Rolling onto my back, I grin at the ceiling. My father doesn’t know it, but I haven’t been studying late at Melissa’s house these days. Once football season ended and cheerleading with it, my evenings opened up. I used to hang out with Remy, but he's been pushing me away again. I’ve managed to drag him out for ice cream or a bike ride to one of his favorite beach spots a few times. When he's in the moment with me, I catch glimpses of my best friend. But it’s temporary. Even knowing his distance isn’t personal, I can’t ignore the gnawing ache in my heart.
Thankfully, I’ve been gifted two very consuming distractions.
My phone lights up on the bed.
Seba:
Tell Cade to turn that shit down. I’m trying to study.
I roll my eyes.
These idiots.
Since the fight with Grant, Seba and Cade have been ignoring each other, putting me squarely in the middle of their bullshit. The most aggravating part? Neither will outright tell me what happened. Though it’s been easier to get hints from Seba. Our “therapy” sessions— aka endless texts swerving between subtle flirting and an absurd amount of oversharing on my part— have given me some insight.
They got in a fight over Cade’s eating habits. Or lack thereof. Which, to be fair, is something I worry about too. He’s not as bad as he was at the beginning of the school year— he actually eats lunch most days now— but he’s still very restricted. Whenever I mention it in passing, he gets defensive. Short. Dismissive. It’s not surprising to hear they fought about it (they fight about everything else). But the way Seba so adamantly avoids his stepbrother tells me there’s more to the story.
How do you know it’s not my music?
The typing bubbles start and stop. My eyes stray to the door of their shared bathroom. He’srightthere. He could yell through the wall if he wanted. But lately, whenever I’m hanging out with his brother, he gets an attitude. Maybe I’m reading into it. It’s hard to tell over text.
Seba:
Cade is the only person alive who voluntarily listens to robots fucking.
How do you know what that sounds like?
Just turn it down.
Ok, there’s no way I’m reading into it. He’s being a dick.
You could at least say please
Please.
Oh, he isnothappy about me hanging out with Cade. A twisted part of me likes that it bothers him. At first, I took his daily texts and rides home from practice as something… more. Pretty naive of me since the minute football ended, we’ve rarely seen each other.Biting my lip, I debate calling him out. Or… I could take a different approach. Test the waters a bit.
You’re gonna have to ask a little nicer than that
Sweetheart, can you please tell my asshole stepbrother to turn down the autotune moaning so I can think?
I choke on a laugh.
Only because I can't unhear the robomating call
“If you’re going to flirt with The Saint, you might as well go to his room.”
My head snaps up, cheeks tingling. Cade’s unrelenting stare bores into me. There's no point in denying it; he can smell a lie from outer space.
“He’s studying.”
“Veryhard, I assume.”
His tone doesn’t match the glint in his eyes.
“What are you getting at?”
The tip of his tongue skims his teeth— deliberate and devious. “The body spills all its secrets, church girl.” He leans forward, splayed hands sinking into the carpet. “Your senses are the cipher.” Rises on all fours, prowling toward me. “Watch— pupils expand. Listen— breathing speeds up. Feel?—”
