“He knows something. I swear he knows.”
“Stop,” I say, unlocking the doors. “If Callahan knew, he wouldn’t stare you down and walk away. He’d have you in his office and the cops would be writing you a ticket.”
“You’re being so dramatic.” Easton slides into the car beside me, shaking his head skeptically. “But did you see the way he looked at me? Like I had thief stamped on my forehead!”
I look both ways before pulling out of the parking lot. “Seriously, dude, you need to work on your poker face.”
As I drive, Easton stares out the window, expression pensive—maybe even a little distant? But I suppose guilt does that to a person.
“So.” I clear my throat. “What’s up with Marcus lately? You said he’s being a prick. Why couldn’t he give you a ride?”
Easton sighs, head thumping back against the headrest. “Who knows. He’s been MIA since he started dating Macy. Guess he’s too busy driving her around.”
Someone sounds jealous…
“I’m sure that’s not all Marcus is doing with his time. I mean, I know for a fact they go on a ton of fun dates—the zoo, walks on the lakefront…She even helps him with his landscaping job.”
“You just made my point,” Easton says flatly, tone heavy with sarcasm.
“Do you miss him?” I ask after a pause.
“Do I miss him?” He snorts, the sound sharp in my quiet car. “No. He’s an asshole.”
“Well okay, then.” I laugh, the sound lighter than I feel.
It’s a short trip to his house, and as I turn into his driveway, I glance at him again. He’s been watching me for several moments now, his lips twitching like he’s about to say something more, but of course, he doesn’t.
I cut the engine and the silence hangs between us, filled with everything we’re both too stubborn—or too scared—to admit.
A small dog catches my eye, sniffing at the bushes near the driveway. Its tail wags furiously, a blur of excitement.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding toward it.
Easton watches the dog for a moment, his brow furrowing.
“That’s Rudy. He’s supposed to stay in the backyard.”
“Doesn’t seem like he got the memo.” I put the car in park, grinning as the dog begins digging a hole beneath a bird feeder. “Looks he’s got a lot of energy. What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a wheaten terrier. Rudy is basically a monster.”
“He doesn’t look like a monster to me.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, the dog continues aggressively digging as if it were on a timed mission.
“That’s my cue.” He grabs his backpack from the back seat and reaches for the door handle. “Anyway, thanks for the ride. I’d say I owe you one, but…”
Easton smirks.
I roll my eyes. “No comment.”
I refuse to react to his barb, the little reminder that our relationship is based on blackmail.
Just as Easton pulls the handle to exit my car, the front door of the house swings open. His mom, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, steps out barefoot, her eyes immediately landing on us.
The dog.
Us.
“Oh shit,” Easton mutters under his breath, sinking lower in his seat. “Dear god, no.”
His protests come too late. She’s already at the car, tapping on my window and making the universal gesture to roll it down. Her grin stretches across her entire face, radiating mom energy that’s impossible to ignore.
Reluctantly, I press the button to lower the window.
“Hi! I’m Easton’s mom. Are you Harper?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
I nod, a little taken aback. “I am.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says brightly.
She has? Like what?!
“Hi. I’m Harper,” I repeat, though it’s clearly redundant.
Easton groans softly beside me, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Mom…”
She completely ignores him, leaning down so she can peer at him through the open window. “Guys, why don’t you come inside for a bit? Bring her in for a chat, Easton.”
“Mom,” Easton says again, his tone weary. “We’re not staying.”
Wow. He must be freaking out.
She waves him off like he hasn’t spoken. “Nonsense! Harper, you’ve got to try my chocolate chip cookies. Easton always eats half the batch before they cool down.”