If I'm Being Honest(51)

Brendan’s looking at his phone, ignoring everything going on around him, or trying. He pockets his phone and turns to survey the crowd disinterestedly. I wait, wondering what he’s looking for.

His eyes find mine, and a slight smile lifts the corners of his mouth. He glances down, and a moment later, I feel my phone vibrate.

    Hi.



I roll my eyes very obviously. Fighting the pleased flush rising in my cheeks, I reply.

    Hi.



The band erupts into the fight song, which no one knows, and Brendan faces front. I notice Grant playing trumpet in the second row. The soccer coach walks up to the podium, and conversations change into whispers.

“Ugh,” Paige groans next to me. “I do everything I can to escape the inanity of campus athletics, and yet I get pulled out of my favorite class to witness this. Sports are the worst. No offense.”

The cheerleaders start a “Go Beaumont” chant, and I join in, pointedly cheering in Paige’s ear, earning a scowl. “Get over yourself,” I reprimand her jokingly. “Sports are fun.”

Paige shakes her head, unable to hide the grin behind her grimace. “Sometimes I don’t understand how you can be friends with me and my brother,” she says.

“I question it, too, sometimes,” I reply, and Paige punches me in the shoulder.

The coach leaves the podium, and the captain replaces him. I half listen to him hype the team’s prospects for the season until he brings up their impressive new talent, and the crowd begins a new cheer. “Rich-mond.” They’re chanting Andrew’s name, which he evidently notices, looking surprised if not entirely displeased.

“Go Andrew!” I hear next to me. I round on Paige, my eyebrows flying up. She doesn’t meet my incredulous gaze, her eyes fixed on Andrew and written with feelings I can’t decipher. I’ve never seen this side of Paige before, this eager, un-ironic enthusiasm.

“Andrew told me you and I should go to one of his games,” I say, watching her carefully.

Her eyes don’t leave Andrew. “What? Oh, uh, yeah,” she says distractedly. She turns to me, her expression shifting. She studies me with an uncomfortable seriousness. “I know you like him, Bright,” she says. “I respect you, and I wouldn’t want to—” She cuts herself off, her cheeks heating, and a knot forms in my stomach. Paige’s feelings are obvious.

“Did you just say you respect me?” I ask, wanting to steer this conversation onto safer subjects. But instead of punching me in the arm again, Paige drops her eyes.

“I’m not an idiot, Bright,” she says. “I know you’re trying to repair things with Andrew, and I know he’d probably be impressed by you fixing things with people like me. But tell me one thing,” she continues. “You’re not just being my friend, being Brendan’s friend, to win over Andrew, right?”

I can hear her hesitation, her fear. The knot in my stomach clenches. Paige has figured it out. Of course she has. She saw right through me when I botched her apology in English. I should have guessed she’d know I had a purpose in righting my wrongs toward her and her brother.

I don’t want her to think our friendship is only for Andrew, though.

The thought hits me with unexpected force. This all began with Andrew . . . but I’m no longer only doing it for Andrew. I don’t want Paige to doubt whether I genuinely like her, or her brother, because truthfully, we are friends, however unimaginable the thought would’ve been to me months ago.

“I like being your friend. And Brendan’s,” I say carefully. “Whatever happens with Andrew, that won’t change. I promise.” It’s the honest truth, even though it’s not a direct answer to her question.

Paige nods, her expression guarded, no doubt understanding what I didn’t say. Whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t press it. “I don’t hate being your friend, either,” she informs me, and I know we’re okay, or the weird kind of okay I’ve found with Paige over the weeks.

“Hey, Paige.” Andrew’s voice cuts between us. “Lunch?” he asks.

I turn, yanked from the conversation—which I’m realizing I was focused on enough not to notice that the pep rally is over. Everyone’s getting up, heaving backpacks and Kate Spade bags onto their shoulders. The rest of the soccer team is still on the court. Andrew must have leapt up two rows of bleachers to reach us this fast.

Or rather, to reach Paige. His eyes find me and flicker with surprise.

“Oh, hey, Cameron,” he says stumblingly. “You want to come, too?”

It’s an afterthought. I hear the reservation in his voice. I’ve been on the inviting end of enough insincere lunch plans to recognize he’s reluctant to have me join him and Paige. Uncomfortable, even.

Which . . . bothers me, but it’s not crushing.

I stand, waving off the offer. “You guys go,” I say. “I’m going to hang with Morgan. Then I might drop in on Brendan.”

“You sure? You’re welcome to come,” Paige replies, and at the same time, Andrew says, “You’re having lunch with Brendan now?” He sounds slightly . . . jealous?

I don’t give myself the chance to dwell on it. “I’m good,” I say to Paige, then turn to Andrew. “From time to time. Turns out I kind of like video games.” His eyebrows twitch up. “Want to run again on Monday?” I continue evenly.