Six
We pull up at the edge of the field, and Odette wedges her white Jeep between a lifted truck that I would break my neck trying to descend from and a Honda covered with decals detailing what southern girls are made of.
“Wait, so Lady Jessica didn’t want to marry him, or did she?” Odette asks, killing the lights. That inky darkness you can only find deep in the country floods every available space.
“She didn’t, but then she did.”
“I’m confused,” Poppy says.
I step out into smothering air that has only lessened slightly in intensity with the dusk. A deep earthy smell rises from the ground as my sneakers break the soft crust of earth. “They had to get married for societal reasons, and hated each other, but then Lady Jessica fell in love with him and wanted him to love her in return, so she concocted a plan to make him fall in love with her. All the while not realizing that he secretly loved her too.”
They blink at me for a moment.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Obviously,” Odette says, sighing deeply. “And we’re showing up to one of these ridiculous parties to do what, exactly?”
I pull out a small notebook full of my very careful notes. Encouraging cats in disco attire boogie across the hard cover. “We’re winning back Josh! Despite my excellent Cyrano plan, Ash refuses to help, so I’m on my own. Luckily, Lady Jessica seems to have some solid ideas for landing a duke, and I think some of her moves can easily translate to real life.”
“Into real life, and two hundred or so years in the future?”
“These concepts are timeless,” I say primly.
“And that’s the reason you’re dressed like a tomato?”
I spread my hands wide. “Lady Jessica wore a shocking red dress to capture the Duke’s attention.” I spin in a circle so they can take in the red fitted T-shirt, red denim shorts, and red Converse. “Obviously I had to improvise.”
Poppy raises her hand. “And we’re here for what reason, exactly?”
“For backup! You have to tell me what Josh is doing while I’m ignoring him.”
She shrugs. “I need to scope out some uneven terrain for my maze-finding robot anyway.”
I turn to Odette, the unspoken concern pulsing between us. “Do not let her get trampled by cows.”
“I don’t know enough about cows to know if they’re a trampling sort, but you worry about your own shit show, I’ve got this one.”
Poppy straps on a belt bag over a jumpsuit covered in dancing broccoli. “All right, what are we waiting for?”
Farther up ahead, the warm glow of a bonfire lights up the weathered face of a dilapidated barn that’s a wolf’s breath away from total collapse, and a rusted-out tractor embraced by waist-high weeds. The Bridgers farm is now a sprawling and modern affair, with shiny lemon-lime combines maintaining pristine fields of cotton and corn, but this corner of the property is just for River Haven High. This little postscript of the original barn and the farm’s more modest past has been overrun with teenagers every Saturday night since Tiffany’s older brother christened it “the place to be” almost eight years ago.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Odette murmurs as Poppy pulls ahead.
Her words seep into my skin.
“I feel like I do.” My voice seems insignificant as we’re both swallowed up by the night and farmland sprawling in every direction.
“Then it will work. If he has a single ounce of sense, it will work.”
Though I can barely see her in the dark, I feel buoyed. A laugh spirals out of me, and my neck loosens with the strain of carrying around my own failures for the past few weeks. The weight recedes a little with her words. With the crystalline night and her unwavering belief that I will turn this around. That I will make the most sugary lemonade out of the mess that Josh has left behind. I breathe in the earthy air, deep enough that I almost believe it too.
“Okay,” I say. “Step one, identify the target and environment to figure out which of Jessica’s moves might be best in that scenario.”
Odette trips in the dark, and her hand shoots out and grabs my arm. “You did not just say target.”
“Victim?” Poppy suggests, turning back toward our voices.
“Love interest,” I say firmly.
We step around puddles and soft mounds that hint of moles until the faint strains of music reach us. It’s always the same song about back roads, a pretty girl, and a boy with nothing else on his brain. Tonight, I don’t even mind, and Odette starts moving her hips before the fire-bright glow reaches us.
“Try to act like we thought this would be a totally normal, casual thing to do,” I say, forcing my mouth into what I hope is an excited expression.
