“Yeah, it was so much fun, Angela,” Olive says, sidling up next to me at the sink. She starts drying the dishes I’ve washed before nudging me with her shoulder, giving me a secret smile. “I saw you talking to that guy, Ivy. He was kind of cute.”
Mom freezes, her head snapping toward me. “What guy?”
I fight the urge to glare at my brother’s girlfriend and focus on gripping the sponge in my hand, scrubbing it over a serving spoon. “It was just Matt Clarkson, Mom. Not a big deal.”
I expect her to relax now that she knows it was just the neighbor kid, but she doesn’t. “Don’t do anything stupid, Ivy,” she warns, low enough for only me to hear, and my face flames.
Ever since the night in the hospital, when I cemented my status as the familial disappointment, Mom expects me to fuck up again. With grades, with boys, with parties, with booze. I don’t reply to her. Just keep my mouth shut, washing the dishes beneath hot water until my hands burn.
It’s just past ten when everyone disappears to bed, so I retreat downstairs to the basement. Standing at the sink, I wash my face, I brush my teeth, I take extra care with the floss. I procrastinate, stretching out my nighttime routine, because once I get in bed, I’ll have to look at my phone—and once I look at my phone, I’ll have to respond to the message there.
And I have no idea what to say.
Finally, I change into my sweatpants and slip under the covers. I pull out my phone, Wes’s last text taunting me through the screen.
I went to Northland. Looks like we’re rivals :p
Instead of responding, I dig up Thursday’s notes on the drive and paste the link in our text thread. A part of me doesn’t expect him to answer, but his reply comes within minutes.
Wes:You’re an angel, you know that?
His words send a wave of heat up my body until my cheeks warm.
Me:You’re welcome.
Wes doesn’t say anything after that. I debate asking what he’s up to, but I don’t want to bother him. I shouldn’t be bothering him. I shouldn’twantto bother him. He has enough adoring fans.
Setting my phone aside, I pull the blanket up under my chin and get as comfortable as I can on the brittle mattress. It’s not long before I fall asleep.
SEVEN
Sunday is dreary,and I squint up at the ominous sky on the walk to my car, unsure if it’s about to rain or snow. Scott and Olive left after lunch, Noah an hour or so later, but Mom guilt-tripped me into staying for dinner, and so here I am.
By the time the sky opens up and it starts raining down slush, I’m pulling back onto campus. The apartment is dark when I step inside, save for the glow of the TV illuminating the living room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust before I notice my normally absent roommate sitting on the couch. Quinn looks up and smiles at me. “Hey, where have you been?”
Her question catches me by surprise, and I speak before I’m ready. “I-I-” I shut my mouth. Take a breath. Start again. “I went home for the weekend.”
“Jealous. I’d kill for a home-cooked meal.” I shrug because while I like Mom’s cooking, I could go without the dog and pony show that comes with it.
“So, um, no Remy tonight?” I ask, hoping the question’s not too intrusive.
“Nah, not tonight. He’s practicing with his band. They’ve got a gig in town next week.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh, I didn’t know he was in a band.”
“Yup! Alternative Cash.Remy’s killer with the bass.” I nod. I’m not sure what to say next, but Quinn saves us from suffering through an awkward silence, gesturing at the TV screen. “I was about to startThe Fellowship of the Ring. Want to join?”
My first instinct is to say no. In fact, my brain isscreamingat me to say no, and I frown, glancing around the apartment. “Where are Kinsley and Ava?”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Not here, thank god. Did you see the guy Ava’s been bringing by lately? I’m pretty sure he has a mullet. A mullet!” She shudders. “Her taste in guys iswild.”
“Yeah, it really is,” I say, cracking a small smile.
“So, movie? Hobbits? Wizards? Hot elves?”
I hesitate. It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with a girl one-on-one, and my recent experiences with them haven’t exactly been stellar. But look at Wes. I gave him a chance, and it turned out okay (so far, at least). Maybe I should give Quinn a chance, too.
“I did have a crush on Legolas when I was younger,” I tell her, and then blush becausewhy did I admit that?
