Chapter Seventeen
At the committee meeting on Tuesday, we go over the layout of Highland Park and start brainstorming how we’ll coordinate vendors and decorations for the festival.
We decide to keep fundraising simple this year with a series of bake sales.
One of the benefits of working with the field hockey team is that we can sell food at their games in addition to setting up a table in the cafeteria.
One of the players, Olivia, suggests we keep all the baked goods festival themed.
Sugar cookies decorated to look like pumpkins, scarecrows, and fall leaves.
Pumpkin spice cupcakes and pumpkin chocolate chip muffins instead of traditional flavors.
Kaytee, one of the veteran members, suggests we use a Bundt pan for the pumpkin cupcakes so that they come out pumpkin shaped.
By the time the field hockey team needs to leave for practice, Hannah and I are happy with the way the fundraising plans have come together.
“Baking party at my house this weekend,” Rowena offers.
“I’ll definitely be there,” Hannah says, along with a few other teammates. She turns to me, widening her eyes and glancing back at Rowena.
“Count me in,” I tell Rowena, glad for the chance to spend time with Hannah but genuinely excited to spend time with the team again.
I make sure the non–field hockey members have Rowena’s address before I start packing up my stuff.
I pretend to keep busy, shuffling and stacking my notes while I wait for Hannah to finish up her conversation with Mrs. Rubio.
We texted earlier about chatting after the meeting.
I could walk Hannah to practice and anyone who saw us would just assume we were discussing the festival.
“Hannah, you coming?” Shelby, one of the other senior teammates, asks.
I keep my eyes down, fidgeting with my festival folder and my backpack while I hold my breath. I wouldn’t be mad if Hannah left with her teammates, but I silently pray that she picks me.
“I’ll catch up with you, I just want to go over some stuff with Clarity real quick.”
She waves to the girls before they duck out and joins me at the front of the room. The maneuver is so casual, I wouldn’t think anything of it if I wasn’t in on our secret.
“Hey, Clarity,” Hannah says, her voice carrying the tiniest hint of excitement. “Do you want to get together after practice to, you know, work on committee stuff?”
The way she says “committee stuff” makes my heart race. The thought of spending time with her alone, even under the guise of work, makes me the best kind of nervous. This could be our first date.
“I’d love to,” I say, keeping my voice steady. I glance toward Mrs. Rubio’s desk. She’s focused on grading some papers. “What time?”
“Practice ends at five,” Hannah says, her eyes sparkling. “We could meet at the field house then.”
“Perfect.”
I finally fit my papers into my folder and pack up my bag while Hannah waits for me by the door.
“Hey.”
Kristen appears in the doorway and strides into the room with a determined look on her face.
“Hey,” Hannah replies.
“So, the meeting’s over,” Kristen says to me, her voice bright but a bit too firm to be casual.
“Yes, we just finished,” I tell her.
“Are you free for a bit?”
I glance at Hannah. She’s already looking at me, her brow furrowed. Technically I’m free until five…
“Uh, yeah,” I say, cautious. I want to spend time with Hannah, but I’m also never against killing time with Kristen.
“Great! Are you hungry? Vincent and I were thinking about grabbing a bite at Rockne’s.”
Rockne’s is over in Kent. If I go with Kristen, chances are I won’t be coming back to school, which would mean no meeting up with Hannah at the field house.
“I was hoping to start on some homework. Thought I might go to the library,” I say. I don’t like the feeling of choosing between Kristen and Hannah.
“Oh, come on. Homework can wait. Vincent and I would love for you to join us. It’ll be fun.”
I try to steal a glance at Hannah, hoping some sign of what I should do will reveal itself on her face. She gives me a half-hearted smile and a slight nod, understanding tinged with disappointment.
Kristen glances over her shoulder and I avert my gaze. Now it’s just the three of us and Mrs. Rubio in the room. The risk of Kristen misreading my interaction with Hannah is too high.
“Rockne’s it is,” I say quickly, regaining Kristen’s attention.
Her face breaks out into a smile before she says, “Perfect.”
Twenty minutes later, I slide out of the back seat of Kristen’s car and follow her and Vincent into Rockne’s.
It’s an Irish pub on the edge of Kent’s campus.
Trailing a few steps behind them, I fire off one more apology text to Hannah, the bubble popping up underneath my promise to FaceTime her later tonight.
I know she’s at practice now, so she won’t reply for a while, but the guilt around the way I left her is unbearable.
We slip into a six-person booth on the bar side, facing a TV playing Food Network. As Kristen and Vincent scoot as close as humanly possible together, I settle in for an episode of a rancher’s wife preparing the perfect slider.
“Clarity,” Kristen whispers, reaching for my hand from across the table.
When I look up, she nods her head to the left, and over her shoulder I find Maurice walking toward our table.
