Chapter 13
Thirteen
CHLOE
The words roll around between my ears, muffled as if I’d submerged my head in the bucket of dirty water. I blink a few times.
Nope. Not a mirage.
He’s still there, every inch of his six-foot-two, muscled body illuminated in the sun. His cut-off T-shirt reveals just enough of his abdomen to show the effects of his daily workout.
My own muscles are no longer in contact with my brain, which says, Get out of here! And, Say something! And, Quit staring!
Graham rumples his sandy hair and squints at me. “So… am I too late?”
Too late for what? To convince me to give him another chance? That ship sailed a long time ago, and there is no sign of its sails billowing in the breeze.
“No, you’re not too late,” Rhoads says, his jaw tight.
The laughter from before has completely dried up.
He tosses a sponge to me. Reflexively, I catch it.
All those practice sessions with Janae, our goalkeeper, must have transferred some of her hand-eye coordination to me. “She will absolutely take your money.”
“I would have been here sooner, but practice ran long. I don’t mind helping. Hand me the hose?” Graham accepts the hose from Rhoads, who twists the spigot to restart the water.
“Pour some soap in the bucket, Baker?” Rhoads asks.
I snap from my reverie. “Right, yeah. Sure.” I uncap the bottle and squirt a bit of neon yellow liquid into the bucket, which Graham fills with water.
Of course he’d been talking about the car wash. Not me.
Rhoads looks between us as Graham circles his Jeep, spraying layers of dirt to the ground. I dip the sponge into the bucket and slap it onto the hood. Bubbles rise into the air.
Beside me, Rhoads scrubs the passenger side.
Soup would be easier to breathe than the air right now. Graham and I haven’t talked since we broke up. Luck has been on my side, allowing me to avoid him. Avoid this. The awkwardness of it all chisels away at the high I’d been riding moments ago.
It hardly feels like the right time to get into our history, with my hands covered in soap and Graham’s salty muscles staring me down. But I can’t help remembering all the time I spent in this Jeep, back when I adorned Graham’s arm like a bracelet, dressing him up for the party of the week.
My mind slips back into a memory, to the first time I went with Graham to a party my parents would not approve of.
“Hey, beautiful. Ready for an evening of exciting teenage mayhem?” Graham said, extending his hand for me to grab.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I laced my fingers through his and walked, slightly behind him, out of the stadium.
It was fall of freshman year. Graham and I were headed to Zeke’s house.
Graham’s upperclassman football teammate always threw parties when his parents were out of town for the weekend.
I’d never wanted to spend my weekends hanging out with a bunch of strangers, really.
I’d have preferred to stay in, order pizza, and watch a movie.
But people expected Graham Carmack to be there.
I wanted him to like me, so I went, too.
Graham and I weren’t official yet. We’d hung out a few times, but we weren’t using labels. It was fine. I was just excited he asked me to come with him.
“Zeke’s got a new sound system that is out of this world. Like, the Best Sound System ever.”
“Cool,” I said, sliding in the front seat of the Jeep.
“And I think some of the lacrosse guys are coming, too, and their girlfriends. I’m excited for you to meet them. I think you’ll really hit it off.” Graham flashed a smile and put the car in gear.
The October night was unseasonably warm, and the air conditioner squeaked as we drove. “Thank you, mister hamster,” we said in unison.
I couldn’t help but smile. It happened every single time Graham turned the air on.
The uneasiness in my stomach subsided. I always felt weird about going to parties where I didn’t really know anyone. I usually ended up sitting on the couch, wedged between gossiping girls who complained about their boyfriends.
Graham generally offered to get me a drink, got distracted on his way back from the kitchen, and ended up playing a video game with his teammates and other friends. I would wait until eleven and then text one of the upperclassmen on the varsity soccer team, who would come pick me up.
Graham parked in the side yard at Zeke’s, and I pushed my door open. Mud puddles speckled the ground. Good thing I hadn’t worn heels. By the time my aqua Converse had found the sidewalk, Graham was already on the porch.
