Chapter Nine
Gordon
This is wrong.
The way Zoey moved against me as the beat switched to a slower tune. The way she pulled me closer instead of pushing me away. The way I’d easily sung Lennon’s song in her ear, my cheek almost touching hers.
It was all absolutely and fantastically wrong.
When I’d started my day, the world had come crashing down around me with betrayal and loss on numerous levels. I’d snapped—thrown Zoey under the bus in the blowout—and yet, here she was, her delicate arms wrapped around my waist like she couldn’t get close enough. Like she wanted to breathe me in. She was soft and smelled amazing and…it didn’t make sense. I thought I’d show up, apologize, and get a drink thrown in my face. Quite possibly slapped.
Not this.
And now that we’d called the truce between us, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. She’d always been gorgeous, but when she looked up at me as I held her—even for just a dance—well, it did weird things to my heart I couldn’t understand. Made me picture her beside me, made me wonder what it could’ve been like all these years if we hadn’t been fighting, hadn’t been maintaining the almost playful banter we’d had for ever. If we’d pushed for something more…who knew what life could’ve been like?
I moved my hand to the small of her back as she swayed back and forth to the song. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her tunic, and I swallowed hard. Zoey had always been a girl I saw as almost an enemy—a threat, someone who beat me every time a competition presented itself. But things had changed.
Hell, everything in my life had changed in a blink. With my father’s news this morning…those few words had altered every vision of a future I’d had for myself. The pressure was on for the internship, but something had settled in my gut. And the more time I spent with Zoey tonight—seeing her as just a girl and not the person who outsmarted me at every turn—it was easy to realize how much she’d pushed me throughout our entire school careers. If it hadn’t been for her, would I have tried as hard as I did?
Zoey rolled her hips, the touch as smooth as silk and light as a feather, but the motion connected with every nerve ending I possessed. A warm shiver ran down my spine, and my once steady hands shook. I lost a grip on each worry and thought in my head, and the relief was so intense, it made my head spin in a way the beer earlier hadn’t.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Zoey glanced downward for a second before she met my eyes. I never noticed the light flecks of gold that swirled in the greens. Maybe it was because I’d been too busy trying to top her than take a second to get to know who I was fighting. Had I wasted the last four years with books and the shop? I should’ve stopped for one second to really look at her.
“Let’s take a break,” she said after the song had ended, and I followed her off the dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder as she headed toward the hallway to the right of the room. “You up for another game?”
“I have to be up wicked early,” I said, recognizing the hesitance in my tone. I didn’t want to stop, but knew I should.
“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here early enough to catch some sleep. Stay?”
“Sure,” I said, surprised at how quickly I agreed. I wouldn’t risk the meeting tomorrow, but the night was still early. And I could stand a few more drinks after the day I’d had. Zoey was right. I had plenty of time to get some rest before waking up to meet with Mr. Handler tomorrow.
“You have room for two more?” Zoey asked, popping her head into a room that looked like its main purpose was a secondary home office. There was a lone desk in the corner—a simple construction of light wood with a Mac on top of it. A sectional sofa hugged the opposite wall of the desk, and several people scattered across its cushions. A glass coffee table sat right in front of the couch, and there were thin wooden cards on top of it, half with an A carved into them and the other half with Bs.
“Totes,” Becky—our resident thespian—answered as she scooched over to make room for us. The girl was headed to NYC in a few months to try her hand at acting—like Lennon, she was chasing her dream rather than hitting college. I had no doubts she’d make it. She was phenomenal on stage.
A few other seniors—including uber-jocks Jarred and Don—sat on the plush white carpet on the other side of the table. Everyone had a drink in their hand.
Becky passed us two solo cups filled with beer from the keg I’d spotted in the kitchen earlier. I preferred the bottles, but this would do. “We’re playing would you rather…? Ever try it?”
I shook my head, and so did Zoey. We had that in common, at least. Neither of us was fluent in the art of drinking games, but we were quick learners. And if it was a team game, they didn’t stand a chance against us.