“Hey, Clarity,” he says, his smile big. He dabs up Vincent before sitting down next to me, forcing me farther into the booth, trapped between him and the wall.
“Hey, Maurice,” I say, leaning in when he holds one arm out for a side hug.
A server comes over and takes our orders. After they leave to get our drinks, I look to Kristen. Lucky for her, Maurice speaks first.
“You had your committee thing today, right?” He shrugs off his jacket, unleashing a subtle scent, something musky with a hint of spice. It’s nice, cozy.
“Yeah, I did. You don’t have cross-country today?” I ask, hoping I sound curious instead of disappointed.
“Our coach is sick, so we have today off.”
“You’re both pretty busy,” Kristen says, leaning on the word and shooting me the most obvious look of my life. “So, when Maurice mentioned to Vincent that practice was canceled, I saw an opportunity for us all to hang out.”
This is a good thing, something I should be grateful for.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out,” I say to Kristen and to Maurice.
Over a couple burgers, fried shrimp, and a mediocre quesadilla, we fall into sometimes loud, sometimes hushed conversations about music, about how there haven’t been any good movies out since the recent remakes of Dune, how Life Savers gummies are superior to the hard candies, and so on.
Maurice and I go back and forth, picking up some of the conversations we’ve had over text.
We both love the show Black-ish. When he tells me he relates the most to Junior, I cackle a little before I slap my hand over my mouth.
He also likes to read and write Afrofuturistic science fiction and has a Twitter page dedicated to bolstering black writers and artists.
His mom is an English professor at Kent State and his dad is a nurse at the Cleveland Clinic, and both of them inspire his writing.
He tells me that his mom has a side business making bow ties using African-print fabrics.
He wears the bow ties and is a model on her website, something I make him pull up on his phone immediately so I can see for myself.
Anyone who wears bow ties is a step above anyone who wears neckties in my book… and in my dad’s book.
My phone vibrates, and when I tug it out of my pocket, I’m surprised to see it’s already five thirty. Practice is over. I catch a glimpse of Hannah’s first text, telling me she understands. A second text comes through, starting to ask what I’m up to now—
“Clarity.” Kristen catches my attention. “Weigh in on this. Do you think the holes are cool or not?”
I lock my phone and put it away to tell Maurice that the holes in his cargo pants from falling off his skateboard, are, in fact, cool. “They’re a testament to your skill and your dedication.”
I fold back into the conversation but mainly just listen.
We’re doing what Kristen dreamed of us doing together.
We’re on a double date and I’ve kind of been enjoying every second of it.
Maurice is cool. He’s handsome and he smells nice, and he’s smart and funny, and he aspires to be more than a professional athlete or gamer like most of the boys I’ve known.
But I’m not attracted to him. Even though I saw her a few hours ago, I miss Hannah. I wish I was with Hannah, that I could have double dates with Hannah and my best friend.
As nice as it is to be here, I’m very aware that this carefree energy is around me. That I’m not part of it. I can’t let go. I can’t be myself because being with Maurice automatically makes me an impostor. Here with Kristen, Vincent, and Maurice, I’m hiding.
Kristen bumps shoulders with me on our way out. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” I say, looping my arm through hers.
Ahead of us, nearly to the car, Vincent and Maurice are talking about some new skate tricks they want to try, heads tilted together in a walking huddle.
Beyond them, the sun is setting over the trees dotting Kent’s campus.
The sky glows golden, a hue that turns gentle when it tangles in the clouds and reminds me of Hannah’s hair.
“You got quiet in there.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I say. “I just like listening.”
“He does have a nice voice. Deep,” Kristen says, looking at Maurice.
“Yeah.” I shrug, wishing I had a jacket to zip me and all my unsaid thoughts in.
“That was fun, though, right? Like, that was a cool double date,” she asks, searching my face.
I want to tell her the truth, put a stop to this, or maybe get her help with keeping my relationship a secret.
I know her telling Vincent about Jameson wasn’t malicious, that I can trust her.
I trust her with my life… but after careful consideration, I realize that I haven’t always been able to fully trust her with my secrets.
When I stole a lip gloss from the mall in middle school, she slipped up in front of my mom about it.
When I told her my grade after I failed my first math test and made it clear how ashamed I was, that I didn’t want anyone to know, she told the National Honors math tutor about it, thinking she could get him to make time for me.
She always means well. She might not tell my parents, but she could tell Vincent, and he might tell one of his friends…
Hannah already struggles to accept that I’m nowhere near telling my parents or anyone else the truth, but she gets it. I swallow the truth.
Kristen’s eyes are impossibly round and hopeful, so I say, “Yeah, it was really nice.”
“I think he’s really into you.”
“You sound surprised,” I say, pretending to be offended.
“Shhh,” she hisses, swatting my arm. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, I know.”
“I guess the real question is: Are you into him?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, twisting my way out of the question.