My parents were the graduating class who created the tradition.
Squealing, I run toward it and immediately find my own, right next to Bea’s, with Austin’s not far off.
"Where’s yours?" I ask, but he just shrugs.
"I don’t think I ever signed it," he admits, and I don’t know why, but I feel sad for a sixteen-year-old Harley, that he didn’t get to do something that all of his peers got to. "I didn’t even know it was a thing. I was way too focused on football. You were right about that." He chuckles uncomfortably, reaching for my hand, but I don’t take it.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s actually the case or if he’s just trying to spare my feelings.
Did he really not know, or had Austin isolated Harley so much that he felt as though he had no right?
He attempts to take my hand again, but I shake my head in response, feet remaining firmly on the ground. "Wait," I tell him. Rummaging through my bag, I know I have a black marker inthere somewhere, and it doesn’t take me long to find it. "Here. Sign it." My voice is firm as I hand him the pen, foot tapping on the ground.
I demand he do what he should have done years ago with the rest of the graduating class.
"You’re so bossy." He groans sarcastically, taking the marker from my finger tips to sign his name right next to mine, where it should have been all along.
"Much better," I say, and he blushes.
I feel like I’ve created a core memory for him, only twelve years late.
Better late than never, I suppose.
"Now you can take me." I giggle as he puffs air into his cheeks, and I place my hand back in his, and we make our way toward the only place I expect Harley Wingrove to take me.
The football field.
twenty-eight
Harley Age 16
"Are you going toget ready for prom, honey?" mom asks as she pokes her head into my bedroom, my eyes staying glued to the comic in my hands. "You’re going to be late." She pushes, trying to encourage me to stop reading and to pick up the pace, but there’s no part of me that actually wants to go.
"I told you, I’m not going," I remind her for the fifth time this week.
Rising from my bed, I head toward the bathroom for a quick shower before I turn in for the night. Prom is the last place I want to be, and my mom’s constant harping only makes me want to skip it even more, but I’m mentally preparing for themom guilt tripthat’s bound to come my way.
"Why not?" She raises a brow, marching behind me, hot on my heels. Standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, she crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for me to say anything, but I don’t have an answer for her.
Not one she would be happy with hearing, anyway.
It’s not like I can say,'Austin asked the girl I like even though he knew I liked her,'because that sounds childish and petty as fuck. She knows he and I had a falling out, but she doesn’t know the reason behind it, so she’s left to speculate and fill in the blanks on her own.
Hell, I’m still trying to figure it out myself.
Mom keeps telling me that things have a way of working themselves out, but I won’t hold my breath.
After hearing Austin had asked Cassandra to prom, I was annoyed about it, but not annoyed enough to stop talking to my best friend. When I got to his place to pick him up for school the next morning, his mom told me that I wasn’t welcome in her home, but his dad apologized about his wife and son’s behavior, and said Austin had already left for the day.
When I got to school, his arm was draped over Cassandra’s shoulder while he refused to acknowledge my existence at all. She gave me a brief smile that I would have missed if I weren’t paying attention. But Austin was paying attention too, and her smile faded while he dragged her away.
He stopped training alongside me and worked with the second-string quarterback instead. He insisted it would bebetter for his game,whatever that meant.
Coach wasn’t happy about it, but he was so deep in Mr. Anderson’s pockets that he went along with it.
Thankfully, I still had Bea.
She treated me the same as she always did, and we’d grown closer over the last few weeks, because while I’d lost my best friend completely, hers was distracted and distancing herself slowly.