“All good,” Becky said. “Super simple.” She handed us each a pair of A and B cards before pointing to a fat stack of brightly colored notecards that lay face down in the center of the table. “Those are the question cards. I’ve been elected reader, so each round, I flip one over and ask everyone a would you rather…?. The first option is A and the second B. You have thirty seconds to decide, and place your answer card on the table. Anyone in the minority answer group has to take a drink.” Her blue eyes darted between us. “Get it?”
I tried not to show my disappointment that it wasn’t a team game. After the Cornhole experience, I was more than willing to test our compatibility as teammates—we’d killed it, and it had been so much easier than when we were competing against each other. I wanted to know if it was a fluke or if we really were that much alike.
“Yeah,” I said, nudging Zoey. “Want to make a bet at how many we answer the same?”
A spark blazed behind her eyes. “You really do love to gamble, don’t you?”
“Simple bets, sure,” I said, shuffling the pair of cards in my hands. The thin wood reminded me of the handmade coasters that Fynn had bought for Braylen one year for her birthday. I’d tagged along for the ride to the custom craft shop when he’d placed the order. He’d had the carver engrave Marvel character symbols in their centers, making sure he had covered all of her favorite heroes. And still somehow the dude couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
I glanced at Zoey, swallowing hard.
“Fine,” she said before I could entertain the thought much longer. “I’ll bet you that twenty we won earlier that we have less than half of the same answers.”
“Sounds fair.” I pulled out my cell and opened the note app. “I’ll keep track. And I’m betting that we have over seventy-five percent of the same answers.”
Her eyes popped, but she grinned. “You’re on,” she said before jabbing a polished finger at me. “No cheating.”
“How would I cheat?”
“Don’t answer the way you think I would answer.” Her glare screamed how serious she was, and I couldn’t help but smile. She was as competitive as me.
“I’m not that clever,” I admitted, motioning for Becky that we were ready to start when she was.
The other conversations around the table hushed when she pulled the first question card. “Oh, this is a good one,” she said after reading it to herself first. “Would you rather be alive in the past or be alive in the future?”
I placed the B card on the table two seconds before Zoey did. She scoffed like I’d copied her, even though I’d gone first. “Reasoning?” she asked as everyone else laid their cards down. Majority ruled with us, so we escaped having to take a drink.
“I appreciate history,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I want to go back to a time before air conditioning and smart phones.”
She laughed, nodding. “Or Nutella.”
“What?”
“Omigod.” She gasped. “You know what Nutella is, don’t you?”
I shook my head and she smacked my arm like I was in trouble.
“It’s only the food of the gods!”
Every girl at the table nodded their agreement. “Okay,” I said, dragging out the word. “I’ll try some?”
“Yes,” she said. “As soon as possible.” Her eyes brightened. “Actually, you should totally tell your dad it is like phenomenal on pancakes. Or waffles.”
“And stuffed inside a croissant!” Becky snapped her finger at me, and Zoey high-fived her.
“See,” she said. “I know what I’m talking about.”
I forced out a laugh. “Sure, all right.” A pain twisted in my gut. I would love to tell my dad to experiment with an obvious crowd-pleaser, but wasn’t sure if there was a point. Not now that the shop was potentially closing. Though I had a hard time thinking Dad would stop cooking. It was his passion, but he’d likely have to take a job as a sous chef working for someone else…making their menu. I closed my eyes for a moment, sending up a silent prayer I could convince the most ruthless businessman in our town that keeping the shop open and the way it was would be more profitable than a coffee shop.
“Next question,” Becky said after they’d stopped talking about all the things you could put Nutella on. “Would you rather be the funniest person in the room or the most intelligent?”
Well, that was a no-brainer. Pun intended. I smacked the A card down at the same time as Zoey.
“Dude,” she chided, unable to hold in her laugh. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to explain this one’s reasoning. She had to know already.
