He releases me too soon, and I find myself incapable of meeting his eyes. I can’t help my reddening face, either, so I stare down at my shoes to try to hide it even though I know that it’s pointless.
“You okay, Ives?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh, I’m great. Fantastic,” I mumble, blushing harder.
He snickers. “We should practice again next weekend. Are you free Saturday? And don’t give me bullshit about some study session.”
I look up at him then. “I only gave you that bullshit for your own benefit. Lying does not come naturally to me.”
He smirks. “I know, and I appreciate your sacrifice.”
“Well, good.”
He snickers and asks again, “So, Saturday?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, a warm feeling buzzing through my stomach at his persistence. “Saturday works.”
“Amazing,” he says. “Well, except for the fact that this week’s going to move impossibly slow.”
And not for the first time, I’m grateful that I never dropped Public Speaking.
THIRTEEN
The followingweek passes at a glacial pace. I’m eager to spend another Saturday with Wes, but the impending speech hovers at the back of my mind, looming over me like a storm cloud. My emotions are mixed, and the anxiety monster that lives in my chest is in a constant state of pacing back and forth, forever on the lookout for a threat, waiting for the right moment to attack.
It only seems to relax when Wes is around, but I’m not ready to examine that too closely.
I spend my Friday evening in the library, and the hours tick away with my head buried in my laptop. At some point, a couple girls pass by, complaining about the weather forecast. There’s supposed to be an ice storm tomorrow night, and everyone’s annoyed it’s happening on a weekend instead of a weekday, nixing the potential for canceled classes.
My phone vibrates with a text, and I glance at the screen, disappointed to see it’s a message from my mom and not Wes.
Mom:Can you come home on the 11th?
I frown down at my phone, re-reading the message. Nohow are youorhow’s school going, of course. She’s straight to the point while also offering no information. There are no more birthdays until Noah’s in June, so I can’t imagine why she needs me home so soon.
Me:What’s happening on the 11th?
Mom:Having a garage sale with church. Need you to sort through childhood stuff in the basement.
I almost groan aloud at the prospect but check my class calendar to see if anything’s going on the next week. Sure enough, there’s a big, fat art history test the following Monday.
Me:That day might be hard. It’s right before an exam.
Mom:Scott can’t do the weekend before, and Noah can’t do the weekend after. Garage sale’s the one after that.
A list of potential responses runs through my head,so you’ll work around the boys’ schedules but not mine?,taking front and center, followed by,just do it without me.I don’t write either of those things, though. I type out what she wants to hear because I don’t have the energy to deal with her attitude.
Me:I’ll make it work, I guess.
All she sends is a thumbs up. Conversation over.
It’s eight by the time I pack up my belongings and bundle up against the cold, but when I arrive at my apartment, the last person I expect to see is standing in the middle of my living room.
I freeze. My body goes immobile at the sight of Alexis Cane taking up space she shouldn’t be, and my moment of hesitation gives her the upper hand.
“Ivy,” she drawls. “We were wondering where you were. You’re just in time for the next round.”
I take quick stock of the situation. They’ve got all the makings of a perfect pregame—scattered shot glasses, half-empty liquor bottles, music blaring from the Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. Kinsley’s on the couch with Alexis’s friend Madison and a redhead I’ve never met, and Ava’s at the counter, cutting a lime into wedges. Quinn’s nowhere in sight.
