“What is this gibberish you’re sending me, Whiskey? It’s way too early to be cryptic,” Stevie demanded over the phone the next morning.

I knew this call was coming. I had texted her an enigmatic message about not seeing me at physical therapy anymore. Her call came swiftly after. I didn’t want to talk because I couldn’t get around this without telling her what happened. It would be difficult to admit my protests of hating Hunter had completely changed.

After my mother’s silent treatment ended in tears, I crawled into bed, my mind going straight to the kiss. Replaying it over and over in my head. The way his lips devoured mine. The hungry way our mouths claimed each other’s. The feel of his fingers skimming over my bare skin, the weight of him between my legs...

I had a very sleepless night.

Not all of the restlessness was because of Hunter. I held a lot of guilt for hurting my parents. My mother didn’t talk to me for the first two hours, then after putting Reece to bed, they sat me down.

After an hour of lecturing, Mom still struggled to look at my black-and-blue face and the ink stains on my fingers. She burst into tears and shut herself in her room. Dad gave me a hug and told me we’d talk more in the morning.

“What do you mean you’re no longer going to physical therapy?” Stevie exclaimed, bringing me back to the present. Her voice was filled with confusion. She knew I was months away from being done.

“The Tuesday-Thursday sessions. I’m being moved to Monday-Wednesday.”

“And why?”

“Uh…” Words died in my throat.

“Whisk-ey?” She emphasized my pet name, knowing a story lay behind what I wasn’t saying.

My cheeks stung as dots of embarrassment peppered my face like freckles. “Um…well…my parents think it is best I’m not around Hunter any longer.”

There was a lengthy silence. “And again I will ask…why is that?”

I could have lied and said it was for my mental health. Being around a duplicate of my dead boyfriend was stunting my recovery. To my parents this was true, but I couldn’t lie to Stevie. She was my only friend, and I had no doubt she would either figure it out or hear about our little break-in from the staff.

“Hunter and I were arrested last night for breaking and entering.”

Another pregnant pause. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat, please?”

“Oh, and we were charged for indecency as well.” I couldn’t help the slight impish smile that formed.

“Whuu-ttt?”

“I only had my tank top off so I’m not sure what was so indecent. The security guard was a bit of a prude.”

“Top. Off?” Stevie repeated slowly. “Holy shit. I knew it! Did I not call this from the moment he walked in?” she demanded. “Now tell me every single detail, especially the indecency part.”

“Do you want to hear about the brawl between me and my ex-best friend that ended in a fistfight and me quitting the squad before ending up in jail?

“Oh, holy bejesus,” her throat croaked. “I am so proud of you. My little girl is growing up.”

“Because I got into a fight and ended up behind bars?”

“No. Because you are finally being true to yourself. Most people might see this as a cry for help or you having issues. But those people don’t really know you. Jeez, the worst you did was get caught. You are anything but ordinary, Whiskey. You just need to let yourself be okay with it. You have a freak flag, girl. Wave it!”

Talking to Stevie was like ointment to my soul. Sounded cheesy, but it was true. She was the one person who accepted me the way I was—a mess.

My mouth weaved around the story, telling her everything that happened. I didn’t hold back or hide any of it, even down to Hunter’s rejection later. And as much as the kiss replayed in my mind with giddy revival, I had many doubts and much guilt. Our attraction was no doubt from the heightened emotions getting the best of us. It would make the most sense. All those complicated feelings needed a way out.

And it did. Through a kiss.

Actually, through an incredibly hot make-out session.

 

 

Thanksgiving break was awful. It was still tense around the house, and my grandparents descending on us for Thanksgiving only created more friction. Grandma Nessa criticized everything my mother did, then made little jabs about how tired and skinny I looked, or how willful Reece behaved.

I felt like dry pasta, ready to snap. But it wasn’t my family which caused me to lose sleep or stop eating. The moment I quit cheerleading, officially ending my friendships, I got attacked. Virally.

Welcome to growing up in the Internet age.

Nasty posts and cruel tweets dominated my social media. Savannah was the leader, but lots of people I didn’t even really know started copying her, displaying mean memes and spiteful tags. It was devastating. I became so sick to my stomach by the assaults, I stayed curled in my bed most of the vacation. I talked to Stevie a lot, just to keep my head above water and not drown in my own tears. But I didn’t admit even to her the thing which hurt the most was I hadn’t heard a word from Hunter.

When school began again I had convinced myself kissing him was the worst choice I had ever made. With most of the school using me as a pincushion, he was the last thing I had time to think about. My certainty lasted till Monday. Fifth period.

I ignored the crunching nerves in my abdomen, but it was harder to overlook the shaking of my hand as I tried to hold my pencil. I had seen him hanging out by the bleachers with his friends on my way to the library at lunch. Waiting for him to enter the class transformed my nervousness into annoyance.

Just get here. Then it could be over—the initial seeing-each-other-for-the-first-time-since-going-at-it-on-the-therapy-floor-then-ending-up-in-a-holding-cell encounter. You know, like most first dates.

My hand rattled over the paper as I tried to distract myself by working on the history report due before the next upcoming holiday break. But I could write no words: Hunter had walked in.

I sighed, stirring in my chair, keeping my head down, pretending I hadn’t noticed his entrance. Nothing about him blended in with the walls or other students. As much as he tried to appear to be nonexistent at school, he couldn’t. Not to me. Not anymore.

