I Kissed Shara Wheeler(26)

It’s impossible that the party stops, or that sirens start screaming in the distance, or that every drop of Chloe’s blood actually rushes to her face, but it feels like it.

She wrenches herself out from under Dixon’s arm.

“What did you say?”

“What?” he says. He looks around at his friends, who are laughing behind their hands. “You know that’s how everyone knows you, right? ‘Who’s Chloe Green?’ ‘Oh, she’s that girl from LA with the huge boobs.’”

All Chloe manages to say is, “Wow.”

“It’s a compliment! Look, before they came in, everyone just called you a lesbian, so I’d call this an upgrade. You should be proud of them!”

Smith steps in, touching Dixon on the shoulder. “Dixon, man, shut up.”

“Come on, she knows what she looks like! It’s a joke, man!”

“You’re being a jackass—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Chloe says. “I do know what I look like. And one day, when Dixon’s fifty and his second wife has left him because he’s a balding middle school football coach with the personality of a frozen meatloaf, and his kids hate him because he’s never expressed an emotion that’s not impotent rage or horniness, he’s gonna look back on senior year of high school and realize that being prom king was the only thing he ever achieved in his life, and that at his absolute peak, before everything went to shit, that girl from LA with the huge boobs still wouldn’t have slept with him.”

She wraps the jacket around herself and storms out of the yard, snatching up her boots on the way. She throws open the gate and keeps going, away from Dixon and the other guys whooping after her like she’s the hired entertainment.

What was she even doing? Some popular kids were nice to her one time and she forgets everything she’s ever known about the Willowgrove food chain? She’s not Shara. These people mean nothing to her. The whole point of beating Shara is proving she can win in the way that matters. She always knew she’d never win the Willowgrove way.

Infuriatingly, embarrassed tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

“Chloe, wait up—”

Smith freaking Parker and his future-Heisman-winner speed.

She whips around in the middle of the front lawn, boots swinging wildly from her hand by their laces. “You should have let me handle it. It was humiliating enough without you swooping in to save me.”

“I wasn’t—ugh,” Smith groans. “Okay, fine.”

“I don’t understand why you hang out with assholes like him. You clearly know better.”

Smith pulls a face. “Do you like everyone who’s in the spring musical with you? Is there not a single dickhead that you put up with on the Quiz Bowl team because it’s easier to do that than make things weird?”

“That’s different,” Chloe says. “Our dickheads aren’t homophobes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you really think Dixon Wells has never been racist to me? You think I don’t hate his guts? But I was stuck with him on the team for four years, and I’m stuck with him until we graduate, and there’s pretty much nothing I can do to change that. You pick your battles. He’s not worth it.”

She remembers what Ace said earlier about Smith needing more friends. Hanging out with someone is not the same as being friends with them.

“What are you doing?” she asks as Smith takes out his phone.

“I’m texting my sister to come pick me up,” he says. “It’s her turn with the car, and I’m tired.”

She sighs. “You want a ride?”



* * *



In the car, Chloe puts Bleachers on low and Smith leans against the passenger window.

“Can I ask you something?” she says after a few minutes of quiet. Smith turns to her, and their eyes lock for a second, brown on brown. “What do you see in Shara?”

Smith’s expression turns wry. “You for real right now?”

“I’m curious, okay? Indulge me.”

Smith sighs. She senses him close his eyes without having to look at him. “This is gonna sound weird, but she’s kind of like … my best friend.”

Chloe’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that what everyone says about their girlfriend?”

Smith folds his arms, and Chloe sees his bare forearms reflecting a passing streetlight and realizes she’s still wearing his jacket.

“I mean I feel more comfortable around her than I do around almost anyone,” Smith says. “I’m not thinking about what everyone expects me to be. Sometimes we don’t even have to talk. It’s just like, an understanding. But at the same time, there’s always more going on in her head than you can ever guess, and she’ll never tell you exactly what it is. You still have to figure her out.”

“Sounds to me like she’s kind of frigid.”

“Yeah,” Smith says, and he smiles at her. “Because you’re so much fun yourself.”

“I am, actually. I’m a blast.”

“What about you?” Smith asks. He leans his head back on the headrest. “What do you see in her?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chloe says. Her cheeks feel warm. She adjusts the AC dial. “She’s the one who kissed me.”