Chapter 10 #2
“I wish I didn’t,” I mumble, but she doesn’t hear me; instead, she grabs my hand and walks us through the crowd toward the beer pong tables, Maddie trailing behind us.
My heels sink into the grass, and I cringe as I try to walk as gracefully as I can manage while my shoes decide they don’t agree with the soft terrain.
The backyard is packed now, and I can only imagine what inside looks like. It’s getting harder to differentiate between kids from Oakwoods and Northbrook, and I’m pretty sure some of the kids here don’t go to either school. Maddie stops to talk to someone new, but Jasmine leads me to Jay.
“Hey, Jay.” Jasmine smiles at him before shoving me forward. “This is Carina.”
“We’ve met,” he says over the music, looking down at me.
He’s in a navy T-shirt that fits him perfectly and outlines his sculpted shoulders.
Jasmine pushes me so close to Jay I have to crane my neck to make eye contact.
My new friend grabs the guy Jay was talking to—a tall boy with red hair and pale skin who was with him at the cliff—and then they disappear, leaving the two of us alone.
My chest grazes his, and shivers run down my spine.
We’re so close I can feel his body heat.
Someone stumbles into my back, and Jay reflexively places his hands on my waist to steady me.
They feel good there, more than good, and that sets alarm bells off in my mind.
This is Jay. He’s an asshole! It’s the two sips of beer I drank.
It must be changing my body’s natural response to him, since it should be disgust, not intrigue.
I shouldn’t be thinking about how good his hands feel.
Before I can linger in his touch, I take a step back, which forces his hands to drop. His face hardens.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be doing something boring right now?” His tone brings me back down to earth, and I cross my arms. This is Jay. He’s hot, sure, but he hates me and I hate him, and that’s the way it should be.
I match his tone. “I’m here having fun. And you said I didn’t know how to live a little.”
His gaze dips and lands on my feet, which are slowly sinking into the mud, before he says, “You realize your outfit choice for the night isn’t the smartest, right? What is with you wearing heels and dresses to casual events?”
“In my defense, I didn’t know we were going to the cliff that first time. And this is how we always dress for parties,” I say as I gesture at the crowd, half of whom are dressed exactly like me.
Jay just shakes his head and mutters, “Oakwoods.”
Emmett notices me from where he’s talking with Daphne, so I wave. Jay notices.
“Have you heard from your date and his mom yet?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “When’s the wedding?”
Emmett waves back, his eyes going from me to Jay, and he tilts his head questioningly. His words from earlier replay in my mind.
To Jay, I say, “No, I haven’t heard from them, and I’m mad at you for encouraging my rude behavior.”
He rears back from me. “You’re mad at me.” It should be a question, but it comes out as a statement.
I nod once. “Yes. You put the idea in my head. You should’ve told me I was being rude instead of making me feel like a fake phone call was a good idea.”
Emmett would never have done that, but I already know Jay is basically the polar opposite of Emmett, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to me.
Jay lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re unbelievable.
You’re the one who texted me the code phrase for ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I was saving you from climbing out the goddamn window and breaking your neck.
And I didn’t force you to pretend I was your mom, you were all too happy to play along.
So how about saying, ‘Thanks for helping me out, Jay, again’?
” He shakes his head. “You know, just when I thought you were proving me wrong and are actually kind of fun, you pull this shit.”
All I can do is blink at him. He’s right.
He’s completely right, and I hate him for it.
I wanted out of that date, and I would’ve done anything to avoid an awkward confrontation.
It was easier to blame Jay than to accept the fact that having a serious conversation letting Arthur down makes my skin crawl.
My lower lip quivers, and Jay freezes. “What . . . what’s happening? Why are you making that face? Don’t . . . Princess, don’t do that.”
I can’t help it. My lip keeps quivering as I fight back the tears. I don’t even know why I’m so emotional. Jay’s said worse things to me before, so why am I being such a baby? The people in the yard continue crowding us, forcing Jay and me even closer to each other.
“Hey,” someone says over the music, and I see Emmett elbowing his way toward us. He looks at me, then at Jay. “Is everything okay here?”
Of course. It’s just like Emmett to play the hero, and that makes me feel even worse.
“Yes,” I start, “everything’s fi—”
Before I can finish lying, a guy with a mohawk hairdo runs up to us. He’s unsteady on his feet, and Jay half catches him.
