AND THEN THERE’S THE ISSUE of Nick. Despite his Waffle House meltdown, he’s totally normal on Monday and Tuesday—so normal, it’s almost concerning. But on Wednesday afternoon, he skids straight off the edge.
I’m heading toward the buses when I hear—unmistakably—Nick’s voice over the intercom. “Simon Spier and Leah Burke, please report to the atrium immediately.”
I stop in my tracks, staring at the loudspeaker.
“I repeat: Simon and Leah, report to the atrium immediately.”
I have no clue what he’s playing at, but I head up there anyway. I catch Simon in the stairwell. “What’s this about?” he asks.
I shake my head slowly. “No idea.”
I follow Simon upstairs and into the atrium. It’s teeming with people—laughing, jostling, and streaming out to the parking lot. But Nick isn’t anywhere. I mean, I guess he must be somewhere. To be honest, he’s probably suspended by now, because we definitely aren’t allowed to use the intercom.
“Do you think he’s pranking us?” asks Simon.
“I mean.” I tilt my head. “If he is, I don’t get it.”
But moments later, he bursts out of the front office, looking wild-eyed and disheveled. “Hey, you’re here. Cool, cool.”
Simon peers at his face. “Are you okay?”
“What? Totally!” He nods quickly. “Totally.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask finally.
Nick’s eyes scan the room. And then he pauses. “Are you guys free right now?”
“I am.” Simon nods.
“Okay, good. Because I need you”—he points at me—“and you”—he points at Simon—“and me to go to my house and eat shitty food and play video games. Just like old times. No Abby, no Bram, no Garrett.”
“Okay, Garrett and I aren’t—”
He cuts me off. “Just us. The original trio.”
“Just us,” Simon echoes. “Okay, let me text Nora. If you can give me a ride, I’ll leave her the car.”
“Excellent,” says Nick, clamping a hand on each of our shoulders. Simon’s eyes flick toward me nervously.
None of us speaks as we drift through the parking lot. The sky is dark and gloomy, with gray clouds hanging low. I swallow a prickle of dread as I slide into the passenger seat. It’s only a short drive to Nick’s house, and Simon fills the space with frantic chatter—about Nora and Cal, about tuxedo rentals. Nick doesn’t say a word. He pulls straight into his garage and takes the spot where his mom usually parks. “They’re both on call all night,” he informs us. “And there’s beer.”
So, it’s that kind of night.
Nick grabs a six-pack and his acoustic guitar and heads down to the basement. I curl into one of the video game chairs, and Simon sprawls out on the couch. But Nick bypasses everything comfortable, opting instead for the floor, where he crosses his legs and starts tuning his guitar. Then he takes a sip of beer and does a few experimental strums, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“Um, Nick?” Simon says after a moment. “Why are we here?”
“You mean evolutionarily or existentially?”
Simon’s brow furrows. “I mean why are we in your basement?”
“Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do. We hang out in basements.” He strums a chord and takes a long swig of beer. “Also, everyone else suuuuuucks.” He actually sings that last word instead of saying it.
Then he sets the beer down, repositions his guitar, and starts playing a melody so intricate, my eyes can’t keep up with his hands.
Simon slides off the couch and settles in next to Nick on the floor. “Okay, this sounds really great.”
“It sounds like shit,” Nick says, fingers still tearing across the frets. But he grins.
Simon pauses. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Okay,” Simon says. He looks up at me desperately.
I lean forward in my chair. “Nick, you’re freaking us out.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re acting super weird.”
“No I’m not.” He strums a loud chord. “I’m just.” Chord. “Making music.” Chord. “With my two best.” Chord. “Friends.” Then his hands fall suddenly still. “You know what’s really awesome?”
Simon looks hopeful. “What?”
“The fact that from now on, for the rest of my life, I can tell people I got dumped two weeks before prom.”
Yikes. I look at Simon. He puffs out his cheeks and then exhales loudly.
“Hilarious, right?”
I look at him. “Not really.”
“I was in love with her,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And now she’s totally over it. Like, whatever. Just like that.”
“I don’t think that’s—” Simon starts to say.
“I’m just saying, do you even know what it’s like to be in love with someone like that?”
I almost choke.
“Dude, I’m like seriously worried about you right now,” Simon says. He glances at me again.
“Why? I’m fine.” Nick smiles brightly. “I’m totally fine. You know what I need?”
“What?”
He sets the guitar down and chugs the rest of his beer. Then he grabs another beer and chugs that one, too. “That,” he says, beaming. “God, I’m feeling so much better already.”
“Okay,” Simon says uncertainly. “Good.”
Nick gasps. “I just had an idea.”
“What?”
“We should play soccer!”
“Um.”
