The Best Laid Plans(14)

“Does the handwriting look familiar?” Hannah leans over the note and studies it. The letters are a mix of upper-and lowercase, some big and some small. Like someone was trying to make sure they wouldn’t be recognized. Ava is always watching these true crime documentaries on Netflix, and sometimes she texts us articles. This note kinda reminds me of that—like someone is asking for a ransom.

“Don’t worry,” Danielle says. “I’ll find out who did it.” She smiles, then eats another tomato. I can hear it burst between her teeth.

“Hey.” Andrew sits down in the chair next to mine, and Danielle snatches the note off the table, putting it away before he can see. Then she leans toward him, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one ear, revealing a row of silver studs.

“Drew, I’m sorry about this weekend. The, you know . . . wrapper.” Her face turns pink. “I should have said something sooner. I can’t believe he didn’t throw it out.” She reaches across the table and pats his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, taking a casual bite of his sandwich. But the tips of his ears turn pink to match her cheeks.

“If you could just . . .” She clears her throat. “Could you not tell anyone about it?”

“Everybody already knows about it,” Ava says, biting into a baby carrot with a loud crunch. “Clearly.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know every little detail.” Danielle reaches over and grabs another baby carrot, flicking it with two fingers so it spins back across the table, landing in Ava’s lap.

“Ouch!” Ava says, even though the flying carrot definitely didn’t hurt.

“Hey, Danielle,” a voice calls out from behind me. Chase is making his way over to our table, a backpack slung low over his shoulder. “Hey, guys.” He nods to us. “Dani, can I talk to you?” He rests a hand on her shoulder but withdraws it quickly when she turns to look at him, her gaze icy.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Ava says in a clipped tone.

“Ava,” Danielle hisses. “Seriously. We’re not in seventh grade anymore. I can speak for myself.”

“Fine,” Ava says, standing up. “I was just trying to help.” She grabs her food and walks to the busing counter, slamming down the tray just a little too hard.

Whenever Danielle and Ava fight like this, Ava usually storms off and spends the next few hours with her theater friends, who she ironically likes to say are “less drama.” But I know she’ll probably be back with Danielle by the end of the day.

“I’ll talk to her,” Hannah says. She gets up and follows Ava out of the cafeteria.

“Sorry about that.” Danielle turns to Chase. “What’s up? Do you want to sit down?”

Chase rearranges the dirty Red Sox cap on his head, putting it back slightly askew. “Well, actually, do you want to go for a walk or something? I kind of wanted to talk.”

“We can talk here.” Danielle motions toward Andrew and me. “They’re harmless.”

“We can go.” Andrew starts to get up from his chair. “You guys can ha—”

“Don’t be silly.” Danielle reaches a hand out to touch his shoulder. Her voice is sweet, but her back is straight, her movements stiff. It strikes me that she knows what’s coming. Her armor is on, laced up tight. Does she want us here for moral support? It feels wrong—Danielle needing anyone’s help for anything.

Chase slumps into the chair next to her.

“Okay.” He seems caught off guard at having an audience. “So this weekend was really fun.” He looks at Andrew for a second. “Nice party, dude.” Andrew nods that special guy-nod back. “It’s just—” he begins again, but Danielle interrupts.

“Here’s the thing. I don’t think you really understand what this weekend was for me. I just don’t like you like that, Chase. No hard feelings.”

“That’s not what I—” he tries to butt in, but she keeps talking.

“I just kind of want to explore other options, and I really don’t want to be locked down with one guy. It’s not a good time. We can be friends though, right?” She pats his hand and looks at him, her eyes big.

Chase darts a quick glance at Andrew, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say, as if he needs help. “What the hell, Danielle?” This is probably the first time a girl has ever spoken to him like this—Chase Brosner, star of the basketball team, the hockey team, and the lacrosse team. He’s been everyone’s crush since sixth grade.

“What?” Danielle asks, bringing a hand up to examine her cuticles.

“You’re being crazy.”

“I’m not being crazy,” she says. “I’m just saying something you don’t like.”

“Fine,” he says, his tone sharp. “We can be friends. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good, I’m so glad you understand.”

“Cool.” He shakes his head and pulls his backpack up over his shoulder, and then lumbers out of the cafeteria. When he’s out of sight, her gaze hardens. Andrew turns to Danielle, looking at her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

“But I thought you liked him.”

“He was clearly about to screw me over, and I’m not going to let him get away with that twice. So I did it first.”