Chapter 14
Eight years ago
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. You guys!” Nat slammed her tray down so hard that half her salad hopped off its plate. She slid into her saved seat at the table and leaned forward, the checkered tie of her uniform grazing the jumbled mess of chopped vegetables.
Rachel and I exchanged quick smirks.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the girl to bits, but Nat was the queen of overhype and underdeliver. This entire production happened at least twice a month, and rarely did the gossip live up to the juiciness her excitement promised.
“Let me guess,” Rach teased as I hid my smile behind a bite of risotto.
“Rumors that the aioli they served us last week with the ahi tartine was made with white truffle oil instead of paste have reached the PA, and now they’re launching a full investigation into what disgusting, impermissible garbage their children are being fed. ”
“No—I mean, yes, that too—but that’s not what I’m talking about.” She inched closer, her soft brown eyes shimmering with exhilaration and glee. “It’s finally happening,” she hissed with the widest grin I’d ever seen on her. “The soccer team’s made their picks for prom.”
My smile waned. My lungs froze.
Rachel straightened beside me. “What? How do you know?”
Nat, who was now vibrating with excitement, reached into her Polène tote and retrieved her new prized possession—a midnight-blue hoodie. “Because I got one!” she squealed, clutching it to her chest.
Nausea slammed into my stomach. I blinked, frantically trying to make out the name and jersey number with her arm in the way.
Sixty-seven.
Jaxton Kim.
My shoulders relaxed a touch.
“Holy crap,” Ellie breathed from somewhere down the table.
“I know! I can’t believe it. Or, like, I guess I can, because let’s face it.” Nat gestured at her own face as the sole explanation. “But still! I’m so excited!!”
The murmurs of congratulations around the table were dry and laced with palpable jealousy. She preened, reveling in it.
In a school filled with the heirs and heiresses of some of the most powerful families in the world, the soccer team was pure royalty.
Partly because they had a former FIFA world champion as their head coach, and partly because of their ever-so-talented captain, elected valedictorian, teenage heartthrob, and voted most likely to rule the world in ten years: Dominic Crawford.
“Who… who else has gotten one?” Rachel asked. She tossed another glance in my direction, but I wasn’t able to catch it in time. “Do you know?”
“So far, I only know of me and Jaxton, Logan and Amara, and Dylan and Issac.”
A fresh buzz of energy was creeping through the cafeteria as the news touched each individual table. Kids started shifting in their seats, wanting to play it cool while itching to run and check their own lockers.
It was a decades-old promposal tradition. Every year, right before one of the final games of their high school careers, the senior members of the soccer team broke into the lockers of their respective partners and crushes and left their hoodies behind as gifts.
If the recipient accepted, they’d show up to the game that night wearing it.
If they didn’t… well, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t happen often, but I assumed the hoodie would be returned to the player.
Other than the finals, the prom games drew the biggest audiences.
It was kind of sweet, watching the players on the field subtly search the crowd and light up when they spotted their numbers.
There was a lot of smiling, giggling, and blushing throughout, and once the game was over, the young lovers were united through a wave of whistles and cheers.
“I wonder who he’ll pick,” Leilani whispered. “Could you even imagine?”
She didn’t need to specify who “he” was. Everyone knew.
I shoveled a spoonful of something goopy into my mouth as the predictions started to roll in, but all I could taste was lead.
The next couple of hours were hell. I avoided my locker like the plague, and every time I caught a glimpse of that midnight blue being boasted in the hall, my heart stopped beating until it knew, for certain, that it didn’t belong to Number 11.
Eventually, though, I didn’t have a choice.
Just get it over with. Rip it off like a Band-Aid.
I already knew it wasn’t going to be me, so why did the thought of opening my locker and finding it empty make me so sick to my stomach?
Swallowing back the tangle of nausea and heartbeats stuck at the base of my throat, I braced myself for the inevitable, raised my chin, and yanked the door open with purpose. I just needed to grab my calculator for sixth period. I’d be in and out in… a…
My hand froze mid-reach, and I buffered, not comprehending. I shut the door. Double-checked the number to make sure it was mine. Opened it back up.
It was still there.
A small, beautifully arranged bouquet of red roses and a cream-colored envelope sitting on top of a neatly folded hoodie. I stood stock-still, staring at the flowers, wondering how much longer it’d be until I woke up.
The bell must have already rung, because the soft murmur of students had faded, and the only thing I could hear was the deafening pounding of my own heartbeat. I glanced around the empty hallway, then gave my wrist a little pinch. When nothing happened, I reached for the envelope.
My name was written on the back with a familiar, clumsy cursive that made my chest squeeze. I brushed a trembling finger over it, my throat swelling, my heart racing.
Careful not to tear the paper, I gently parted the flap and slid the folded pages free. Then I held my breath.
Alice.
I’ve written a thousand different versions of this letter, but I still can’t seem to get it right.
I don’t know where to start, how to articulate any of the things I need to tell you, and I really don’t know how you’ll react to any of it.
What I do know is that I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try, so I’m just going to—
“It’s a prank.”
I started, instinctively hiding the letter behind my back as I twisted around. But it was only Rachel.
“Oh, hey,” I said breathlessly. “Why aren’t you in French?”
She swallowed a little roughly, the skin around her eyes pink and swollen. Like she’d been crying.
I frowned. “You okay?” Was it more stuff with her dad? Did she need to stay over again?
“It’s a prank, Alice,” she repeated.
My stomach bottomed out as I watched her eyes turn to pure glass. It took me a few seconds to work up the courage to ask, “What is?”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I asked him not to do it—that it wasn’t funny.
But apparently, he didn’t listen. It’s just another prank, so you’ll show up to the game wearing it, thinking that he…
” She trailed off, sucking in a shaky breath.
“He gave out two hoodies. The other one went to Harper. She’s been trying to get back together with him, and he…
he’s going to walk past you after the game and kiss her instead. That’s the plan.”
Oh.
Oh… okay.
I opened my mouth, meaning to laugh it off and tell her I wasn’t stupid—that I already knew. But my throat was clogged.
When the first silent tear trailed down my cheek, Rachel’s lower lip wobbled. She started moving, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry…”
The letter slipped from my limp fingers. I couldn’t move or breathe or feel anything except the gut-wrenching ache of my heart being ripped in half. “I… I don’t…”
“I know. It’s okay,” she assured me as I stared blankly down at the scattered pages beside my feet. “It’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll take care of it.”
A single sentence was all I could make out through the blur of my tears, but it was so devastating, so unfathomably cruel, that it made me squeeze my eyes shut and wish I could crawl into the gaping hole in my chest and disappear.
…think I’m in love with you.