She Drives Me Crazy(31)

“You didn’t have to do that, Scottie.”

It’s the first time she’s said my actual name, and I feel it like a sudden warmth in my chest. I have to look away from her eyes. “Trust me, I didn’t plan to.”

She clears her throat. “Is she really gonna make you stay late tomorrow?”

“It won’t be too bad. She wants me to deep-clean her whiteboard.”

“I used to love doing that. The smell of that cleaning spray.”

We fall silent. The air is crisp, cold, clean. The marquee across the way reads HAPPY WANKSGIVING.

“What would I have to do at Charlotte’s?” Irene asks.

I laugh through my nose. “Are you asking because I proved myself to you, or because her nasty note said you couldn’t come?”

Her mouth twitches. “Both.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you’re not?”

I roll my eyes. “We wouldn’t be at Charlotte’s long. We’d just ‘make an appearance,’ hang with our friends, make sure Tally got a good look.”

Irene shifts her duffel bag, watching me. “You really think she’s worth all this effort?”

I chew my bottom lip. “I know it’s petty.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, but not like she’s judging me. There’s a silence until she speaks again. I can tell by her expression that she’s going to relent. “If we get there and I say we need to leave, we leave. No questions asked.”

“Deal.” I stick out my hand for her to shake.

She quirks an eyebrow. We clasp hands for a brief, firm moment. It’s weird that her hands are starting to feel familiar.

“See you tomorrow, asshole,” she says, turning on the spot.

“I’ll send you a love letter from detention,” I call after her.





9


The start of Thanksgiving break means no school but extra basketball practice. I don’t mind; I’m so amped at the prospect of destroying Candlehawk in a few weeks—especially after Tally sees me with Irene this weekend—that I practice harder than ever, getting to the gym earlier and staying later than my teammates.

Daphne and I spend our downtime in the beginning of the week watching movies. Thora joins us as often as she can, but The Chimney is busier than usual with the holiday, so she’s swamped with shifts. On one of the mornings she has off, the three of us drive to the Chuck Munny to catch a double feature of Clueless and Never Been Kissed. When we leave the theater, I have a text from Irene.

Irene Abraham: Planning my outfit for the party. Wearing red. Do not match me.



I can’t help but laugh.

On Thanksgiving Day, we feast on our usual turkey, stuffing, and cranberries. Thora brings leftover mead from the restaurant and my parents actually let me try some. Daphne sulks and takes extra helpings of pumpkin pie.

“This blows,” Daphne says, stabbing her fork into her pie.

“Don’t say that word,” Mom says.

Thora takes advantage of the distraction to sneak bits of turkey to Pickles and BooBoo. Dad totally notices but pretends not to. After we finish the dishes, we flop on the couches and watch a quiet show about Alaskan fishermen. It’s perfect.

“Scottie, we’ve been meaning to tell you,” Dad says during a commercial. “We’re so proud of you for moving on from Tally. You’re giving your all to basketball and your new relationship. It’s a real lesson in resilience.”

Mom strokes my hair back from my forehead. “We always knew you’d bounce back.”

I make a joke to deflect their praise. I’m careful not to catch my sisters’ eyes; they’d see right through me. I feel a twitch of shame knowing that I’m going to be dangling my fake relationship over Tally on Saturday night, but I shut that feeling down. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.



* * *



If you had told me a month ago that I’d be rolling into Charlotte Pascal’s party with a crew comprised of Irene, Honey-Belle, and Danielle, I would have laughed in your face.

And yet here we are.

“You owe me,” Irene says as we traipse up the front walk. She whispers it close to my ear so Honey-Belle won’t hear. Part of me wishes she would just tell her about our arrangement.

“Owe you?” I ask with a demure smile. “Hardly. Did you forget you’re doing this because I impressed you with my big, chivalrous, note-stealing gesture?”

“Yeah, so gallant,” she says dryly.

Charlotte’s house is wild when we walk in. There are people everywhere with Solo cups, making noise and posing for pictures. Gunther and Kevin stand against the foyer wall, watching everyone like they’re not sure what to do with themselves. They’re both dressed up—at least, their version of dressing up. Gunther is wearing his best graphic tee and Kevin has a military-style jacket over his usual hoodie.

“We just came from dinner,” Kevin says, hugging us hello. He squeezes Danielle around the middle and she goes exceptionally quiet. “Partridge Pizza.”

“Brought some leftovers if you want them,” Gunther says, passing a box toward us. “They have the best garlic sticks.”

“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the box, but Kevin holds up his hand.