We both knew what it was like being seen as the smartest kid in the room—or in the class. It wasn’t always a picnic. People often took the love of challenging your brain as either being a total nerd or being a total snob. Honestly, the only reason I think I was spared the rumor mill was because my dad and I didn’t have money like Zoey’s family did. Pairing her incredible mind, constant advanced classes, and being one of the richest girls in the class—besides Katy Evans—well, it only made her a bigger target.
The truth of that line of thought caught up in my heart, and my shoulders sank. Competing with her had blinded me to all the things she must have gone through for the past decade. I’d never put myself in her shoes, and now that we’d finally called a truce, I found myself wishing I had.
I couldn’t change the past, though, so I resolved myself to be more open-minded in the future. On everything. Especially when it came to her.
“I wish I was funny,” Zoey said, fiddling with her card. “Braylen is funny. Not on purpose, but that girl can weave a story that has you in stiches by the end. She doesn’t even realize how fun it makes her to be around.” She shook her head. “I’d love to know that feeling.”
I tapped her glass before taking a drink since we were in the minority this time. “Come on,” I said after I swallowed the beer. “That time sophomore year when you organized the improv troupe to perform for the children’s hospital? That was hilarious.”
Her cheeks flushed red as she set her cup down after the sip she’d taken. “I didn’t tell the jokes.”
“You made the prompts.”
“Yeah,” Becky said. “That was a good show.” She’d been one of the people on the troupe. I could still remember the smiles on those kids’ faces, the way they laughed so hard some of them fell out of their chairs. That was because of Zoey’s ability to please a crowd and play to her audience. I’d been there as a volunteer, too, making dozens of giraffe and poodle balloon animals.
“You two are crazy.” She shook her head. “But thanks.”
Becky slid the next question card off the deck, and I jotted down in my note app that Zoey and I were two for two. Same answers, same responses. Looks like I would not only win the bet, but learn more about Zoey than almost a lifetime had taught me.
“Would you rather reverse one decision you make every day, or be able to stop time for ten seconds every day?”
This one took me the full thirty seconds, but Zoey had her answer picked out in half the time, holding it to her chest to hide it from me. Finally, I sat my B card up on the table. Zoey laid down her A card.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you’re being truthful?” I asked. Hard to believe the girl made decisions on the regular that she would change. She was a planner, and analyzed every major decision weeks in advance.
“Yes.” Her face was smooth of the light laughter that had played on her lips seconds ago. “I regret things. Don’t you?”
I felt the jab more than she implied it. “Yes,” I said. “Of course, I do.” This morning’s speech was on the top of that list. “But not enough to want to change something every single day of my life.” I shrugged. “Now, if I had an extra ten seconds to take a breath and think about what was going to come out of my mouth…say right before a certain introduction…well, that could change everything.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes locking on to mine like I was a ridiculously hard riddle she was desperate to solve. After a second, she blinked, tilting her head from side to side, accepting my reasoning.
I was the only one who answered B, so I had to drink.
Becky grabbed another card, this one colored a bright red, whereas the majority of the cards were blue. She waved it back and forth, the motion snapping the card as the group whooped and groaned at the same time. “Red card!” she said, and the color of it matched her cheeks as she read the question to herself first. “Would you rather accidentally send a dirty text to Principal Howe or leave a sexy voicemail to your mom?”
Laughter erupted around the table, everyone shook their heads as they hissed at the impossible question.
Red means dirty. Got it.
I chuckled quietly to myself, the answer more than easy for me. After thirty seconds, Zoey and I put our answers down at the same time.
“B?” She gaped at me, glancing down at her A card.
I shrugged. “I would risk any form of embarrassment if it meant my mom was here,” I answered so only she could hear me.
The smile melted off her face.
“Oh no,” I said, raising my hands. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I begged. “It’s just the truth. I’m okay.” I rubbed her back to try and get her to laugh again. “But really? You’d rather text Principal Howe?”
“My mother would lose her shit if I stepped a toe in the schmexy direction.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “I figured girls and their moms talked about that stuff all the time.”
“From what I hear,” she said. “Bray and her mom are that close.”
