The Hard Count(50)

“Uhm,” I say, my eye still flat against the viewer while my fingers delicately twist the lens in and out, repeatedly bringing the paint smudges on my friend’s arm in and out of focus.

“Nico told me,” she says, looking at me through the lens, her eyes direct. I suck in my lips and back away, looking at her for real. My chest thumps wildly. If I’m this nervous talking about Nico with Izzy, I’m pretty sure I’ll vomit when I have to tell my dad.

“Reagan?” she says, standing then sitting close to me, no longer in my camera’s view. I unclip it, giving up and putting it away.

“I was afraid you’d be mad,” I admit.

Izzy laughs, but when she realizes I’m not kidding, the sound falls away and her mouth slopes into a look of sympathy.

“Reagan, I think a lot of boys are cute. I don’t run around putting MINE stamps on them. If you liked him, which…clearly you do! You could have just said something,” she says, leaning into me while I pull the camera bag to my lap, sliding the mini tripod in place and pushing in the various camera parts.

“Yeah, but you never dated Travis, and I felt kind of like a hypocrite, so…”

“First of all, I never went out with Travis because he’s an immature ass-head without a plan,” she says, her mouth a hard line that eventually twists into a grimace while her eyes look off to the side. “He is hot, though, so it wasn’t easy. Still…loser. No plan!”

I giggle, feeling some of the pressure I put on myself this week leave my shoulders.

“I’m sorry. And it’s just the dance. He’ll probably go with me and realize what a boring wallflower I am, especially when I’m more interested in how the guy lines up the tracks for the music than actually dancing with Nico,” I say, laughing at myself. I’m a terrible dancer, even when it’s nothing more than slow swaying in a circular pattern. My feet find the tops of other people’s.

“He asked me about you,” she says, and I look from my lap to her in an instant. “Yeah, I thought that would get you. I knew he wasn’t into me. That night at Charlie’s, after I left you in the bathroom, I ran into Nico. His very first question was if you were all right.”

“He was probably just worried because Noah was being…Noah,” I say, still not ready to admit that Nico feels remotely the same way for me as I do for him.

“He asked about you several times, Reagan. And when he saw you talking to Sasha? On that bench? He did not like that…at all!”

I smile with her last few words, looking down at my hands, which are nervously zipping and unzipping the camera bag, then looking back at my friend, meeting her eyes.

“He didn’t?” I bite my lip.

“Nope,” she says, pushing up straight and wiggling her head in a triumphant display.

“Are you still going to the dance?” I ask, hoping that my friend will be there. I can’t rely on Nico alone. I need allies, people to stand awkwardly with me on the sidelines, to dance badly to pop songs and to sneak out balloons meant to be decorations. This is what Izzy and I did at last year’s homecoming. I was looking forward to the repeat, and I don’t want a boy to get in the way.

“Of course I’m going. Uhm, hello…someone gets a crown!” I roll my eyes because Izzy won’t win, but every time there’s a dance with pretend royalty, she acts like she has it all sewn up. My brother and his girlfriend Katie were the frontrunners, last I heard, but I haven’t seen them together in days. I’m not sure if that matters to the voting student body, but maybe…just maybe it will play in Izzy’s favor.

I chew at the inside of my cheek and glance from my friend to my lap a few times before squinting and looking up at her again.

“He really asked about me?”

She closes her eyes and laughs.

“Yes, he really asked about you,” she says, grinning through her words, but cocking her head to the side the second she finishes, her smile falling. “But…what’s his deal today?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my brow pinched.

“He wasn’t here at all. He missed the entire day, and word on the street is Brandon might get the start tonight,” my friend says.

I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping for some message. There isn’t one, though. I haven’t given Nico my number yet, and the only person who ever calls me is sitting next to me right now.

“I knew he missed humanities, but I just figured he was excused, or maybe left early with the team,” I say, looking around the quickly-emptying student lot. Sasha’s car is in its place, and Travis’s Jeep is here, which means they’re accounted for. I stand, lifting my camera bag with me, and I start to wonder if Nico made it on the bus or not.

“I guess we’ll find out. You’re going to the game, right?”

I nod in response, my mind now lost to wondering where Nico is and if he’s okay. A few of the other cheerleaders walk up, nodding hello to me, so I excuse myself and walk to the film room to tug on the door. It opens easily; I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness until I can find the switch to flip on the lights.

“Hello? Anyone still here?”

My voice echoes, and I don’t expect anyone to respond. My dad travels with the team, and most of his coaching staff does, too. I yell out a few more times, testing the room before walking to my dad’s office near the back. My dad doesn’t keep secrets in this building, so I know it’s safe to inspect his office. The only clue I get is the list of ineligibles on his desk, and there’s only one name listed under truancy—Noah Prescott.