But I don’t say that, I just blink at the notebook in front of me, hoping the problem will sort itself out.
“It doesn’t look like she wants to leave,” Axl retorts, having to take the dig.
“Shut it,freak. I bet you love being in her presence. A school project is the only way it’s ever going to happen,” Will spits before looking at me. “Do you really think a girl like her will ever like a loser like you?”
“It sounds to me like you’re the one who wants to spend time with her,” my partner accuses. “Maybe you’re projecting a little bit, seeing as you’re over there, and I’m sitting right here.”
I close my eyes and swallow a groan. Panic fills Will’s eyes before he asks, “Aren’t you going to tell him to fuck off, Stacey?”
At the direct question, there’s a minor thrum pumping through my body. All eyes are on me now, and I feel like I can’thide from the scrutiny any longer. Still, I muster up the courage and pretend to yawn.
“This is so boring to me,” I say, my usual bitch tone bleeding through. “I’d rather have some say in the project I’m part of. You guys can go, we’re fine here.”
I hold onto the persona, pretend like I’m uninterested as I go back to my notes.
“Fine,” Gabby replies, mimicking my bored tone. “Come on, guys.”
They all go away and I let out a sigh of relief. I keep my eyes diverted from Axl, nervous to see what awaits me in his gaze. Even if my statement wasn’t outright defending him, I hope it was enough. I don’t want to choose a side, mark a line in the sand.
Thankfully, I don’t have to. I finally look at him and find his same amused smirk, like he can see right through me and all of my bullshit.
“Alright, blondie,” he says as he lounges back in his chair. “Let’s finish up.”
We finish the rest of our work in silence with only the occasional question about logistics regarding the presentation. And even though it was for the best, he never once tried to place his hand back on the table. No matter how much I secretly hoped he would.
FOUR
I tap my nails on my vanity as the minutes count down. Normally, I have enough confidence to fill a well, but right now I’m anxious. Maybe it’s because of the way I dress, how much my pink and bubbly dress will stand out in the crowd at the race, but I can’t bring myself to change it. There is a ton of stuff I have to hide about myself, but my fashion taste is not one of them. I may as well stamp “From Greenwood” on my forehead before heading into the wolf’s den.
Still, the excitement overrides any misgiving and settles on my skin like a propellant. I can picture the cars now, all different models and speeds, the engines revving up and sparks flying off the tires. To finally experience it in person will make all the anxiety worth it.
I put the makeup brush down as a text comes through. When I see the new contact titled “A” pop up on my screen, something flutters in my stomach. The address sits there in the thread from earlier, but a new one comes in now and all it says is:See you there.
Years of knowing each other and we’ve never exchanged communication details, not once. I rarely see him outside ofschool as it is, but he’s going to be there tonight, and he expects me to stay by his side. I know I gave him my word, but something about it twists my stomach, indicating it’s a bad idea. I think for both our sakes, I should avoid him altogether.
He gave me the address and that’s all I needed. There’s no other reason to talk to him, not one bit.
I slide my phone inside my purse and sling it over my shoulder. I adjust the spaghetti strap of my dress that’s biting into my skin with a sharp sting and relax when the pain alleviates. I throw on a few more items to help me battle the cool autumn air and head downstairs, ready to embark on this new adventure that’s long overdue.
My mom screeches when I come around the corner, her hand sliding over her heart. “Stacey! You scared me!”
“Sorry,” I say half-heartedly.
Victoria Hawthorne is every bit a trophy wife from Greenwood. Her hair is dyed too blonde, her nails are always flawless, and her closet contains the perfect combination of classy designer clothes for any given occasion. She looks at my outfit now, eyeing me up and down with a sour disdain on her lip. She points at my boots.
“I hate when you wear those things,” she comments. “You could have at least gotten the beige pair I see everywhere. Not these?—”
“They’re black, they match everything,” I argue, trying my best not to roll my eyes. It’s like she doesn’t even see I’m wearing a pink dress that I know she loves or myBurberryblack coat. She only sees what she dislikes and ignores the rest; it’s utterly exhausting.
“Well,” she says, letting the conversation die before I can even prove a point. “Where are you going so late?”
I flatten my lips, holding back the truth. Just like everyone else, she has a misguided distrust in Oakson Lake and anythingthat happens there. So I do what I do best and lie. “I’m hanging out with Brent.”
Her eyes light up like they always do when I mention my somewhat boyfriend. “Oh good!” she exclaims. “He’s such a good man, Stacey. When do you think you’ll get married?”
My visceral reaction is to gag, but I hold it in. “What?”
“Well, you’re both about to turn twenty-two. You’re not getting any younger, so I was curious when you two planned to finally get hitched.”
