3. Alison
By lunch, I’m exhausted.
Not physically, although apparently growing a person is enough work that my body has decided eleven in the morning is an acceptable time to consider a nap. I’m exhausted from acting normal.
Friday night, Ryan and I told everyone I was pregnant. Which sounds significantly less insane when I leave out the part where everyone somehow became half of Edgewood’s most powerful families in the span of a few hours.
Saturday morning, I woke up waiting for Dad to know.
He didn’t. Sunday, I waited again. Nothing.
This morning, I ate breakfast across from him while he read emails on his phone and complained to Mom about something happening at work.
Nobody had called him. Nobody had tipped him off.
Nobody had made a move without me knowing.
For the first time in my life, I gave people information they could use to control me and they just... didn’t.
I’m still thinking about that when I carry my lunch into the library. I usually eat with everyone. Usually being a fairly recent development. Today I want quiet.
I take my usual route toward the back, drop into a chair, and pull it out again. My phone buzzes beside my hand.
Ryan: Eat.
hello to you too
Ryan: hi baby
Ryan: eat
so romantic
Ryan: i was romantic last night
I bite the inside of my cheek.
debatable
Ryan: liar
i don’t remember being especially impressed
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Ryan: keep talking shit
what are you gonna do about it harrington
Ryan: right now? nothing
Ryan: unfortunately we’re at school and apparently i’m not allowed to drag you into the equipment room anymore
I glance toward the aisle even though nobody can see my phone.
ANYMORE???
Ryan: poor choice of words
extremely
Ryan: still thinking about it though
My cheeks heat.
you walked past me twenty minutes ago like you didn’t know me
Ryan: hated every second of it
Ryan: you looked pretty
My stupid heart squeezes.
you didn’t even look at me
Ryan: you didn’t see me look at you
creepy
Ryan: obsessed
possessive
Ryan: very
Ryan: sandwich
oh my god
Ryan: eat it
i am
Ryan: proof
fuck off
Ryan: picture ally
I take the sandwich out of my bag, unwrap it, and send him a picture with my middle finger beside it. His response comes immediately.
Ryan: beautiful
the sandwich?
Ryan: your hand
freak
Ryan: your freak
Jesus Christ. I lock my phone before he can make my face any hotter and take a bite.
“That’s either Ryan or you’re having a really good time with that turkey sandwich.”
I look up as Becca drops into the chair across from me. “Ryan,” I say.
“Figured.”
She reaches across the table and steals one of the pretzels from the bag I haven’t opened yet.
I slap her hand. “Those are mine.”
“You weren’t eating them.”
“I was going to.”
“You still have plenty.”
I pull the bag closer. “Get your own.”
“I didn’t bring any.”
“That sounds like a personal failure.”
She smiles and opens her own lunch. That’s it. No weird entrance. No explanation for why she’s here. Becca saw me in the library and sat down. I like that. I like it more than I want to admit.
“So,” she says after a minute, “how’s today?”
I shrug. “Weird.”
“Bad weird?”
“No.”
She nods. “That’s good.”
“I keep expecting it to be.”
“What?”
“Bad." Becca looks at me. I pick at the corner of my sandwich wrapper. “I spent all weekend waiting for Dad to find out.”
Her expression tightens slightly. “Did he seem suspicious at all?”
“No. That’s the weird part. Nothing happened.”
“Good.”
“I know.” I laugh quietly. “I sound insane. I told approximately six thousand people everything Friday, then went home and spent forty-eight hours convinced somebody was going to immediately betray me.”
“That sounds pretty reasonable considering your dad.” She nods toward the paper beside my elbow. “What’s that?”
“My English essay.” I turn it around and push it toward her. “Read the note.”
Becca takes the paper. Her eyes move over Mrs. Whitmore’s handwriting. Then she looks at me. “Okay. That’s cool. Do you want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Write.”
I look down at my sandwich. “I already do sometimes.”
“Like stories?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t I know that?”
“Why would you?”
“I don’t know. Feels like something Penny should’ve somehow discovered and announced to the entire school by now.”
I laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you write?”
“Stuff.”
“Excellent answer.”
“Thank you.”
She slides the essay back toward me. “Do you want to do it for real?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s the truth. I don’t know what I want to do after Edgewood. I’ve never been allowed to think that far ahead in any meaningful way. “I’ve never really picked anything.”
Becca nods. “Neither had I until recently.”
“You picked?”
“Finally.”
“What?”
“International relations.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to do with it?”
“The UN.” I wait, because the way she says it sounds like there’s more. She sighs. “I want to be a delegate.”
“Becca.”
“What?”
“That’s fucking amazing.”
A little smile pulls at her mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t exactly told many people yet.”
“I feel special.”
“Don’t.”
I laugh. “Too late.” She steals another pretzel. “Hey.”
