Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(7)

I chewed on my nail. Had I really abandoned Paisley? That did sound a little like me. Shit.

Ava’s giving me a ride home. Next time you want to take a drive down easy street, you could at least let me know … Text me so I know you got home ok tho, promise?

A mixture of emotions swept through me. I’d always thought Paisley’s jokes—that I was easy—were harmless until recently when I realized they could hurt my credibility. It felt too late and too convenient to try to tell people now that, sure, I liked to get drunk and kiss boys, but … that was it. Besides, maybe Paisley was a little bit right about me. I wasn’t sure anymore.

The next text was from Ava.

Ignore Paize. She’s drunk. Both glad to see you having fun. Ta-ta!

I smiled at that. See? I was right. I had had a good time. I still was having a good time.

Just then Honor reached for my phone and tried to snatch it away. “What’s so important, anyway?” she whined. Years of being a big sister had trained me to be quicker than she was. I latched onto her wrist before she could swipe my cell away.

“Give it back!” I pried her fingers free from the screen. She had such delicate little bird bones that it was a relief, at least so far, that she didn’t want to be a cheerleader like me. The poor girl would break.

She released her grip with a huff and sat back in her chair.

I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. One more thing and I’ll put it away. Deal?”

She nodded.

The last message was from an unsaved number. I clicked on the message and knew immediately whom it was from:

That was fun. Where’d you run off to last night? Txt me if you want more. This # is my cell.

It had to be Liam. And I could only hope by “more” he was referring to Sunshine. After all, if he didn’t know where I ran off to either, then that must mean I didn’t “take a drive down easy street,” as Paisley had so poetically put it, which meant I probably just got tired and decided it was time to head home. That was a relief. Sunshine was looking better and better. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

I pressed my thumbs into the keypad and typed out, Later today? And hit “send.”

“I know that look.” Mom set a heaping stack of pancakes topped with strawberries on the table between Honor and me.

“What look?” I said, setting the phone facedown.

“The there’s a boy I like and I can’t stop texting him look.” She gave me a look that I was familiar with, too. The I’m your mother and I know things look. I scrunched up my nose and stuck my tongue out.

Dad joined us at the table and helped himself to the first pancake. “A boy?” he said with mock surprise. My dad wasn’t one of those barbaric guys that acted as though his daughters should be locked in castles until they were thirty or else he’d pull out his shotgun. In fact, my parents shared an obviously pleased glance at the mention of a boy and me in the same sentence.

I flitted my eyes to the ceiling like I was annoyed when actually it felt nice to have my parents faux-worried about a boy as opposed to real worried about my constant bad mood. Dad slid the pancakes over to me and I forked the biggest one onto my plate and doused it with warm syrup. “It’s not really like—” I stuffed the first bite into my mouth. The taste of the warm, sugar-laden flapjack exploded on my tongue and I nearly moaned. Usually I allowed myself only one cheat day a week and lately I’d been surviving on power bars and Gatorade more often than not. The effect of the flour and sweet and glorious carbohydrates was sinfully delicious and nearly short-circuited my brain.

I started to tell my parents that Liam wasn’t a boy that I liked and, what was more, there weren’t any boys on my radar period, but I stopped short. Maybe it was the digesting pancakes sending a wave of endorphins into my brain or maybe it was just the way our whole family was gathered around the breakfast table like nothing had changed in the last few months. Whatever it was, I made a decision. I may not have liked a boy exactly, but I did like something, so instead, I asked in the midst of shoveling in my next bite, “Do you guys mind if I meet up with him later?”

*

LIAM TOLD ME to meet him at the corner of Grimwood and Havelock Drive. At dusk, I pulled up to a ramshackle park with a public basketball court. If this was a date, I’d insist he at least take me to dinner and a movie, but since it wasn’t, the park would do. A pair of headlights shined onto the court. Liam waved at me from the free-throw line. “Can you leave your lights on?” he asked when I started to get out of the car. I glanced at his Mustang. “The lighting sucks out here,” he explained. When I looked around, I saw that he was right. There was only a single lamppost for the whole park and it was several yards away from the basketball court.

I nodded and left the car running and my headlights blazing. Outside, the sun had slipped below the tree line leaving behind it only a sliver of molten orange to dye the sky’s hem a soft, cottoncandy pink. Everywhere else evening muddied the edges of things.

The concrete court was painted mostly green, but a rusty red color peeked through in places where sneakers had rubbed holes into it. Liam bounced a basketball in front of his toes twice and then shot it at the hoop. The ball bounced off the tilted rim. I caught it midair and ran my hand over its bumpy, leather skin. It smelled like gym class.

“How’d you get my number anyway?” I asked, twirling the orange basketball between two fingers.