“Come on!” he called, opening the screen door and disappearing behind it.
“Great. Now I get to be the random girl no one knows. Again.” I hadn’t expected him to throw down his jacket for me to walk on. By now, I knew that chivalry wasn’t Graham’s color, and that was fine. But he could have at least waited so I wouldn’t have to go inside alone.
He’d be halfway through his first round of Flip-Cup before I caught up. I considered getting back in the car. I could feign illness and have Sophie pick me up early and take me to Anita’s. We’d be able to get in at least two rom coms before falling asleep.
But between our practice schedules and homework, I wouldn’t get to see Graham much over the weekend and the following week.
Being with him pushed me outside my comfort zone.
And wasn’t that the point of high school?
Big Moments like this. Football games and parties with the Best Sound System and catching the eye of the most attractive guy at school.
I took a deep breath, pausing on the porch.
Before I could open the door, a male voice said, “Are you going in?”
I turned. A tall, shaggy-haired guy stood on the porch behind me. He played on the boys’ soccer team. A striker, I thought. They were usually the most arrogant. Cocky goal-scorers. I’d seen him running drills but didn’t know his name.
“Umm, yeah. I guess I am,” I said, entering and letting him pass before I closed the door behind me.
I wiped my feet on the large rug and stepped onto the dark hardwood floor.
The house was the kind of place that I’d expect to see in Better Homes and Gardens, not littered with soda cans, Solo cups, and half-eaten bags of Doritos.
The kind of place where my mom could host a charity event and charge two hundred dollars per ticket just for a tour.
Groups of familiar, but not necessarily friendly faces dotted the hallways and rooms, laughing at jokes I hadn’t heard and probably wouldn’t understand even if I had.
Casual acquaintances, all of them. And I hesitated to even use the word acquaintance.
I doubted any of them knew my name, not that I remembered theirs, either.
Winding around couples making out near the stairs, I squeezed through a crowded hallway and found a pocket of uninhabited air in the kitchen. I breathed and leaned against the wall, scanning the room for Graham.
“Drink?” a guy asked me. The guy from the porch. He handed me an unopened can of Coke.
I took it automatically, the cold condensation slicking my palm. “I’m looking for Graham Carmack. We came together, but we got separated.”
“Right.” The guy shrugged, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen him. Sorry. Do you want something else? A beer?” He nodded at my drink, his dark hair falling over his eyes.
“Oh. I actually don’t drink soda during soccer season. Or alcohol ever.” I handed him the can, and he traded me a bottle of water.
He smiled, and for less than half a second, I wondered what it would have been like to be at the party with him instead of Graham. And then I mentally deleted that thought, because who was I to reject Graham Carmack even in my own mind?
“Umm, thanks for the drink,” I said.
“Sure thing.” He started talking to a girl from my Algebra class. Julie? Jessica? I leaned against the wall and clutched the bottle, the chill of it grounding me.
Sometime later, Graham sauntered into the kitchen, a can of beer in each hand. “Chloe! There you are. I’ve been looking for you all night. Well, I did play some Zelda first. And Quarters. But since then. This is for you.” He held out one of the cans. He never remembered my no alcohol rule.
“Oh, I’m set.” I raised the water bottle toward him. “Thanks again,” I said to the guy from the porch as I followed Graham into the crowd.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he nodded at me. “Have a good night.”
Graham grabbed my hand and led me outside. I grimaced as I squeezed between two large football players who were arguing about whose turn it was at the foosball table.
“Where are we going?” I set my unfinished drink on the porch, thankful to escape the stifling room and too-loud EDM.
We stopped at his car. He opened the door and gestured for me to get in.
“You’re ready to leave already?” I could get behind that.
“Nah. I just want to talk somewhere quiet for a minute.”
“So, uh, what do you want to talk about, exactly?” I asked, as we sat in the front seat. If he thought we were going to do that, he was out of his mind.