Poppy adjusts her utility belt and smiles uncertainly. Odette does a two-step around her and past a stack of hay bales into the crackling-warm circle of the best River Haven has to offer.
The party extends into the barn, where more hay bales are arranged in half circles around a keg. Roy Holder’s F-150 is backed up to the edge of the circle and all the doors are open, spilling honeyed words and twanging guitar solos into the night. I pick at my shirt as the fire sends a wave of warmth to my bones.
Tiffany saunters over, content in the fact that this is her place, and she reigns here just like she does at school. She presses a Solo cup into my hand, and the smell of cheap beer mixes with ash and fertilizer.
“Fancy seeing you here, Marlowe,” she says, drawling out the word “you” in a way that makes me want to pour the beer right back on her.
I smile and tip the cup in her direction. “I can’t imagine why. Where else would I be on a Saturday night?”
“Didn’t think any of this was your scene now that you’re single again,” she says, dismissing Odette and Poppy with a glance. “In fact, I’d say you were our most unusual guest tonight, if Ash Hayes hadn’t also decided to make an appearance. Any coincidence there?” An overlaminated eyebrow slides up her forehead.
I see what this is now. A recon mission.
“The Prince of Darkness is here? No offense, Tiffany, but I doubt he finds your barn that exciting.” Odette laughs, stepping around her.
“That’s how much you know,” she says, hands on her hips, but we’re already moving past.
I can’t imagine Ash Hayes here any more than I can imagine myself hanging in one of his crypts, or secret poetry-writing caves, or wherever else he hangs out. Somewhere everyone dresses in black and refuses to do any favors for others.
My face flushes, and my glasses slide down as sweat beads at my hairline. Ash fits in here about as well as I do.
Poppy nods toward the left of the fire. “That field looks half plowed. I’m going to check it out.”
Poppy pulls a headlamp out of the belt bag and puts it on, and Odette squeezes my arm as she follows Poppy into the darkness. I track their progress as they move farther and farther away from me, a little reluctant to be on my own already. This is fine. I used to come here all the time. Groups of familiar faces fan out around me in short shorts, ball caps, and school jerseys. I smile at a group to my left and pretend I don’t see their eyes skate over me and away.
Meredith Wilson and Wesley Capps start slow dancing, even though the tempo is way too fast for that, but they’ve been dating since seventh grade and are going to fall into marriage the second they graduate.
It’s so familiar, it aches.
I spin in a circle, alcohol-laced breath puffing like clouds around me, and it hits me like a punch to the stomach. I kind of miss this. I hated some of the forced socializations that came along with being Josh’s girlfriend, but I miss being a part of something big. A big group of people who would laugh with you, tell you stories they knew would make you smile, and spin you around as a new favorite song bled into the night. That meant something to me, and as I stand here surrounded by people, but still alone, I feel it to my core. They forgot me.
And that sucks.
I take a drink, the trickle of light beer moving into my blood. I miss Josh. For a lot of reasons, but right now I miss the easy comfort of someone’s arms around me on a clear, balmy night that feels like it could last forever.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I swallow hard as the boy in question slides into my orbit. His face as familiar as my own, the swoop of his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. I clench my fist as he moves closer, until I can feel half-moons carve into my palms. You don’t get to touch him whenever you want anymore.
My notebook in my back pocket, my plans, my brain cells all evaporate. All I can do is stand there and breathe Josh into the night.
“Just wanted to see if you needed anything,” he says, and I hear the unspoken question in the air. He’s being gentle with me, but he wants to know why I’m here. This is his place. His friends. And I’m ruining it. He shoves hands into jeans worn paper-smooth, and I recognize them as his second-favorite pair. There’s a spot of motor oil on the left leg that he’s never been able to get rid of.
“I’m doing great,” I say, a little too loud. The sense that I’ve made a mistake grates along my brain. I’ve run out of words, so I toss the rest of my cup back, and the sour taste floods my tongue.
