Chapter 21 Tyler
After the party, it’s like a seal has been broken.
In public, we’re still just very good friends; but in private, we’re even more.
Sabrina waits for me outside Ms. Moore’s class and chatters about all the fun facts she learned about Shakespeare in English while we walk the halls without even grazing pinkies; but then she turns us down the deserted hallway leading to the library, and as soon as the coast is clear, she presses me against the dusty shelves holding the reference books.
I wait for her after football practice, and we sit under the big oak tree on the front lawn while the sky turns pink and purple.
I tell her about the day’s best plays, and her eyes widen in newfound appreciation for the rest of the team, and the longer we talk, the more our legs and hands brush—until she pulls me up and insists on driving us home so we can hold hands over the gearshift.
She keeps one eye on the road, and I keep one on the check-engine light.
I get a few texts from my old team, but I leave them on react, no longer as bothered by what they think or don’t think about me.
I don’t even consider asking about Kate.
I go days without thinking about her at all.
She was fun to hang out with, but now I can see it for what it was: We never talked about anything that real.
The trust only ran knee-deep. Maybe it’s not such a big deal that we didn’t work out.
Maybe it’s not a predictor of what still will.
I get texts from my parents. My mom asks if we can set up a FaceTime on Thursday nights for our traditional pasta dinner, saying she misses me; my dad says that Michigan scout called to set up an interview, which sends my stomach flipping in excitement.
It all makes me feel way more hopeful than homesick.
And maybe that’s partly because I’ve got someone making me feel pretty at home here in Hamilton Lakes.
The only thing marring my otherwise perfect happiness is the fact that we’re still sneaking around.
Ryan’s invite to the monster movie marathon downtown?
Yeah, Sabrina showed up at the diner at the end of my shift that day, and I was so distracted I totally forgot.
When I finally checked my phone, I couldn’t even tell him why I’d blown him off.
He was cool about it—said he met up with Alex instead—but I still felt horrible.
Every instinct in my body is screaming to go public with this girl, and I have a feeling I can’t keep it in any longer.
One afternoon in late September, we’re sitting at the top of the bleachers after all the other guys have gone home at the end of practice.
I’ve begun to take great pleasure in releasing Sabrina’s hair from its ribbons every time I get her close enough to kiss, but watching her put it back up brings just as broad a smile to my face.
Seeing her become Sabrina, head of the Spirit Committee who has it all together, just reminds me I’m the only one who gets to see her completely undone.
I lean back on my hands, grinning. “You need to get home?”
“Not really. Mom’s working. She’s been on nights all week. So, it’s just me and microwave Indian food and Gossip Girl while I do my homework!” She flashes me a too-bright smile.
My own frown wavers. “You okay with that? Not… too lonely?”
She shrugs. “A little. But it’s not so bad when…” She blushes, scrunches up her nose as if in disgust. “Ugh, no, I can’t say it. Too corny.”
“Well, now you have to.” I reach toward her ribs, tickling her in the spot I’ve discovered is extremely sensitive, and she doubles over in a gasp.
“Tyler! That’s not fair! Stop—” She wheezes for air when I merely redouble my attack.
“What’s not fair is starting to tell me a secret and then taking it back!”
“Fine! Mercy, have mercy!” I relent, fingers hovering above her waist in a threat, and she buries her face in her hands. So quietly I can barely hear her, she whispers, “It’s not so bad when the rest of the day I have you.”
My heart does a somersault, and I immediately wrap an arm around her shoulders instead. “And that you do,” I murmur into her hair. “You know, if you get too lonely, you can come hang out at the Thompsons’… There are always plenty of people around there.”
She grimaces. “Not sure I could keep my hands off you long enough to keep my cover. But I really do appreciate the offer.” She nestles closer into my side. “I take it things are going okay there?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It hasn’t gotten any easier being away from my parents—and Savannah, God, you’d love her, she’s a force of nature—but Uncle Mike and Aunt June are great.
They actually special-ordered my favorite ice cream from this local creamery back in Brownsville just to make me feel more at home. Not gonna lie, I teared up a little.”
Sabrina turns her head to press a silent kiss to my neck. “That’s so nice. Maybe your parents can visit soon, yeah? I bet they miss you, too.”
I stroke one hand up her arm, warming the bare skin there. “I hope so. And maybe… you could meet them?”
