Chapter 14
14
brYCE
Daisy hangs up with her sister and slowly sets the phone on the bed between her bent knees. She hasn’t released my hand yet, and I tell myself that I’ll pull it free in a minute.
One minute turns into two, and two must turn into three by the time she clears her throat and slips her fingers free of the hold. A flash of heat rolls down my body as I put some extra space between us and decide to leave.
“Do you think the story I made up is easy enough to remember?” she asks abruptly. “I tried to keep it easy and not give too many details.”
“Yeah. Instant connection. Easy enough to sell.”
“Okay, great! That’s what I thought too,” she says, smiling softly.
“I think I’m going to . . .” I jab my thumb toward the door, suddenly awkward as fuck. “Gotta shower.”
Her eyes widen in realization. “Right. You were at pole, I take it?”
“Yeah. Poppy’s here early. I couldn’t pass up spending the afternoon with her.”
“That’s sweet of you. I’ve never been to her studio before.”
Is she saying that because she wants to go? Does she need an invitation? Am I the one who should be doing the inviting? For fuck’s sake, why are my hands always so goddamn sweaty?
“It’s a nice place. Very pink,” I blurt out.
Holy fuck, Bryce.
Clapping my hands together, I swing my body around and walk right out of Daisy’s room, not another word coming out of my mouth.
I don’t stop walking until I reach my room and shut the door with my back. As I linger there with my eyes shut and cheeks pulsing, embarrassment makes a mess of my insides. Never have I dealt with such a terrible case of word vomit and anxiety in someone’s presence. Daisy is the exact personality that should make it easy to be myself. Yet, that’s not at all my reality.
I’m a tongue-twisted teenager around her, and I’m supposed to be able to pull off a fake dating ruse? At the rate I’m self-destructing, it’s going to be an absolute disaster.
There’s a knock on the door against my back, followed by a soft “Bryce?”
My mouth is scarily dry. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask if it was okay to hold your hand like that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. We haven’t discussed boundaries, and we should have. I’d like to do that now, if that’s okay with you.”
I glare at the black-and-white photo of my tits on the wall in front of me and inwardly curse my lack of shame. The moment I open my door, Daisy’s going to get an eyeful of my body whether she wants to or not. Talk about overstepping boundaries.
“We can talk in the living room,” I suggest.
“I don’t mind talking in your room. Unless that’s a boundary?”
I roll my lips together. “No. It’s not a boundary.”
Cracking the door open a few inches, I’m greeted with a soft-featured Daisy. She’s still in her sweat shorts and baggy shirt, but the way they hang off her is nice, easy. I’m used to seeing blue eyes reflected in mirrors and windows, but there’s something about hers that are intriguing. Bright without being blinding and soft without losing all their edge.
“Actually, do you want to go out? Get out of here for a little while?” she asks, a nervous flutter in the words.
“To do what?”
“I’ve got to bring my supplies over to the school and start getting my room set up. It’s a bit last-minute, but I’ve been kind of . . . procrastinating it. New job nerves and all that. I could use the support, if you were up for a bit of a field trip?”
If it means we can get out of this room before she can get a good look inside, then yes. “I need to shower first.”
“Totally fine! I’ll get everything together and wait,” she rushes out, her soft smile growing into one that makes me glad I didn’t turn her down.
My stomach feels tight when she grips the doorframe and her sunbeams threaten to spill into my room.
“See you soon!” she squeaks.
I watch her leave and, a beat later, listen as her bedroom door clicks shut. It takes me a minute to gather myself enough to shower and get dressed, but once I’m finished, I put my hair up and slip on my boots.
Time to myself has dulled my nerves, leaving me cool and collected once again. Back to the person I’ve always been.
Wiggling the silver belt buckle at the front of my straight-cut jeans, I let out a slow, controlled breath at the familiarity of my outfit. The bleached black Linkin Park band tee is comfortable and couldn’t be further from the frilly, white blouse I’m forced to wear during the week.
Daisy’s already waiting in the living room when I get there. The two blue tubs that were in the corner of her bedroom are by the door, overflowing with school supplies and thick paper shapes that I assume are supposed to get hung on the classroom walls .
“Ready?” I ask, snatching my keys and wallet from the coffee table.
She jumps to her feet and reaches for the first tub before lifting it into her arms and starting toward the door. “Ready.”
I move past her and hold it open for her to walk through before unlocking my car and grabbing the second tub. She’s just set hers down on the street when I drop mine beside it, and then we shove them into the car.
Luckily, it’s only a three-minute drive from my place to the school, and we’re not suffocating in awkward for silence for too long.
“Before my interview, I hadn’t been back here for years,” she says once we’ve started our walk toward the front of the building.
“I’ve come with Darren a few times. For Abbie.”