His mouth tightens; he doesn’t believe me. I wonder if it’s hard for him to be near me too. If he’s holding back from falling into old habits and sliding his hand into mine.
I finally have all his attention. It’s shining in my direction, and I hate that I’m going to throw it all away. My brain screams remember the plan, and Jessica’s first step toward making a duke overwhelmingly decide that he’s in love with you. That he can’t live without you.
Ignore him.
Ignore.
Him.
I shrug, my small smile stretched so tight I could snap. I take a jerky step backward. And then another, and a rushed bye falls from my stiff lips as his own part in surprise. I dart away from him, around the other side of the fire, and duck behind the rusted-out old tractor. I lean my back into warm metal, a shaky laugh bubbling out of me.
His face as I dismissed him felt incredible. Jessica’s advice is golden, and this was all I needed. A little guidance from the world of romance to get this train back on the rails.
I fill my lungs to the brink with smoky air and courage, and pull out the disco cats. Step one is complete, and now it gets trickier.
Step Two: Drop a favor for him to pick up for you.
A bit dated, and handkerchiefs are objectively disgusting, but I can substitute something else in a pinch.
Step Three: Flirt with someone else.
My stomach pitches like I’m riding the Blazing Fury at Dollywood. You can do this.
Step Four: If all else fails, pretend to faint near him and he’ll catch you and realize what you’ve meant to him all along.
It would have been more effective if I could’ve arranged to be kidnapped by a deranged half-sister desperate for my dowry, but I’ll work with what I’ve got. I step back into the crowd.
Josh hasn’t gone far; he and Derrick are locked in a heated debate on the far side of the fire. I should probably space things out, but I don’t have all night. I’m one more beer away from weeping on somebody’s shoulder if my and Josh’s song comes on.
Not that “Your Love Is Whiskey Neat” is a good song. I hate its dull melody and slow-as-molasses words about tradition and finding the one when you’re young. But I loved the way Josh would look at me as he sang along, and that’s just as good, right?
I pull the pencil out of my bun, and my hair tumbles down my back. I feel it expanding in the heat, and I clutch the pencil tight as I walk toward him.
His back is turned to me, and I bite my lip. I can’t just yell Hey, I’m dropping a favor here, and chuck it at his head.
Jessica didn’t have to work this hard, her handkerchief fluttering onto a polished dance floor for all the world to see.
I would just have to be creative.
I straighten my T-shirt, the lumpy cotton molding to me in the heat. I have to create a diversion.
I move closer, and snippets of conversation trickle in my direction.
“Who were they supposed to trade instead? Matthews?” Derrick is saying.
“Exactly,” Josh says, derision in his voice. “What has he done for them lately?”
Now’s my moment. I adjust my angle, and my pencil falls to the ground near Josh’s feet as I pass by. I bump into Derrick’s shoulder. Bingo.
I smile, slow my steps and wait for the inevitable. One, two—
“What the hell, Marlowe?”
I spin, and Derrick is scowling at me like I’m personally responsible for trading Matthews in whatever sports game he’s talking about.
“Oh, sorry—”
“Look where you’re going.” He turns, his wide back dismissing me, and I see Josh’s foot shift slightly. My pencil disappears under his boots and burrows deep into soft mud.
Well, shit.
Jessica didn’t include a troubleshooting guide, and now I’m out of accessories to throw.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I press my palms into them until the sting lessens. It’s just the smoke. This is only a minor setback, and I still have two more tricks up my sleeve.
I fetch another cup of watery beer, my eyes still burning with ash and malt and failure. My gaze sweeps past the groups circling the bonfire and snags on a splotch of black piled onto some hay bales.
Wait.
I cannot believe Tiffany was right.
I creep up, moving behind Hannah Whitely as she pulls up into a keg stand with lousy form, and there he is.
Ashton freaking Hayes.
