Whitaker shifts uncomfortably and he waves his hand dismissively as if it’s ancient history.
I turn to April. “But he went with you and you never mentioned he was talking about someone else?”
She frowns. “Because it made me feel bad.”
The hotheaded high schooler in me surges. “Finch, had I known you made her feel unwanted?—”
The room goes quiet. April curls into herself.
Whitaker holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry for being a dumb teenage boy. I was pretty self-absorbed back then.”
“We were pretty dumb back then,” Claudia says through clenched teeth, this time staring daggers at our recent guest.
It’s been a while since Claudia and I lived under the same roof, but we’re barely two years apart and I know every nuance and ripple in her personality from head to toe, from happy to angry and right now, my sister is ready to wage war. The thing is, she also knows everything about me.
“So, does anyone want—?” Mom starts.
Before she can ask if anyone would like another slice of cake or pie, Claudia blurts, “Clark had the biggest crush on April and Whitaker blew it.”
My face flames hotter than the sun, my pulse just achieved liftoff, and my brain is now weightless—head empty. What do I say? What do I do?
And that, my friends, is one way to make a family gathering memorable.
21
APRIL
I should’ve knownEaster at the Culpeppers’ would be a delicious yet dangerous prospect, what with the whole fake dating arrangement.
Not physically dangerous—although the amount of food Cheryl prepared could qualify as a health hazard if consumed in one sitting—but emotionally dangerous. The kind that dredges up decade-old secrets and throws them around the dining room like those little firework bang snaps—the twins are in the driveway popping them off the cement as we speak.
So much for jellybeans in their Easter eggs.
But the second Claudia blurted that Clark had a crush on me, time and space did a weird slow-motion thing where they slowed down so much I could audibly hear my hammering pulse, feel the texture of the floor runner under my feet, and watch Clark’s face go from confused to horrified.
“Claudia,” he says, his voice tight.
But she’s not done. Ten years of something—anger? Hurt? Protectiveness?—spills out. “Whitaker called dibs on April.Clark, being the good friend that he is, stepped back even though he was clearly miserable about it.”
I turn to look at Clark, my brain struggling to process. “You had a crush on me?”
His face has gone red. “I—that was—high school was?—”
“Did you have a crush on me in high school?” I ask.
Mr. Culpepper clears his throat. “Maybe we should?—”
I don’t take my eyes off Clark. “Did you?”
Before he can answer, an audience has formed. Cheryl has her hand over her mouth. Mr. Culpepper looks torn between amusement and concern. The twins are grinning like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all year. Various neighbors and relatives have suddenly become very interested in our conversation.
“Yes,” Clark finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I had a crush on you, April. A huge, embarrassing, all-consuming crush that made me act like an idiot.”
“But you said I was like a sister!”
“I never said that. Whitaker said it and I didn’t correct him because I was scared and stupid and?—”
“And I had a crush on you, too!” The words escape before I can stop them.