It was my turn to frown at her. “Stop.” She smacked my chest. “Where are we at?” She glanced down at my cell.
“Dead tie. Two same. Two opposite.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Closer than I’d like,” she teased. “Think you can handle the rest of the deck?”
I squinted my eyes at it. The deck had at least twenty cards left. “Sure.”
“Nice,” she said. “You’re going down.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I’d lost count how many times I’d lost to Zoey, but with twenty cards left, I had a feeling it would be closer than any of us realized. “And that just means I’ll hang on to Branch all summer.”
Zoey gasped.
“Okay,” Becky said. “Next up.”
It took another hour—and four more incredibly embarrassing red cards—to come to the end of the deck. Becky held up the last card, and I was grateful it was an easy blue one. I’d already had to answer questions about wearing lingerie vs. nothing, and my preference for chocolate sauce vs. ice cubes, all of which I didn’t have a solid answer on because of lack of experience—not that I was advertising that fact.
“Would you rather have thick crust or thin crust?” Becky asked, her nose scrunching up like she’d tasted something sour. “Who the hell wrote that lame one?”
I laughed, grateful for the no-brainer. Zoey and I slapped down our A cards, as well as everyone else at the table except for Jarred, who’d laid down the B one.
“Looks like I win,” I said, playfully nudging Zoey. We had answered eighteen out of twenty-five questions the same. “I’ll just hold on to the money we won earlier until you’re ready to go up against me again.”
She tossed her cards on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. I had the dumbest urge to snap a photo of her and save it on my cell—the girl was beyond hot when she pouted.
“You’re all drunk, right?” Jarred glared around the table like we had personally attacked him. “There is no way you all think thick crust is better than thin.” A gloss coated his eyes, showing how much he’d drank throughout the night, but if that didn’t give it away, his crazy sharp tone would’ve.
“Relax,” Don said. “It’s just a game.”
“No, bro.” He shoved off Don’s attempts to calm him. “This is bullshit! I shouldn’t have to drink. Every one of you is wrong.”
“Dude, chill.” Don raised his cup. “I’ll take your drink for you.”
“No, you’re wrong!” he snapped.
“Technically, there is no wrong answer,” I blurted out, unable to keep my thoughts to myself.
“What?” Jarred slit his eyes at me.
“It’s subjective.” Zoey instantly backed me up, the fast defense shocking me to my core. “You can’t possibly find a ‘correct’ answer to a question based solely on preference.”
I beamed at her. She’d stolen the words right out of my mouth. “What she said.” I nodded toward her and gave her a fist-bump.
Jarred slammed his cards on the table and leaped to his feet. “Fuck all of you. I’m right.”
I gaped at him as he stormed from the room, his boys following him in a hurry.
Zoey tapped my shoulder, drawing my attention from the scene. “You going to answer that?”
I blinked at her, totally oblivious.
“Your cell is vibrating.” She pointed to my phone laying on the couch cushion between us. I hadn’t felt it buzz.
Dad’s number lit up the screen, but it went to voicemail before I could answer it. “Thanks,” I said, motioning toward the door. “I should probably go call him back.” A rock lodged itself in my throat in the seconds where I didn’t know if that meant our night together was over, or if she wanted me to come back. The struggle must have been written all over my face because she flashed me a soft smile.
“I’ll catch up with you in a bit?” She glanced toward the door, too. “I want to go check on Bray, anyway.” A wrinkle formed between her brows, and I had the dumbest urge to smooth it away, or at least ask her what bothered her so much in that moment. She hurried off before I got the chance to decide if I was stupid enough to go for either action.
I rubbed my palms over my face as I walked down the hallway, trying like hell to find some solid ground in my shook-up brain. I hadn’t drunk nearly enough to wash away all the stresses of the day or the distraction of tomorrow’s meeting, but Zoey’s presence was working wonders the alcohol couldn’t touch, and that blew my mind more than anything.
