Everyone is still wondering what the police were doing down by the lake. They have done a good job of keeping it under wraps, but it’s only a matter of time before it’s announced.
“I will,” she promises, and her smile is so open, sohers, that I almost pull her back in. “Go.” Now it’s her giving me an order.
“All right,” I say. “But don’t be saying I’m the bossy one.” She laughs, and I have to force myself to turn and start walking. Every step away from her feels wrong, like gravity working in reverse. Unnatural.
Grant falls in step beside me, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut up. You’ve been here two seconds.” You wouldn’t know it, though. Grant is excellent at blending in and making friends.
He laughs, not meanly, just surprised. “Seriously, Locke. You’re fucking cooked for her.”
I don’t respond. Can’t. Because he’s right.
We step onto the bus. It’s one of those luxury coaches Kingmakers rents for away games—leather seats, tinted windows, actual legroom. I take a window seat and immediately check my phone. No messages.It’s been two seconds, I remind myself. I’m being ridiculous.
My thumb hovers over her name. I shouldn’t text her already. I just left her. But my chest feels hollow, and I need to fill it with something.
Me:On the road yet?
I hit send before I can stop myself. Pathetic. I’m really pathetic.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Buttercup:You haven’t pulled out of the parking lot yet. LOL. I’m hopping into Georgia’s car now.
The bus lurches forward. I watch through the window, searching for Georgia’s car. I spot it pulling out behind us, and I can just make out Madeline’s head through the tinted glass.
She’s right there. Forty feet away. Might as well be forty miles.
Grant slides into the seat across the aisle. “Dude, you gonna stare at that car the whole ride?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs again but softer this time. “She’s good for you. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure “good” is the word. She’snecessary. Like oxygen. Like blood. Like water. All essential to maintain life.
And that should scare the fuck out of me, but I’m embracing it. No point in fighting the inevitable.
“You think Georgia is a good driver?” I ask Grant. He glances around, stalling. “Grant,” I snap.
“I’m sure she follows all the rules of the road.” She is a stickler for those things. “But she’s also a little clumsy.” Now that I think back, yeah, she is. Fuck.
“Clumsy” means you drop shit. Not run into a ditch. That’s what I tell myself.
“Nah, she’s more likely to turn in the wrong direction or forget she still has the gas pump connected and pull away withit still attached to the car.” I grab my phone and text Madeline again.
Me:How much gas does the car have?
“Bro, chill. I was teasing.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I jerk my head up. What the hell did he say? It does. “Those pumps just disconnect. No harm, no foul.”
Buttercup:Almost a full tank.
She answers, not bothering to inquire why I asked. Madeline is getting used to my level of crazy. I’m still adjusting.