“Hey!” the guy exclaims, a huge slice of coconut cream pie wobbling on the plate he’s holding.
“I said I called next for beer pong! I called it! I’m playing winner, and you can’t cut in front just because you’re standing here.
” He’s slurring, but he’s loud. Super loud.
Loud enough that most people are looking over at us now and stepping away from him.
“Hey, just calm down, man,” Jay tells him.
“I won’t calm down!” He shoves Jay. I wonder if Jay even knows who he is. Mohawk Guy turns to me like I’m some co-conspirator. “I haven’t had a turn in ages!”
Everyone is looking over at us now. Maybe because he’s causing a commotion, or maybe because they’re hoping to see a fight.
“We’re not playing beer pong,” Jay says, trying to de-escalate instead of giving in to the crowd’s secret hopes. “We’re only standing in the vicinity of the table. It’s all yours—though you shouldn’t drink any more.” He adds the last part as he catches Mohawk Guy again.
“Don’t be telling me what to do!” Mohawk exclaims, pushing Jay off him, but the sudden jerky movement throws him even more off-balance. Before I realize what’s happening, before I can even blink, he lurches forward, his arms windmilling and sending the pie in his hand flying. Right into my face.
There’s a chorus of gasps and laughs, as well as exclamations of shock and horror, as I stand there, too stunned to move, a whole slice of pie splattered on my face.
“She got pied in the face!” someone shouts as I wipe a huge chunk of pie away and dig through the pile of whipped cream so I can see. Now everyone is looking at me instead of Mohawk, who stumbles and mutters something about not feeling good before sauntering away.
“I would literally die if that was me,” someone else exclaims to a chorus of snickering agreement.
I meet Jay’s eyes in front of me. He’s managed to escape any type of whipped cream damage and is staring at me with wide eyes before he abruptly turns and walks away.
Did he really just ditch me? What a jerk!
I get that everyone is staring at me with gossipy delight and amused horror and that he’s probably feeling secondhand shame, but I kind of needed him to, I don’t know, be here for me?
Help in some way? Anything other than run in the opposite direction and act like he doesn’t know me.
Emmett’s still standing beside me, so at least he hasn’t deserted me, but he’s no help either, standing there with his jaw dropped as I try to wipe more coconut cream and pie chunks off my face. I only manage to smear the cream around and make clumps fall onto my white dress.
“That is so embarrassing,” someone exclaims, and other people join in.
Some kids are laughing. Others are pointing and talking about how mortifying this is, and I can confirm, yes, it is awful.
I don’t even know what to do other than stand here, do a poor job of trying to clean off my face, and not die of embarrassment.
Emmett opens his mouth to say something. I need it to be something great. Something to make me feel better. A joke. A suggestion on what to do. An escape route. Something Emmett-like.
“You . . .” he starts. “There’s pie . . . on you.”
That is the insightful statement I was hoping for?
“Hey, Princess!”
I turn toward the voice. Jay’s there, a few feet away from me by the food table, visible in the clear path through the people between us. Everyone is still staring at me. Isn’t this a party? Shouldn’t they be off partying?
Before I’m fully turned around, Jay reaches into the bowl beside him with his bare hands and throws a handful of food at me. The chunks land on me, directly on my chest, and I gasp at the impact.
“Did you just throw potato salad at me?”
To confirm it, he reaches into the same bowl and, with perfect aim, throws even more at me. Some of it sticks to me on impact, and some slides down with the whipped cream and lands at my feet.
“Maybe,” he answers.
That complete and utter asshole! How dare he throw food at me while I’m already covered in face pie! Is he trying to humiliate me as much as humanly possible? I’m so pissed my clenched fingers are digging into my palms and my hands are shaking.
I’m burning hot as I shove my purse into Emmett’s chest and march over to Jay as fast as possible in my stupid shoes. He’s smirking, and boy, do I want to wipe it off his smug face.
When I’m standing directly in front of him, I pick up a wide container of barbeque sauce and throw the contents at him, dropping the dripping container back on the table.
Ha! Take that!
Some of it splashed on his neck and jaw, and at least I’m not the only person here covered in food now.
Without saying a word, he picks up a pitcher of fruit juice with one hand, holding it over my head.
I glare at him. “Don’t do i—”
He pours the drink over my head. It soaks my hair and shocks my body as its coolness slides down my hot skin.
“You ass!”