He looked at me. “Are you having fun?”
“Sure.” If not fun, I’d at least I’d talked to someone for longer than to ask where the bathroom was.
He heaved a deep sigh. “I mean with me. Are you having fun with me?”
I didn’t know how to respond to this. As far as I’d experienced, Graham did not talk about feelings. At least not without a wink or a joke.
I hesitated, choosing my words. “Of course. I really like you.” And it was true; I did like him. It was his friends I didn’t like much, because he was different with them. Always trying to impress them.
He smiled and then sighed. “Oh, good. Because I think you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Graham was a big believer in gestures, the grander the better. Not so much with words.
He leaned in to kiss me, but I shied away. I don’t know why I did it. Something in my heart just wasn’t interested that night.
Graham looked hurt at this rejection, but I said, “Oh, it’s not you. It’s the pine-scented air freshener. The smell gives me a headache. Let’s get back inside, okay?” Not a total lie. I’ve never liked the smell.
“You’re right, pine is gross.” He ripped it off the rear-view mirror and tossed it in the backseat with his gym bag. “Back to the party!”
He bounded up the walkway and through the front door, leaving me in the car. I checked my phone. Eleven o’clock on the dot. I texted Sophie.
Be there in five, she responded.
I dropped Graham’s keys in the dish on the counter on my way back inside to wait. I felt weird about waiting in the Jeep by myself.
“Leaving already?” Porch Guy checked the clock in the entryway.
“I’ve got a headache. My ride is on her way. I don’t want to make Graham miss the fun.” Why did I feel like I owed this stranger an explanation or care what he thought of me?
“No judgment,” he laughed. “I’m Rhoads, by the way. Simpson.”
“Chloe Baker,” I called over my shoulder as I pushed my way through the crowd and out the front door toward Sophie’s headlights, crisp night air swirling my hair.
“Yeah,” he said, almost too soft for me to hear. “I know.”
Now, crouched by Graham’s Jeep, I remember that was the night I’d officially met Rhoads.
We’d circled each other as part of our respective soccer teams, but we hadn’t spent much time one-on-one.
Weird that I haven’t thought about it until now.
Though this is probably the only other time the three of us have been in such close proximity.
Graham aims the hose at the spot of hood I vacate and looks at the sky.
Rhoads scrubs the wheels, focusing hard.
I don’t say anything. What can I say? I figured we’d meet face to face at some point. I just didn’t expect it to be like this.
We finish washing the car in the heaviest silence, and Graham hands over a ten-dollar bill.
“Change?” I ask, my voice like gravel. I dry my hands on a towel and take the money, making sure not to touch his hand.
“Nah,” Graham shakes his head. “It’s for a good cause. Plus, I feel like I owe extra for showing up at closing time.”
“Thanks.” I fight the urge to mention that this changes nothing between us. That a ten-dollar bill can’t buy my forgiveness. But he’s being civil, so I bite my tongue.
“See you around,” he says.
“Bye.”
Graham gets in his Jeep and drives away, bass thumping. A red pine tree hangs from his rear-view mirror.
Apparently, some things do change.
Rhoads tosses the last of the sponges into the clean bucket.
“Thanks for your help today,” I tell him. “Without you, this would have been a total failure.”
“Happy to help. So, I’ll see you in econ on Monday?” I can’t read his expression, though his body is more tense than before.
“Yep. Sounds good.”
Rhoads leaves, and I pack away all the supplies in the storage room, thinking. Maybe Graham showing up was the reminder that I needed. I’m not supposed to be flirting with boys. I’m supposed to be focusing on school and soccer.
Breaking up with Graham sucked, but afterward, I trained my hardest. That effort landed me a starting spot on a varsity team that might go all the way to state. Hard to argue with those results. Rhoads is cool, funny, and honestly, smoking hot, but I can’t afford to let my guard down.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself, it’s that smooth talkers are a weakness of mine. And this year, I need to be all strength.