“No, not here for a job.” What the fuckamI doing? I probably should’ve practiced with Maddox or something.
The bell dings over the door, drawing our focus as Mr. Garfield, our high school calculus teacher, steps inside.
“Then hurry up, because I’d like to keep mine,” she hisses. Then her expression transforms into a bright customer service smile as she greets Mr. Garfield.
“Two of my favorite students,” he says warmly. “Although I can’t say I’ve seen you together like this. Have you finally put aside your differences?”
Fable lets out a sarcastic snort under her breath. “Not at all,” she says at the same moment I tell him, “Absolutely.”
Poor Mr. Garfield really saw us at our worst. By the time we entered his class in twelfth grade, our rivalry had reached its peak. There were many days where he had to stop Fable and me from arguing about the best way to solve a problem, even though both of us had ended up with the correct answer.
I flash him a wide smile. Maybe the way to endear myself to Fable is to remind her how much fun we had competing. “I’ve totally forgiven her for that point-one GPA win. And she has forgiven me for the fact that everyone laughed way harder at my graduation speech.”
A haughtyhumphsounds from beside me. “They did not.”
“Did too,” I insist.
Fable grumbles something incoherent under her breath.
Mr. Garfield is rightfully confused, his gaze bouncing between us. “Well, okay,” he says with a forced grin. “Good to see you both. Ineed to find some painter’s tape.”
“Aisle two.” Fable directs him.
“Thank you,” he calls, disappearing from view.
When I hand the next box over, she glowers at me and snatches it with more force than before. Okay, apparently the competitive angle didn’t work. I’ll try a straightforward approach. “So, you know the picture of us from last night?”
Something startles behind her eyes. “What picture?”
“The one everybody’s talking about this morning?”
She cuts a look my way. “What are you saying? My phone has been dead all day.”
“The picture.” I pull out my phone, swipe to the image, and turn it in her direction. “This one.”
She goes still, lips parted. Her gaze bounces all over the image before she grabs my phone and zooms in. Her pulse flickers rapidly in the column of her throat as she scowls at the image.
Damn, I don’t think she’s seen this yet.
I try to lighten the mood. “We look pretty good together, huh?”
She ignores my question. “Let me guess, Cathy took this?”
“Yeah. She sent it to our moms.”
The corners of her mouth tighten. “For fuck’s sake, Cathy.”
“Excuse me.” We both jump at the sound of Mr. Garfield’s voice. “Where can I find the spackling paste?”
“Uh, aisle four,” Fable replies distractedly, turning to give him a quick grin.
When she whirls back to me, she shoves the phone into my chest. “This is fine. Annoying, but fine. It’s a stupid picture of a moment I’d love to forget. Idon’t think you needed to run all the way here to show me.” She tips up her chin stubbornly and reaches for another box.
Objectively, this isn’t going well so far. We’re getting further and further from any sort of conversation that leads toHey, so what if we pretend we’re dating for a bit?Whatdoeslead to a conversation like that? How do I even bring it up with someone who’s so clearly annoyed by my presence? Competitive memories didn’t help. Practical and straightforward didn’t help. Maybe I flirt with her?
It’s worth a try. I’m pretty good at it, I think.
“Love to forget, huh? Because that flush on your cheeks is telling me a different story.” I playfully nudge her elbow withmine and she lets out a small growl before stalking to the end of the aisle.