Under heavy lashes, I watched him. He wore faded jeans and a short-sleeved, steel-grey T-shirt, as if he were defying the cold air outside. A blue cap coved his head, hiding his eyes from view. But once again it only seemed to pinpoint his strong jaw and mouth. The same lips I could still imagine on mine, moving, exploring. I shook my head, dislodging the thought, trying to prevent the heat from creeping up my body.

Hunter strolled down the aisle and, against my better judgment, I looked up. Under the shadow of his hat I saw his eyes. For the briefest moment, his gaze darted to me, but snapped away with quick speed. He pressed his lips together and his shoulders constricted around his neck. He passed me, dropping his books on his desk and sat down, quickly opening his notebook and turning all his focus on it.

My heart pounded in my chest, impelling the disappointment from my thoughts. This was what I wanted also. To pretend it never happened and cut all ties with each other.

He clearly thought it was a mistake. Like I did.

Right?

My head involuntarily dropped to my desk with a thud of frustration. The moment it hit, I snapped it back up, hoping he didn’t see me or think it had anything to do with him.

Lately my emotions had been leaking through and were out there for everyone to see. As if years of keeping them still and under the surface, even when I wasn’t aware I was doing it, was no longer a talent I possessed.

I tried to concentrate on the class, but Hunter held way more sway than Mrs. Ambose. He sat behind me, which created a difficulty in glancing his way unnoticed. When my pencil dropped, or anyone spoke, I let my gaze fall briefly on him. All I saw was the top of his baseball hat, his gaze never leaving his paper.

Okay. Stop, Jaymerson. He does not feel the same.

The problem was I didn’t even know how I felt. I couldn’t deny I longed for him to look at me and give me an indication to how he was feeling. Embarrassed? Ashamed? Remorseful?

When the bell rang and he darted from class before most others had even closed their books, I made a decision: I was going to forget all about what happened with Hunter Harris. Concentrate on staying out of trouble, getting my grades back up, and running off to college the first moment I could.

 

 

I jumped wholeheartedly into my plan in the following weeks, using all the breaks to study in the library and do extra credit in my health and science class, the only one I still somewhat enjoyed.

My fall from grace had lost its novelty to some people. I was not lucky enough, however, to go unnoticed by my old friends or those trying to be part of their group. The daily viral assaults on my different accounts became too much. I ended up closing all of them, something I kept from my parents since they couldn’t do anything about it. Hopefully with no outlet for them to insult me directly and football season gaining more of their attention the closer they got to the state finals, the more the jabs would diminish.

Stevie helped me get through. She had moved her schedule to accommodate mine, to Justin’s dismay and delight. He saw how much we supported and helped each other, but he also saw how distracted and inattentive we were with the actual exercises.

“I’m not kidding. I’m happy you’re helping each other, but I will separate you if you don’t finish your reps,” Justin hollered at us, preparing the mat with bands and weights for our next round of strength training.

Stevie scoffed, knowing he would never follow through with it.

“He will torture us more though.” With my arms behind my head, I lifted my head off the yoga ball, crunching up.

“True. But that’s later.” Stevie did a tiny curl forward.

“You mean in two minutes from now.”

“Like I said. In the future,” she reaffirmed. “Anyway, before he rudely interrupted us…as he seems to do a lot when we are here,” she grumbled in mocking bewilderment. “I’m worried about you. All my work on you seems to be dwindling slowly.” I did another sit-up, ignoring her. She rolled forward on the ball. “I’m serious, Whiskey.”

“Sorry I haven’t been arrested lately. Taking a break from the jail scene,” I said.

She crossed her arms, then squinted. “You know it’s not what I mean. You are sliding back into your old habits again.”

Indignation drove my spine straight, sitting up. “What are you talking about?”

“You. You’re becoming the boring shell of a girl again.”

“Excuse me?”

“The fact you’re getting pissed at me right now tells me you know it’s true.” Stevie moved her finger, motioning around me. “Behind that extremely smart brain of yours, you can feel it happening. You’re letting your true character die.”

“What if this is really me?” I snapped, sitting straight on the ball.

She licked her lips, a newly pierced eyebrow hitching up. “Would you be so angry with me if I weren’t right?”

I opened, then shut, my mouth.

“You have been miserable lately. Angry, irritable, vacant, but doing everything you think is expected of you. I see you shutting down again, letting them win.”

“Who wins?”

“The Savannahs of this world, your parents, even Hunter.”

I stared down at my hands the moment she said his name. A steady fury burned in my lungs. He left me alone in hostile waters. I doubted he got hounded on social media, if he was even on it. Nor was he laughed at and ridiculed in the hallways. He stuck to the safety of his friends, far from the inner circle of the school. I gritted my teeth, realizing my anger wasn’t at him. It was at me. I put my head in my hands.

“This is why you have me.” Stevie patted the back of my head. “To hold up a mirror every once in a while. I adore you, Whiskey, but I really love the girl you were becoming. Feisty, strong, living life.” She leaned over, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “And can I say with a really nice ass?”

A snorted chuckle leaped from my throat.

“No, I’m not kidding. It’s amazing. Who knew exercise would do that?”

“Suzie-amazing?” I twisted my head to peer at her.

“Oh, well, let’s not get carried away.” She winked. “Her ass is epic.”

Laughter released from deep inside me, and immediately the muscles along my shoulders relaxed. Stevie was right: it was easy for me to fall into the rut of living under the radar, not causing trouble, or upsetting the flow of everyone around me. But it really didn’t make anyone happy. Most of all, myself.

“Because of this slight setback, you’re going with me to a party Friday night.”

“Oh, am I?” I retorted with a smile.

She nodded. “It will be fun. I promise.”