Walking past the kitchen, I searched Lennon’s place for a quiet room to call Dad back, but the house was packed, so I headed to his front porch instead. The spot offered a little less noise than the buzzing party, and I swiped the screen on my cell.
“Hey, Dad,” I said when he’d answered after two rings. “What’s up?”
“Missed you when we closed after lunch.”
I dropped the phone from my ear to check the time. It was almost ten. “Sorry, Dad. I needed to get something done.” I’d rushed home to put together the business plan and profit margins for Mr. Handler. It was all neatly sitting in a folder in my room. So much for not thinking about the meeting. “I—”
“No, not in a bad way,” he cut me off. “I know you had to get ready for that party, kid. I meant…well, it was strange. Thinking it could be one of the last times. You know?”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. I cleared my throat, wishing it would stop failing me today. Where was my lack of words when I made that stupid speech today, huh? “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been home before eleven…like ever.”
“I don’t know what to do with myself.” Dad laughed, and it sounded genuine. “Anyway,” he said. “I was just checking on you. Not like you to stay out past nine.”
“Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes. He made me sound so lame. “Tonight is different.” Zoey asked me to stay. And I wanted to.
“I’m getting that.” He sighed. “Look,” he said. “Don’t let what’s going on here mess with you there. Okay?”
Translation, don’t get wasted. Whoops.
I’ll slow it down.
“I’ll figure it all out,” he continued when I hadn’t said anything. “You know that, right? We’ll be okay.”
“I know, Dad.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring down at the fresh beer I’d grabbed on my way out here. I wanted to tell him about the meeting, but I still didn’t want to get his hopes up, either. I had less than twenty-four hours to go, and then we’d have a better idea of where the shop was headed. It could wait. I could hold out a little longer.
The thing about Dad was that he always took everything on himself. Never asked for help, but I gave it anyway. Because he deserved it. Because he was the best man I knew, and the fact that I didn’t have a sure-fire, no-fail way out of this problem was eating away at my insides. The gnawing sensation bit at my gut right alongside what I’d done to Zoey, though that suffering was less since she’d given me a pass. Still didn’t know how that miracle had happened, but I wasn’t unhappy with the effect.
The thought of her waiting for me inside sent a rush of welcomed heat through my chest, and it helped chase away the nasty gritty feeling of guilt. I would figure out a way to help my father, his shop, and land the internship. Just not right this second. Tonight was no longer about apologizing nor was it about graduating at the top of my class—that was over.
Now, all I had to do was forget for the next few hours—forget I was Gordon Meyers, second in his class, his dreams crumbling around him. I wanted to just be Gordon for a night, a guy who was seriously overdue some party time. And where better to do it than at Lennon’s?
Who better to do it with than Zoey?
Never thought I’d say that.
I’d still be sure to get a solid six hours of sleep before the big meeting tomorrow.
“I’ll be late, Dad. That okay?”
“Sure, just be careful. If I need to pick you up, I don’t care what time it is, just call me. No questions asked. You’ve never stepped out of line, Gordon. You’ve earned a night.”
A smile broke my lips. “I don’t need a pass. I’m good.”
“Just so you know.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Love you, kid.”
I darted my eyes around to see if anyone was in earshot. “Love you, too.” I quickly ended the call, shaking my head. I knew what it was like to lose a parent. Knew the feeling—like you lost an organ, a vital piece of yourself—so I never missed an opportunity to let Dad know how I felt, but damn if I wanted to catch flack for it from a bunch of half-drunk seniors at the party. Luckily, no one heard, and I headed back inside, ready to drink and see where the night led with Zoey at the helm.
“Fuck,” Fynn snapped as he walked right past me on his way toward the front door.
“What’s up, Fynn?” I asked.
“Huh?” He stopped and spun around.
I clutched his shoulder, jerking him to the side of the guest bathroom just as Jarred sprinted inside it. He slammed the door shut and I tried not to laugh. From his tantrum in the would you rather…? room, it was clear he was a few steps past wasted. Jarred was a pain in the ass, and the whole party would be better off if he had to spend a few hours locked in the bathroom. I arched an eyebrow at Fynn. “You just snapped, fuck. What’d you do, lose your date?”
