The Best Laid Plans(7)

So we need to make the next few months count. All that’s left are the moments—the big memories we’ll look back on, the ones that will matter when we talk about high school twenty years from now. When school ends in June, the three of us have a plan to blast “Free Bird” from Andrew’s truck speakers and point our middle fingers to the sky as we zoom out of the parking lot—one final fuck you to everyone and everything else. I already have it planned out in my head, can picture the rest of the school year like the frames of a movie.

“Next year everything will finally be different,” Hannah says. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” Hannah is Korean—one of only three Asian kids in the entire school—and I know it’s part of the reason she’s excited to move to New York. Her parents actually met at NYU and then moved here from the city when she was five, and she’s been talking about going back ever since, living in some bohemian artist loft. I mean, I get it. New York is vibrant and exciting and diverse. Vermont is one big bowl of crunchy white granola.

“Prescott is the most depressing place on Earth,” I say. “But I’m glad you’re stuck here with me.”

“I’m so happy you were born, birthday girl,” Hannah says. “And I’m happy Andrew exists too. He’s one of the good ones. He gave us this room.”

I laugh. “I’ve just been using him for his bed this whole time.”

“I actually don’t think Andrew would mind you using him for his bed,” Hannah says, waggling her eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting.” I make a fake gagging noise like I’m in kindergarten. Hannah has been joking about Andrew and me getting together since middle school, but it’s never going to happen.

“You know”—Hannah frowns—“I really thought Chase was a good guy too. I bet he didn’t mean to tell everyone about Danielle. You know how Ryder is. He probably punched it out of him or something.”

I’m not sure if she actually believes what she’s saying or if she’s only trying to convince herself. Hannah has always tried to see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it.

I pull back Andrew’s sheets and climb under them, not bothering to change. Hannah tucks herself in under her blanket. We lie still for a few seconds, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and then I hear Hannah’s voice, soft and muffled.

“It kinda reminds me of Charlie.”

I roll over to face her, propping my chin up on my hand. Cheating-Asshole-Charlie, as he’s more commonly called, broke up with Hannah mere days after they first slept together. Turns out he was also sleeping with Julie Spencer the whole time. I know being in Andrew’s room sometimes makes Hannah think about Charlie because this is where we spent the night after they broke up. Andrew looked up how to play all the best power breakup songs on his guitar, and we scream-sang along to them off-pitch and at the top of our lungs. You’re a Gryffindor and he’s a Squib, Andrew told her. You remember that.

He’s not a Squib, Hannah said. He’s a fucking Death Eater.

“What Chase did is bad, but it’s not the same,” I say now, needing to believe it for Danielle’s sake. “She’ll get over it. She’ll be okay because she doesn’t . . .” I trail off, but Hannah finishes the sentence for me.

“. . . love him?”

“Yeah.”

“Sex and love are supposed to go together,” she says. “But anyone who falls in love is screwed.” She reaches up to switch off the light. “Falling in love with a high school boy is the single stupidest thing you can do.”

I wake up a little later when I feel a weight press down on the mattress beside me. Turning toward it, I crack open an eye and see Andrew sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair sticking up in all directions. He’s got my purse in his hand, and when he sees me he drops it, the contents spilling out at his feet.

“Sorry,” he says. “I tripped on it.” He reaches down to stuff everything back in, then lies down next to me.

“What time is it?” I whisper, my voice hoarse from sleep. He glances at his phone, the light from the screen bright in the dark room.

“Four thirty.”

“Where’s Cecilia?”

“Basement. We were trying to sleep on the couch down there, but there wasn’t enough space. I kept sliding onto the floor. I bruised my elbow.” He holds it out for me to see.

“So you just left her?”

“It’s your birthday,” he says, like this is an explanation.

“You’re an asshole.”

“No way.” He slings a heavy arm over me. “I’m the best.”

“No, get off.” I roll away from him so that I’m practically falling off the other side of the bed. There’s a noise from the couch and Hannah turns away from us, snuggling deeper into the cushions.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” Andrew says loudly, slinging his arm back over me.

“No. You’ve got Cecilia all over you!”

“We showered, remember? I’m clean as a whistle.” He lets out a soft whistle, as if this somehow proves his point. I sigh but let him keep his arm on me, too tired to give any real protest. His phone buzzes and he lifts it back off the pillow, the light of the screen blinding us both when he clicks it on.