I’ve never seen him outside of school, and it feels unnatural to see him here in Tiffany’s barn. He’s brought a girl I don’t recognize from school, and the abundance of black was almost enough for me to miss them in the dark corner they’re perched in. Ash’s hair is loose from the little tie he uses at school, fanning across his shoulders with soft curling ends. His black shirt is bunched up over previously unseen biceps, and his boots look mean enough to make it across any of Tiffany’s cow pastures. Five freshly painted midnight-black nails curl around his own Solo cup, and the idea of him drinking Montgomery Beast just seems plain wrong.
You shouldn’t.
He’s made it clear that he doesn’t have any interest in helping you.
“It’ll pass.”
Move on.
I inch closer. He’s even smiling a little at the girl with the stop-sign-red streaks through her hair. That small twist of his mouth in the classroom rises like an unwelcome ghost. I wonder if she makes him laugh. I wonder what that sounds like.
I shake my head, those thoughts scattering like starlight. I should go back to the party. He doesn’t want to help, and I have flirting and maybe some fainting to do. My stomach bottoms out and my brain screams that an anonymous letter would be a gift in comparison.
It’s the small smile tugging on his lips that does it. He looks relaxed, and if he was ever going to say yes, it would be now. I lock in on his location like a targeted missile.
Thirty feet.I slap on a smile that’s set to stun. Twenty feet. The girl looks up and a scowl settles on her pierced lips. Too late. Ten feet. He looks up as I come to a stop, and I dial up the enthusiasm level to student bake sale.
“Ash!” I say, as if we hadn’t mutually decided not to speak to each other for weeks. “I had no idea you were going to be here tonight! What an excellent coincidence.”
He looks at me, swirling the liquid in his cup, with not a flicker of expression or a single word.
“Excellent,” I say again, echoing into the silence.
Light dances off a jawline that could slice me to ribbons.
“Look, Ash,” I continue. “If you’re overcome by emotion, or nursing an infected tongue piercing, we can simply have this conversation on Monday. I just wanted to revisit some aspects of—” I glance at the girl, who’s looking way too interested in our conversation. “—of our project.” I pause another beat under his unblinking evaluation, but he’s content to just watch me from his hay bale.
“Great talk,” I say into the continued silence, while the girl giggles.
I drop the smile, and the pretense, and swear on my great-aunt Louise, bless her soul, that I will do this entire project by myself before I ever speak to him again. My face feels like a furnace, and he’s so rude I can barely wrap my mind around it. I spin on my heel, back to the party and people with manners. I can handle the paper, and for the presentation I will dress up as a sheep and pretend I am lost on the moors if I have to, but I will never—
“The answer is still no.” His voice snakes around me, and I stop in my tracks. His accent is like a black hole of accents—no twang, no lilt, no drawl of any kind. It’s flat and perfectly legible. Crystal clear.
His rejection sticks in my brain like a splinter, and it hurts the way he just tosses it onto the grass between us. Indignation chokes me, and I slowly spin and give him a smile I reserve for senile meemaws. “I don’t remember asking you a question?”
“We both know what you were asking.”
I shake my head, still planning out my sheep costume. Ash and I weren’t friends, but just because he saw me in my braces era and I’ve played his music more times than I care to count, I felt for a moment that we were closer than we are. I let it confuse me, blind me to the fact that we’ve had approximately two conversations and he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to be friendly with me.
“You know, you made this much easier, Ash,” I say, blinking back that familiar sting. “As it turns out, I don’t want anything from you either.”
He frowns again.
I don’t stop this time. I don’t need his help. He’s surly and rude, and I am fine on my own. I will stick to the original plan. Jessica’s plan.
Rip it off like a Band-Aid.
Fast.
Make him jealous.
It’s a solid enough concept, but I’m a little shaky on the details. In the book, Jessica let the Earl of Northam waltz her across the dance floor, which is unlikely to be on the agenda tonight. I can improvise, though. All I need to do is find somebody to flirt with.
I squint at the crowd, little pockets of cliques separating like oil and water. I need someone Josh likes enough that he would care if I was flirting with them, but also someone who isn’t a complete tool like Derrick.