“You got information. I get pretzels.”
“That’s not how friendship works.” The word slips out before I think about it. Neither of us makes it weird.
Becca just chews her pretzel. “Seems fair to me.”
Something warm settles low in my chest. Not overwhelming. Not some giant oh my God, I have friends now revelation. Just nice. Easy.
I look up to see Cat is walking toward us with Penny beside her.
Penny drops into the one beside me immediately. “Thank God.”
Cat sits beside Becca. “How are you feeling today?” It’s gentle. Not loaded.
“Okay.”
“Okay good or okay don’t ask?”
“Okay good.”
She smiles. “Good.”
And that’s all. Nobody turns lunch into a pregnancy summit.
Penny starts complaining about Xander’s diet.
Cat tells her she doesn’t have to eat what Xander eats.
Penny says that’s not the point because watching someone eat plain chicken six times a week is emotionally damaging. Becca tells her she’s brave.
I’m halfway through laughing when my phone buzzes again.
Ryan: you done
with lunch?
Ryan: yes
almost
Ryan: who are you with now
I grin.
why
Ryan: because i want to know
jealous?
Ryan: ally
becca cat penny
A few seconds pass.
Ryan: good
you approve?
Ryan: of them yes
and if i said someone else
Ryan: depends who
preston
Ryan: don’t fuck with me
??????
Ryan: not funny
extremely funny
Ryan: i’ll remind you how funny i am after school
My stomach flips.
threat?
Ryan: promise
Penny leans toward me. “Ryan?”
I lock my phone. “No.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I smile.”
“Not like that.”
Cat snorts. Becca steals one of Penny’s chips. Penny slaps her hand. “Can everyone stop stealing my food?”
“No,” Becca says.
“Absolutely not,” Cat adds.
I open my Sour Patch Kids. Penny reaches for one. I pull the bag away.
Her mouth drops open. “You bitch.”
“These are mine.”
Penny cackles. “I’ve created a monster.”
Becca looks at her. “Funny how that keeps happening.”
Penny points at her. “I created none of you.”
Cat looks up. “You absolutely started this.”
Penny pauses. “Okay, you.”
“Unfortunately.”
Then Cat points at Becca. “But I found her.”
Becca rolls her eyes. “You make me sound like a stray cat.”
“You acted like one.”
“I did not.”
“You hissed at people.”
“Metaphorically.”
“Still counts.”
I laugh. Penny looks at me. “And now you’re here.” There’s nothing dramatic about it. Just a statement. I pop a Sour Patch Kid into my mouth. “Apparently.”
Cat smiles. Becca bumps her shoe lightly against mine under the table. And the conversation keeps moving. Nobody announces that I’m part of anything. Nobody needs to.
At three twenty-five, I pull into the Harrington driveway. I haven’t even put the car in park before my phone buzzes.
The front door opens. Ryan appears. Tie gone. Sleeves pushed up. I smile. His eyes lift to mine. Even from across the driveway, I see his expression change.
I barely get the car door open before he’s coming down the steps. “Impatient?”
“Very.” I stand. He reaches me, catches my waist, and kisses me. Right there beside my car. No checking who might see. No cold Harrington mask. Just Ryan. His mouth moves against mine, and I laugh when he pulls me closer.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Poor thing.”
“Don’t mock my suffering.”
“Your suffering was not kissing me for seven hours.”
“Exactly.”
“Tragic.”
“It was.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “You walked past me like I didn’t exist.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”
“You were very convincing.”
“Don’t.” The word is quiet. I look at him. “I fucking hate it.”
“I know.” His hand slides up my back. “But it keeps Dad from looking at you.”
He kisses me again. Softer. “I’m still making up for it.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.” I smile against his mouth. He takes my bag from the passenger seat and catches my hand. “Come inside.”
Cassandra is in the kitchen when we walk in, Walter beside her gathering papers into his briefcase. They both look up. Cassandra smiles. “Hi, sweetheart. How was school?”
“Good.”
“Good,” she says, and then tips her head, considering me. “And how are you feeling? Not the school answer. The real one.”
“Mom,” Ryan says.
“I’m allowed to ask, Ryan.” She looks back at me and waits, and there’s nothing loaded in it, so I answer.
“Tired,” I admit. “But okay. Mostly tired.”
Cassandra nods like that’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “That part doesn’t get the credit it deserves. Everyone talks about the nausea and forgets to warn you that you’ll want to sleep through an entire season.” Her eyes soften. “Are you eating?”
“The girls have made it their personal mission,” I say. “I’m well supplied in crackers and sour candy.”
“Good girls,” she murmurs, and I can tell she means it. There are no eyes dropping to my stomach. No barrage of questions. Just Cassandra, asking like it matters and then letting it go.
Walter closes his briefcase. “We’re heading out.”
“Where?” Ryan asks.