“I think I’m losing it, man.”
I registered the completely confused look in his eyes, and crossed my arms over my chest to lean against the wall. “That makes two of us.” He had no idea just how much I was losing my mind tonight. I mean, Zoey? No one would see that coming, not even me. “Reasoning?” I asked, bringing the attention back to him.
“Katy. Braylen. Both are making my head spin.”
“Women.” I clenched my teeth, wishing every cell in my body wasn’t screaming to get back to Zoey. How could I be aching to see her even though I’d only been separated from her for the length of a phone call? How was it that this morning she had been the bane of my existence, and now I just wanted to sit with her, play games with her, dance with her, do whatever she wanted to do as long as she kept looking at me with those open green eyes?
“Zoey your source?” he asked, and I sighed. Fynn was one of my best friends, I didn’t have to be on for him.
“Yeah, I don’t know, bro. I felt like crap about what I did earlier. I came here to apologize to her, and now I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.” I took a good long drink of my beer, wishing it held all the answers. Glancing back at Fynn, I smirked. “I thought you and Braylen were just friends.”
“We are.” His tone was sharp, like I was arguing with him.
“Then what’s the problem?” I egged him on just because I could. The dude couldn’t see it, but everyone else could. Bray was perfect for him. They were perfect for each other. It was almost disgusting.
“Something’s off.”
“And?” I wouldn’t outright call him on being blind—it wasn’t my business—but I’d push him a little.
“And it bothers me. I don’t know where her head is at and I’m worried about her.”
I shook my head, my line of sight shifting to the room across from us. Damn. The sight of Braylen talking to another guy had all my best friend triggers flaring. I’d help Fynn in a brawl if need be, but I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Looks like she’s doing fine to me.”
“What?” He followed my gaze, spotting Braylen and the blond guy having a too-close-for-Fynn’s-comfort chat. His eyes turned to slits and he clenched his fists, his entire body shaking.
“Dude,” I said and propped my hand on his chest to push him away from the room. “You’re shaking.”
“What?” Fynn snapped again, finally looking back at me. “No, I’m not.”
“You sure you don’t have a thing for Braylen?” I asked, the shock of seeing him in rage-mode enough to make me force the issue. Fynn was a laid-back guy. It took a lot to set him off like that.
Fynn glared at me so I raised my hands in defense. “Never mind,” I said. “How are things progressing with the school princess?” Katy was a fairly decent girl if you liked the high-maintenance type, but Fynn had had a thing for her for years. Maybe he wasn’t the only one letting loose tonight and entertaining ideas that wouldn’t have been a thought last week.
“Good,” he said. “She’s been…”
“Nice?” I asked when he struggled to finish his sentence. “Figured she’d be back with Don by the end of the night. You’re screwing up a bet for me, but I’m happy for you.” That would be fifty down the drain. There was a running bet on when she and Don would get back together, and I’d bet on tonight.
“You bet on her getting back with Don?” He laughed.
“Fifty bucks.” I smirked. “You know there’s always either a massive breakup or hookup at Lennon’s parties. Looks like I bet on the wrong horse.”
“She has talked about him,” he said, sighing. “Maybe don’t cut your losses just yet.”
Why did it sound like he wanted them to get back together? “Are you drunk?”
“No, man. Are you?”
“I’m on my way,” I said. “But you’ve got Katy dangling by a string, and you’re acting like all you can think about is your BFF with her panties in a twist.”
“And you’re slow dancing with your archnemesis. Which of us has it worse?”
“Touché.” That much was true. How could Zoey feel as amazing as she did, and still be…Zoey? How could I possibly be dying to get back to her even though I was hanging with one of my best friends, and we’d still be…who we’d been all our lives?
Fynn tapped his cup with mine. “How are you holding up?”