There.
There, near the keg. Ryan Michaels. He’s all brown skin, black boots, and the same burgundy and gold school colors splashed across every boy here tonight. Go Rabbits! He’s also nice. Nice in a way that many of Josh’s friends aren’t. He’d always smile at me, a fist-bump greeting at the ready, and ask me about myself. He’s perfect.
I walk toward him, and he doesn’t disappoint. He grins and raises a Solo cup in an unspoken question.
I nod, grateful for the excuse, and he fills another cup before passing it my way.
“Well, if it isn’t the marvelous Marlowe Meadows. Having fun out there, killer?” His drawl is so smooth, it’s practically candy.
I lick my lips. No time like the present. “Much better now.”
Hi eyebrows shoot up under his baseball cap, and I’m not sure I did it right.
“What’s that now?”
“That’s a great shirt, Ryan. It really highlights your… muscles.”
He smiles, but it looks embarrassed, not sexy. “You might need to get those glasses checked, not that many muscles to speak of.”
This feels so much more stilted than how things were with Josh. I grasp for the next sentence. “Well, whatever you have, they seem perfect.”
He chuckles, but not in the normal easy way I’ve come to associate with him. “If you say so.”
I nod, because disbelief is written all over his face. “I really do.”
I reach out, grasping both of his arms like a proud father on graduation day. It lasts a nanosecond before my brain says NOPE and I yank my hands back to my sides.
He’s still as a rabbit that’s been cornered (Go Rabbits!), and my body takes on a life of its own and jerks up both thumbs.
“Yep, feels great!”
I see Poppy and Odette standing behind him and eject myself from this conversation before the embarrassment strikes me dead.
“Okay, well, good talking to you! Bye!” I turn and bolt around him, not waiting for a response, and don’t stop until I have Odette and Poppy on either side of me.
“Quick question, does Ryan look like he’s not sure if he’s been sexually harassed or not?”
Poppy coughs, but it doesn’t hide the laugh. “Should he feel like that?”
“I may have been making several comments about his muscles.”
“What muscles?” Odette asks, looking over my shoulder.
“He’s a baseball player, they’re there somewhere.”
“It looks like he’s making a beeline for Josh,” Poppy says, pulling some small binoculars out of her belt bag.
I bat her hands down and freeze. “Josh? Why would he be talking to Josh?”
“Didn’t you want him to tell Josh? So Josh gets jealous?” Odette asks.
“I don’t know! It wasn’t clear in the book! Word just somehow got out!”
“Well, Josh is now coming over here.”
“What?”
“Do you want us to do something? Should we distract him?” Poppy asks, making me wonder what else she has in her belt bag.
I shake my head. No, this is fine. This is what’s supposed to happen. I turn as his long strides eat up the ground between us.
“Having fun?” I ask when he gets close enough to hear.
“How many of those have you had?” he asks without preamble. He nods toward the still-full cup in my hand.
“Not many,” I tell him, as the music and murmurs dim. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that you’re drunk and hitting on my friends. Not cool, Marlowe.” He drops his voice, and the pity in his eyes threatens to undo me. “I think it’s time to leave.”
My throat clogs with tears, but I refuse to cry. None of this is going the way it’s supposed to. The music officially stops, and everyone is looking. I feel a little lightheaded, and I’m moments away from deploying step four and fainting right into his arms.
“Marlowe and I were about to leave anyway.”
I freeze, the words barely registering.
Josh scoffs, looking over my shoulder. “Why would she go anywhere with you?”
I turn and there he is—Ash Hayes, with a hand stretched in my direction. Inexplicably. But I know enough to recognize a life raft when I see it. I take his hand, his long, elegant fingers closing around mine, and my face feels as hot as his palm.
He pulls me toward the parked cars, and I nod when Odette mouths, Are you okay?
Josh produces one more irritated “Marlowe” before the night swallows him up behind us.