Sabrina only freezes for a moment. And then she just nods. “I’d like that.”
It emboldens me to ask the questions that have been piling up inside me with every conversation, every kiss, every moment that reminds me Sabrina is so much more than I expected. “Are you… still worrying about what might happen if Ryan finds out about us?”
She bites her lip. “A little,” she admits. “What if it makes things weird at school?”
“I doubt it. Everyone loves you.”
“Exactly.” Something dark flickers across her expression, but it’s gone just as quickly, and she’s making a comedically horrified face. “It’s kind of important for the president of the Spirit Committee to not get on the bad side of, oh, the entire hockey team!”
I tuck her more firmly under my arm and gentle my voice. “You gotta admit, that’s highly unlikely. It’s not like Ryan’s…” I grin as I find the right metaphor. “It’s not like he’s a Jess.”
She snorts, then heaves a defeated sigh. “Ugh, I know. Not really the broody, vindictive type. And he did ask Haley to homecoming with a whole David Bowie–themed flash mob… so maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward anymore. He seems pretty properly moved on.”
She frowns like she’s considering it, and my chest inflates with hope. “And… is your to-do list still so overwhelming you’re not even thinking about dating this year?”
Her focus momentarily shifts. “Shit. You just reminded me, I have to run off some posters in the front office to advertise homecoming—”
“You mean these?” I reach into my backpack for the posters I’d carefully rolled up with a rubber band. Her mouth falls open. “Yeah. You think I’m not listening when you rattle off your to-do list?”
She shakes her head.
I lean in for the kill, planting a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m always listening,” I whisper. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed.
It makes me imagine all the quiet, blissful moments we could have together if we get this out in the open—forehead-to-forehead, fingers intertwined, the only eyes we care about each other’s.
“So…” I clear my throat. “What you said about no boyfriends senior year? Does that still hold?”
She cracks one eye open, and it’s sparkling with mischief. “Lesson number one of having a girlfriend: Never use her own words against her.”
Girlfriend. That sounds pretty good when it’s about me and Sabrina. “Does that mean…?”
Sabrina hums thoughtfully. “Maybe one date won’t hurt.”
And then she grabs the collar of my hoodie and pulls me toward her, a smile spreading across her face.
The sky has deepened through a bruised purple all the way to deep navy by the last hour of my shift at the Lakeside. I’m busing tables and taking orders in a daze, all the while watching the door of the diner, waiting for one particular customer to walk through.
When she does, my heart stops and my breath catches.
Oh. So, this is Sabrina dressed up.
She’s wearing a short black skirt, tall boots, and a truly incredible red top. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and it makes her neck look even longer and more elegant than usual.
Wow, I mouth across the diner.
She steers toward the hostess stand, but I hold up a finger to the booth I’m serving. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back. VIP customer.”
“What’re you doing?” She tilts her head quizzically to the side. “You’re working.”
“VIP customer,” I repeat, hoping the intensity of my gaze and the insistent press of my hand at the small of her back convey just how VIP she is. The way she looks up at me from beneath her lashes and lets her hip brush mine tells me: Oh yes, she knows.
I steer her toward the best booth, in the corner. There’s a Reserved sign on top of it, written in my best calligraphy.
Sabrina stares at it for a long moment, then scrunches up her nose at me. “What does that say? Restaurant? Relatives? Re—”
Okay, maybe my best calligraphy isn’t very good. “Reserved,” I murmur in her ear. “For us. Because this date is the only thing I’ve been thinking about for this whole shift, and I’m afraid I messed up more than one order as a result.”
And then her cheeks flush and she thumps down into the booth as if her legs have given out. “Oh,” she says. “Well, be careful not to give Shannon Bittle gluten. You know she—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” I take one step back, then another, all without breaking eye contact. I point at her before I turn away. “Stay right there while I chase some customers out.”
She folds her hands atop the table and crosses her legs obediently. My mouth goes dry, and I almost trip over my own feet as I hurry back to one of my remaining tables.
Lindsey’s brother, Luke Dawson, is closing tonight—I guess he’s home for the weekend from Chicago and giving Lindsey a night off for a date with some girl she’s been talking to.
I don’t really know the guy, but he listens intently while I stammer my way through a request to stay late, because there’s this girl—and if he asks Lindsey, she’ll confirm that I’m reliable, I have references—