Her first Christmas recital was . . . surprisingly well put together. For a bunch of five-year-olds, they followed their choreography to a T and hardly missed a lyric of “Jingle Bells.”
“That’s right. She’s going into first grade now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I’ll get to teach her next year.”
“You’re planning on staying in Cherry Peak?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Daisy balances her tub on her knee in order to scan her pass to get into the school and pull open the door once it unlocks.
“I would like to. My family is here, and I won’t tell Johnny this, but being away from him was the hardest out of everyone and everything. It’s absolutely a twin thing, but he’ll get arrogant about it.”
The hem of her long cardigan brushes my thigh when I follow her inside and adjust the tub in my arms. Our fashion senses couldn’t be more opposite. I’ve never worn a cardigan in my life, let alone a thick wool one that reaches my ankles or heeled booties with zipper charms. I’ve always preferred something made from jean material, T-shirts, and cowboy boots. Easy and simple.
Daisy isn’t simple in the slightest, and easy? Not a fat fucking chance. It’s not a bad thing. Just different.
“He missed you too. Couldn’t stop telling us how proud he is of you,” I tell her.
I don’t have to be looking at her to know she’s smiling. “He’s a great brother.”
“Seems like it.”
“Alright . . . I think my classroom is just over here,” she directs, turning left down a forked hallway.
I follow behind her, every inch of this school and its white-painted walls bringing back memories that I thought were long forgotten.
Sneaking into the bathroom to kiss my first girlfriend during free period, stealing the quarterback’s stupid football he used to toss in class and throwing it at Poppy’s face when I saw him chasing after me.
School was here and gone so quick that sometimes it feels like it never actually happened. I don’t miss it, but sometimes I do regret not taking advantage of how easy life was back then.
“It’s here!” Daisy squeals, using the toe of her boot to push open the door. “I’m excited but also nervous. There are so many things that I worry about, but?—”
We step inside and freeze. Daisy’s shoulders slump immediately, her excitement squashed with the disaster in front of us.
Like it was rented out to a group of asshole college kids over the summer, the classroom is almost unrecognizable as a place for second graders. Every desk has been turned upside down and looks like they’ve been drawn on with thick, permanent markers. Chunks of gum are so big they stick out like sore thumbs on the corners of them, and the chairs have been scattered all over the place.
A whiteboard is stained with old writing from neon-coloured pens. The biggest desk at the front of the classroom has a bent leg, making it lean at the corner with a collection of pens and papers scattered on the floor from where they must have slid off.
I place the tub of supplies on the floor by the door and move through the room, anger beating like a second pulse beneath my skin.
While the blinds appear to be down, I tug at them and realize that one of the windows is open, the screen missing.
“The window’s open. My guess is a couple of kids broke in over the summer and no one noticed,” I grit out.
“Oh.” She hides the devastation I know I’ll find when I turn around with fake nonchalance. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t wait any longer to come, then. Now, at least I’ll have time to clean this up before Monday.”
“You’re not cleaning this up,” I snap a bit too quickly. Turning to face her, I softly add, “The school should have been checking the rooms. This isn’t your mess to fix.”
“I don’t want to make a bad first impression. I’ll spend today cleaning and tomorrow unpacking and decorating. It’s fine.”
With a fake smile, she searches the room, throat straining. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming to help me unpack. I’ll get someone to pick me up later once I’ve finished up. You can go.”
Yeah fucking right. The first thing I do is slam the window shut and make sure it’s locked up tight before pulling the blinds up. The view outside is of the school’s football field, but the lights are off during the summer, and unless they’ve added them over the past few years since I graduated, there are no cameras on this side of the building.
I feel Daisy’s eyes on me while I grip the closest upturned desk and flip it onto its thin legs. Working my way down the line, I do the same to four others before she speaks.
“You really don’t have to do this, Bryce. I wouldn’t even expect this of a real girlfriend, let alone a fake one.”
“Is that a joke?” I ask, not a lick of humour in my tone.
She keeps her lips flat and shakes her head .
“If my girlfriend didn’t offer to help me when I needed it, I’d kick her ass to the curb. I’m interested to hear what you think is something a partner should do for you if this doesn’t count,” I say.
She swallows loudly. “I’ve always felt guilty asking others to help with things that I know I can do myself.”
My eyelid twitches when the tip of my finger touches a gob of gum before I slap my hand down on my pants, rubbing the sensation away. “You’ll need to cut that shit out.”
“It’s not that easy, Frosty.”
Her laugh is a welcome sound. I relax slightly.
“We’ll work on it.”
Glancing across the room, I focus on the nervous twist of her mouth and looped fingers pressed to her stomach. She kicks the first tub of supplies against the wall and heaves a sigh.
“Should we get started, then?”