Chapter Eighteen
–Haley–
I’ve just spent two hours doing awesome tumbling and many failed attempts at partner stunting with Jonas. After shelling out fifty dollars of hard-earned babysitting money for the lesson, I’m flying down the two-lane highway from Longmeadow to Juniper Falls. The windows are down, radio blasting, and the place that appears out of nowhere barely catches my attention.
But it does.
I make a sharp turn into a dust-filled, nearly empty parking lot. The building appears to be an innocent storage facility. It has a dull gray exterior, no flashing lights or anything of that nature—things you’d expect at a strip club.
I put the car in park and hop out, walking around to the back of the building. When I spot the flyers on the door—specifically one flyer—I have to work hard not to shout triumphantly and punch the air, Breakfast Club style.
I knew it. I freakin’ knew it.
Taking up most of the sheet of paper is Fletcher Scott. He’s turned around, but I recognize his dark hair and the black dress pants he was wearing last weekend. And his ass. Think whatever you want, but I know his ass, and I’m looking at it right now.
Across the top of the flyer, it says “Scott, Danny, Paco, and Rowdy…The Samba Boys of Summer. Saturday nights. 9 p.m.-1 a.m.”
I snap a quick picture and text it to Jamie.
ME: Told you he’s a stripper
JAMIE: wtf?? Where is this?
ME: some sketchy warehouse looking place near Longmeadow
JAMIE: r u still there? If yes, leave. Like now.
My heart picks up. I glance around and then make a run for my car. I’m back on the road, speeding away, when Jamie calls me. I told him about my weird night with Fletcher and the almost-kiss and then the second almost-kiss that followed days later. Surprisingly, he was a decent listener and hasn’t gone too crazy teasing me about not having the balls to kiss Fletch.
“We have to check it out,” I say right after I answer. “He keeps denying it, and I think he needs to see that we’re in on his little secret, and the world is not going to end.”
“So, you’re cool with Scott being a stripper?” Jamie says. “I thought you were into him?”
“I’m not—” I stop, trying to find the most truthful answer. “I’m not sure what I am. And he had his pants on when I found him passed out with the panties and the money. Maybe he only strips a little?”
“If he only strips a little, then he must not be very good at his job,” Jamie says. “And you don’t really expect me to go watch dudes striptease, right?”
“I’m not coming to any conclusions until I see whatever it is that happens on Saturday night with my own eyes.” I blow out a breath. I have a fake ID. A great fake ID, actually. I can get in, no problem. But I really don’t want to go alone. And Jamie’s the perfect accomplice—he knows how to keep a secret. Unlike my best friends, Kayla and Leslie. “You don’t have to look. You can cover your eyes.”
Jamie is quiet for a long minute, and then finally he sighs. “You gotta let me bring Leo.”
I hesitate, not wanting to blow any trust Fletch has in me, but I know Jamie and Leo will keep it to themselves. Whatever it is. “Yeah, okay. Bring Leo.”
Before he hangs up, I add another warning. “And delete that picture from your phone. I know how you get when you’re wasted, leaving your phone lying around for anyone to look through.”
“Yeah, okay.”
It isn’t until I get home to my empty house that it really hits me: Fletcher Scott—the quiet guy who sits behind me in Civics, who stayed up until two in the morning reviewing all the quiz material with me—does some kind of…performing arts…while women (or men?) stuff money in his pants. And his coworkers call themselves the Samba Boys of Summer. Okay, how can I not assume he’s a stripper? Is there any other way to connect those dots?
I flop onto the couch and stare at my phone, working hard at coming up with a text that doesn’t sound too leading or too forward.
ME: Got a B- minus on yesterday’s quiz. Thnx again for helping me study
FLETCH: no prob
ME: I owe u one. We could do something…like Saturday night. I can make dinner?
Oh shit. That sounds like I’m asking him out. Uh-oh. That is likely to send Fletch running or telling me to butt out again. And yet it’s weird how easy it was to type those words. It’s like I didn’t realize until right this very moment that I have the power to ask someone on a date. I keep thinking I’ll have a moment of connection with someone, and this will lead to being asked on a date—in college, of course, because JFH is not bringing me any new boys anytime soon—but really, I can ask someone. Go out with him, and either it works or it doesn’t.
Is that what Fletch was trying to tell me with the kissing issue? I do make too big of a thing out of this stuff. I had Tate and me married and our photo hanging in town hall when we were only fifteen. At least inside my head, I had accomplished those things. So of course, my life is over when something I want doesn’t happen. And then I quickly become obsessed with making it happen anyway.
My phone buzzes, causing me to jump.
FLETCH: I can’t. I work Saturday. Plus that sounded a lot like a date. I don’t do that.
ME: wait…u don’t date? Like ever? ’Cause love is obsolete, right?
FLETCH: have u ever seen me on a date? Or heard about me dating anyone?
ME: no, but u do take college classes. I’ve heard the college girls are highly skilled
FLETCH: and 40something with minivans and mom jeans. Have u been to Juniper Falls Community before?
ME: ok, I get it. U don’t date. Whatever
FLETCH: why do u seem pissed?
ME: I’m not pissed. Just…frustrated.
FLETCH: sexually?
ME: lol. Stop.
FLETCH: u started it. And that’s a real thing. It happens.
ME: is that how u end up with all those panties in ur pockets.
FLETCH: butt out, Haley
And we’re back to where we started again. I toss the phone onto the love seat so I’m not tempted to keep pushing him. What am I even trying to accomplish? Is it that hard for me to accept that one person in this town won’t open up to me? Doesn’t like me enough to trust me? Yeah, it is that hard to accept. If Fletch won’t tell me his secrets, then I have to find out so I can prove myself trustworthy.
Saturday. It’ll all be out in the open.