“I need candy,” Lydia announced, jumping to her feet. “Anybody want anything?”
“Americans and their sweets,” Will said, with a scornful huff. “You eat like babies.”
“Nom nom nom,” Lydia deadpanned. “Coming, Mary?”
I didn’t need to be asked twice.
“No offense, but I’m pretty sure I hate him,” she said when we were out of earshot. Instead of continuing on to the snack bar, Lydia led the way up the stairs into the next rank of bleachers.
“I thought you wanted candy.”
She shook her head. “You know how Arden gets. She was just going to keep beating that dead horse.”
We climbed until we were near the top of the stands. Lydia edged into a mostly empty row, leaving plenty of space on all sides. I exhaled, feeling the tension of the last several minutes subside. From the corner of my eye I noticed Lydia checking out my purse, resting on the aluminum bleacher beside me.
“No book?” she asked.
I shook my head; I’d fallen out of the habit of carrying one with me. These days I was most often with my friends, and not in need of other entertainment.
Lydia pulled a silver-and-pink tube from her own bag, coating her lips in a frosty peach gloss that perfectly matched the color of her sweatshirt. “I read too, you know.” She cleared her throat. “Not as much as you, obviously.”
Despite the stiffness with which she relayed this information, I felt a rush of delight. “What kind of books?”
“It’s not your type of stuff. That’s why I mostly read on my phone, so no one can make fun of the covers.”
In my head, I tried on various possibilities. Lydia the secret romance reader. Lydia the lover of spy novels. Legal thrillers seemed the obvious possibility, given her professional ambitions ...
“I like fantasy.” The words were barely above a whisper. Steeling herself, she added, “Preferably epic.”
I confined my surprise to a few rapid blinks. “That’s cool. There’s a class on Literature of the Fantastic I want to take when I go to college.”
“You’ll go here?” She nodded in the direction of the Millville College campus.
“Probably. Free tuition.”
“That’s no joke,” she agreed, more confident now that we were discussing pragmatic concerns.
A whistle blew, and a player from the bench took the place of someone on the field.
“Do you have a favorite?” I asked.
She kept her eyes averted. “I have a thing for dragons.”
Before I could muster a response—something like,I get it, dragons are tough but also noble, like you—a tall figure loomed into view.
“Now this one looks interesting,” Lydia murmured.
I blinked up at the new arrival. “Pittaya?”
He gestured at the bench, mutely requesting permission to sit. Lydia looked from me to him and back again, eyebrows at the alert.
“Lydia, this is Pittaya. We went to school together. Before.”
“Scoundrel?” she asked, barely moving her lips.
“Not as such,” I whispered back. “But he was there that day.”
Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Becky with the good hair. The one who—”
