Chapter 30 Easton
Easton
There’s a moment of stunned silence, broken by Marcus’s low whistle.
Maddie presses her hip against the table, tapping her nails against the surface, still smirking like she’s already won.
“So,” she says, feigning cheerfulness. “What do you say? It’s not like you have better plans.”
Marcus launches into a coughing fit.
Deshaun raises his eyebrows.
“I know it’s last minute, but I have a dress, so…” She babbles on. “I think we’d have a lot of fun.”
Fun: There’s that word again.
Fun: the opposite of our ride to school.
The entire table holds their breath, waiting for my reply. Everyone is staring at me.
At her.
At me.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Harper’s fork stops moving.
“I’m sorry. What?” That is my brilliant response.
Maddie’s smile turns playful, but there’s an edge to it, and her eyes aren’t as animated as they were a moment ago. “You know, prom. You’re going, I’m going. We should go. Together.”
Except the plan all along was for me to ask Harper—maybe not by choice, but we have an agreement.
When Maddie said she was waiting for someone decent to ask her, I didn’t think she was referring to me.
I assumed she’d rather be asked by Kyle Cleveland, the football player with a full ride to Notre Dame.
Or Riley Hendriks, our classmate with half a million followers on his gamer channel—after all, isn’t that what she’s interested in?
Influence?
Clout?
I look at Harper, who’s staring into her lunch bag like if she focuses hard enough, it will swallow her whole. Or disappear into the floor.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “I…”
Can’t.
“Why are you hesitating?” she inquires sweetly, making the hair on the back of my neck prickle. She cocks her head, braids swinging slightly, genuinely surprised at my pause. “Do you have a date?”
“No,” I answer quickly—too quickly. I don’t have a date, not yet. Not officially. But only because I haven’t gotten around to asking Harper.
Maddie’s confident smile widens, the corners of her mouth curving into something more triumphant than friendly.
“Good. Then it’s settled—you’re taking me.”
The words hit like a slap, and before I can form a coherent response to reject her, Maddie is throwing a victorious shade in Harper’s direction. The look is quick but pointed, almost like she’s checking to make sure her words land exactly where they’re supposed to.
The table is dead silent, all eyes still on me as she walks away, hips swishing, win secured.
Time stands still.
The sounds of the cafeteria cease to exist.
Everything stops functioning, along with my brain cells.
I can barely bring myself to look around the table at my friends but get a glimpse of Gabe; he has a granola bar half hanging out of his mouth, a shocked expression on his face. And Marcus?
Looks stunned. “Dude. What just happened?”
Macy looks disgusted, nostrils flaring.
Deshaun lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Easton. Maddie Miller railroaded you.”
“I have secondhand embarrassment for you, bruh,” Marcus interjects, grabbing a french fry from my tray. “And I live for this shit.”
I shrug, trying to act nonplussed. “It’s whatever.”
But it’s not whatever.
It’s the opposite of whatever.
Harper hasn’t said a word. The tension between us is thicker than I’ve ever felt it before, including this morning at her locker when I told her about driving Maddie to school.
She rises slowly, pushing her chair back with deliberate force.
The sound of metal scraping the floor reminds me of that scene in Pitch Perfect where Becca is kicked out of the glee club and drags her chair out of the practice room.
I can feel everyone’s eyes on us as she rounds the table to my side—Deshaun, Marcus, Gabe—all frozen, waiting for whatever’s about to go down.
I want to puke.
She comes to a stop in front of me, crossing her arms. Doesn’t say a word—not at first—but she doesn’t have to. Her pained expression says it all.
“I’m not going to cry,” she whispers, words hitting me like a gut punch.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“But you didn’t say no, either!” she snaps, voice rising. “You didn’t say no, and now I look stupid.”
“You don’t look stupid,” I protest, shaking my head. “You—”
“Don’t,” Harper demands, holding up a hand like she can physically block my words and push me away. “Just stop talking, Easton—you’re making this worse.”
I don’t know how I managed to make this worse.
I’m caught in the middle of something I never wanted to be part of in the first place—and as I watch her chest rise and fall, her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
Oh shit.
She looks away for a moment, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold herself together. The pain I see in her gaze is like a knife to my chest. I’m gutted.
She steps closer to me, voice shaking. “Just go to the dance with her—that’s what you wanted in the first place, right?”
I’m not dumb enough to respond.
Two weeks ago I would have given my left testicle to go to the prom with Maddie Miller. All I saw was her pretty face, blond hair, and popularity. I assumed she was sweet and kind and as charming as she was on the internet—that we would be a perfect match.
But now…
“You don’t have to worry,” Harper murmurs just loud enough that only I can hear. “I won’t tell anyone it was you who stole the rhino head. Your secret is safe with me.”
As she goes to turn, I reach out, grabbing her wrist to stop her from walking away, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t.” Her voice breaks a little. “Let me go. This is just as much my fault as it is yours—so go to prom with Maddie. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
I falter. “I’ll text her and tell her no.”
My cajoling tone seems to piss her off even more, and her eyes flash.
“Spoiler alert, Einstein: She probably doesn’t even like you, and I do not care how mean I sound. I’m mad.” She huffs. “Maddie is competitive; that’s what this is about, and if you’re too stupid to see it, that’s your problem.”
Whoa.
I take a step back.
Her word vomit is so uncalled for.
Sure, I hear the hurt and embarrassment—but she’s taking her frustration out on me.
“Wow,” Deshaun mutters, as stunned as I am.
I forgot for a second that this confrontation is happening in front of our friends.
Her words are harsh, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to call her dramatic and theatrical and tell her she’s blowing this out of proportion.
But because I’m a dipshit, I don’t have the mental bandwidth to salvage this conversation.
Harper gives me one last look before spinning on her heels and stalking straight for the cafeteria doors without glancing back.
I let her go.
Frozen in place, we all wordlessly watch her go. Every part of me wants to chase her, but I can’t make myself move. Fortunately, after a momentary lapse from group shock, Macy rises from her seat to follow her best friend.
“Shit,” Marcus says under his breath. “That was hella awkward.”
“Dang,” Deshaun agrees. “Guess we’re not going to the gym after school.”