“Yeah, okay. This is a great idea. We’re totally doing this.” Nick nods eagerly. “Let me get my balls. Ha. My ball.”
Simon catches my eye and shakes his head wordlessly. For a minute, we just sit there, listening to Nick hum as he pokes around his storage closet. Already, he’s working on a third beer. And it’s not like I’ve never seen Nick drunk before, but I’ve never seen him this unhinged.
“Got it,” he announces, emerging triumphantly with a soccer ball. “This is going to be amazing.”
“But it’s raining,” says Simon.
Nick smiles. “Even better.” He slips through the basement door, out into the backyard, and starts kicking the ball gently from one foot to the other. It’s not actually raining, but the air is thick and humid. “Come on,” he says. “Leah, I’m passing to you.”
“Remind me why we’re doing this.”
“Because we are,” he says. Then, with a firm thud, he kicks the ball in my direction. I swing my foot halfheartedly, missing it by a mile.
“Okay, okay. Nice hustle,” Nick says, clapping his hand against his fist.
I circle back to the ball, pick it up, and walk it back toward him.
Nick laughs. “You have to kick it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He sets the ball down. “Did you know Abby and I used to do this all the time. She’s, like, really good at soccer.” He doesn’t wait for us to react. “She is. She’s really, really good. But guess what?”
Neither of us speaks.
He grins. “She broke up with me!” Then he kicks the ball so hard, it smacks against his neighbor’s fence.
“Nick,” Simon says, taking a step toward him. But Nick pulls away suddenly, jogging after the ball.
Then he dribbles it back. “You know, it’s good, though. It’s all good. Wasn’t going to work, anyway, because long-distance relationships are the fucking worst. Am I right?”
Simon winces. “Right.”
“No they’re not,” I say quickly.
“Yeah they are,” Nick says. He kicks the ball to Simon. “They’re doomed before they even start.”
“Not necessarily.” I look pointedly at Simon. “If you commit to making it work, it can work.”
Simon frowns, staring straight ahead.
“Dude, you’re supposed to kick it back.”
“Oh.” Simon’s eyes cut to the soccer ball, and he gives it a halfhearted nudge with his foot. It rolls two feet and stops. “Have you talked to Abby at all?”
“Nope. Not interested.” Nick grins. “Don’t care enough.”
“You don’t care.” Simon sounds dubious.
“Do you know how many girls there are at Tufts?” Nick asks calmly.
“A lot?”
“Millions. Millions and trillions.” He taps the ball with his toe. “I mean, honestly, Abby did me a favor.”
Simon’s eyes flick toward mine.
“Anyway, I’m already over her,” Nick adds.
Yeah, Nick, you really seem over her. Totally normal, and totally not having an epic fucking meltdown. God. I’m not an idiot, but wow: I’d love to believe him. Because if Nick were really over Abby, then maybe I’m not an asshole for hoping. Not for anything soon, obviously. Just. Maybe down the line—in a month or two—when things aren’t quite so raw. I could kiss her for real.
Nick slams his foot back into the ball, sending it flying toward the house.
Maybe not.
This time Simon runs to fetch it.
“So, Leah, you’re the one with all the romantic intrigue now,” Nick says, and it’s like someone smashing their fist on a piano. My heart sinks into my rib cage and drops out of my chest entirely.
“What are you talking about?” My voice comes out soft.
“Come on.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “You know Garrett has the biggest crush on you ever. But don’t tell him I told you,” he adds suddenly. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“That’s—okay.” My stomach wrenches, and I have this sudden sinking feeling that I might burst into tears. Which is crazy. I should be happy. Or flattered. Or something.
“You guys should hook up at prom. That’s like the ultimate high school achievement, right?”
“You mean the ultimate high school cliché,” I say flatly.
“Well, you should do it,” Nick says.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to what?” Simon asks, returning with the ball tucked under his arms.
“Guys. How many times do I have to say it? Stop carrying the fucking ball around.”
Simon drops it.
“I don’t want to hook up with Garrett,” I say, louder than I mean to. It comes out like a declaration. And suddenly, I feel so certain about this, it almost takes my breath away. I press a hand to my cheek. “I don’t want to kiss Garrett.”
Simon laughs. “Okay, then don’t.”
Nick kicks, and the ball rolls quietly toward me. My thoughts are quietly rolling, too.
I don’t want to kiss Garrett. I don’t want to kiss anyone.
Except her.
Which would be the wildest, most reckless, worst idea ever. I might as well stomp all over Nick’s heart, and then stomp all over my own. I can’t actually fall for a straight girl. I can’t fall for my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.
I take a breath. And the ball—I crash into it. I kick it like banging a drum. I kick it so hard, it flies halfway to the moon.