I shrugged. I couldn’t even count all the ways in which I wasn’t holding my shit together right now. “I made an ass out of myself earlier today.” At least I could admit that, and talk about it. The other stuff? I wasn’t ready.
“I was there.”
I took another drink, the cold liquid helping wash down the issues that threatened to spew all over my friend. He didn’t need that shit right now and neither did I. “I’m paying for it now, trust me,” I said. The torture of all the ways in which my world was jacked wreaked havoc on my gut, and somehow…it started and ended with Zoey. The anger that had turned to regret that had turned into…what? Longing? Want? I couldn’t get a hold on my thoughts long enough to work it out. Which was new territory for me. Usually I could solve my way out of anything, but today had presented too many errors to compute.
“Care to share the reason behind going rogue for your speech?”
“I just snapped after I lost…” My eyes fell to the contents of my cup, and I swirled the liquid in a circle.
“What did you lose?” he asked.
“Everything.” I shook my head. Maybe I did need to unload some of this crap.
“You need to talk, man?” Fynn asked, and just the fact that he wanted to be there for me was enough. I sucked in a sharp breath and drank another swig down.
“Maybe another time.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
A loud crack of porcelain sounded from the bathroom and I motioned toward the door. “A twenty says Jarred just cracked his head open passing out in there.”
Fynn, ever the good guy, opened the door to make sure he was okay.
“Shut the fucking door!” Jarred yelled, and I tried not to burst out laughing as Fynn yelled, “Ah, man, not cool!” He slammed the door shut on Jarred doing an ungodly prank in Lennon’s bathroom.
“Lennon will kill him,” Fynn said.
“Should’ve bet on him doing an upper decker.” I shook my head. “I didn’t realize their little feud was still going.”
“Still? Dude, it’s an ongoing event that hasn’t stopped since it started in grade school.”
“Who was it again who started the prank war?” I asked, trying to call up the memory.
“I honestly can’t remember. My money is on Jarred,” Fynn said.
“Was it sixth grade that Jarred stole Lennon’s lunch without him knowing and doused the inside of his PB&J with cayenne?”
“Yep,” Fynn said. “And Lennon retaliated by stuffing Jarred’s bags with firecrackers.”
“Jarred was suspended for a week,” I said, laughing as I glanced at the bathroom’s closed door. “Figured this kind of thing would’ve stopped by now. Or at least tonight it would end. I mean, we’ve graduated!” I held my arms out in what I hoped looked like a celebration pose. “It’s time to move on. Off to college and leaving more than half these people in the dust.”
For most people, anyway. The pain of not knowing if I’d be one of the lucky few to attend the college of my dreams did everything to kill the buzz I’d worked up.
Fynn shrugged. “Somehow I feel like Jarred will never grow up. I’m sure if he could, he’d follow Lennon on tour, pranking him in arenas filled with Lennon’s screaming fans.”
“Shit,” I said, realizing I’d lost another bet. “I bet you he was passing out, not pranking. Guess I owe you twenty.” My luck was on fire today.
“Keep it. You may need it to take Zoey out tomorrow.”
I almost choked. “Low blow, man.”
“Good luck,” Fynn said, nodding as he passed me.
“You need it more than me!” I shouted from behind.
“We’ll see about that!” Fynn called over his shoulder.
He’d cracked the joke, but it wasn’t far from my mind. Hell, I’d spent half our conversation wondering where Zoey was, what she was doing, if she’d moved on to brighter things in the time we’d been separated. It wasn’t a stretch to think I’d want to feel the same way again tomorrow. Or the next day.
Yep. I’ve officially lost it.
And if Fynn could see all that, could Zoey, too?
Nausea rolled through my stomach, and I wandered into the kitchen for an ice-cold bottle of water. I scratched Hendrix’s ears for a while, sipping the water and seriously contemplating heading home. The longer I stayed at this party, the crazier my thoughts became.
Maybe it was just the grad night effect, or all that had happened today, or a combination of both, but I was totally prepared to stay all night with Zoey if she wanted me to, even with the huge meeting I had in the morning. And knowing that terrified me.