We were sitting in rocking chairs while Blake Shelton crooned through Dove’s speaker. Her chair was turned, facing mine, with her legs perched on my knees. I didn’t particularly like country music, but I’d learned to tolerate it since Nick was obsessed.His go-to playlist was twenty-four hours of Nashville’s best.
“Tell me a secret,” Dove said after the song ended. We’d dropped into a lull after spending the last half hour talking about the musical and how Taylor Swift should really go back to country (which was 100 percent Dove’s opinion; I just nodded along).
“Wait, what?” I glanced up from my phone.
Do you like country music?I’d texted a few minutes ago, fingers sort of shaking, but had yet to get a response. Not surprising. It was 9:45, so he was with Sage, and Sage’s Saturday-night itinerary didn’t factor in much time for texting.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” she’d asked earlier, like she always did. And I loved her for it, never giving up hope that one night I might say yes.
“A secret,” Dove repeated. “Let’s trade secrets.”
I locked my phone and flipped it over. “Okay, you’re on.” I summoned a smirk while trying to ignore the heat at the back of my neck. “Ladies first.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No way. I askedyoufirst.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. I wasn’t in the mood to play this game. “Fine. I have a bottle of Jack Daniel’s hidden in my room.”
Dove giggled. “Where?”
“In my closet.” Lie. The whiskey was actually buried deep in the depths of my steamer trunk. Nick and I both had trunks, presents from Granddad and Nana Carmichael after we’d been accepted to Bexley. They were big and black, our initials embossed just underneath the locks, and heavy as hell. Nana had also been horrified to see that we’d both covered them in bumper stickers. I took Dove’s hand. “Now take it away. I’m all ears.”
She sucked in a breath. “I cheated on a Spanish test last year, by copying off Randall Washington.”
I laughed. “I don’t think you’re alone there.” Because with Bexley’s Harkness tables, I’d felt the weight of people’s gazes a hundred times as they carefully leaned closer to me. (“You know…” I once told Eva Alpert after a calculus test, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “if you need help, I’d be more than happy to tutor you.”)
“It was me!” Dove blurted after I admitted Redbone’s ’70s hit “Come and Get Your Love” was my go-to shower song (and yes, also the opening toGuardians of the Galaxy). “It’s my fault you’re bannedfrom coming inside. I’m the one who told Mrs. Collings about you and Catherine. I was jealous.” She sighed. “I was alwayssojealous when you hung out with her. I thought you were so cute and funny and nice.” She giggled. “I mean, I obviously still do, but…”
I squeezed her hand and smiled, letting her know I understood. I’d dated Catherine for two weeks, and it had felt like thelongesttwo weeks of my life. I remembered telling Nick I was going to shave my head because Catherine never stopped raking her hands through my hair. “It’s painful,” I’d said. “Care to join me in getting a buzz cut?”
I was on the verge of zoning out when Dove spoke again. “I’m glad you’re the one who asked for my number,” she whispered. “Because I never know what to say when I want a guy’s number.”
“Really?” I asked, because clingy or not, Dove McKenzie was a cute girl. She could easily go up to any guy and request a phone number.
She let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I get nervous. My mind goes totally blank.” She smiled at me. “I bet that never happens to you though, right?”
“Actually no.” I shifted in my seat, itching to check my phone. “Once I was so nervous about asking for this one person’s number that I justdidn’t.”
Dove’s eyebrows knitted together. “So you never got it?”
My heart quickened. “No.” I shook my head. “I did, but I didn’t directlyaskfor it. Instead, I convinced our class that it would be smart to make a group chat”—I shrugged—“and there you go. Mission accomplished.”
Dove giggled. “When? Your freshman year?”
I shrugged, leaving it up for interpretation. In reality, theBexleyBunch chathad been created just over seventy-two hours ago, after I told everyone in Frontier Lit about the elusive Mr. Magnusson. “He’s never around during consultation and doesn’t respond to emails, so I think we should band together on this one, and form a gang of our own.”
But of course, the second the chat blew up (as most did), I’d marked it asDo Not Disturb. Then I’d stared at my screen until Luke finally buzzed in, a text just to me:You’re an IDIOT.
Mission accomplished.
I’d grinned while tapping a text back, but also felt a simultaneous lump forming in my throat.Shit, I thought, shivering when my phone vibrated again.What did you just do?
“Who was the girl?” Dove asked now, her face sort of crumpling when I let go of her hand.
I fiddled with the faded green-and-white rope bracelet on my wrist. “No one you’d know.” I stood from my chair and held out my hand. “Should we go for a walk?”
Dove brightened, smiling and nodding, and when she ran inside to grab a sweater, I finally got to check my phone; six new messages, but only one I wanted to read.
Nope, it said.So you better give your extra Blake Shelton ticket to someone else.
