Lying Out Loud(44)

“I’m glad you wrote to him,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Yeah. Me, too…. And I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for you. So, thanks.”


We were silent for a minute, and I was keenly aware of his hand, still wrapped around mine. I was giddy and nervous and eventually, I had to say something.

“Anyway … bad gifts aside, how were your holidays?”

“Fine,” he said. “Quiet. Mom hasn’t really felt like doing much celebrating. Instead, she’s been much more concerned with me spending the break filling out college applications.”

I grimaced. “Ugh. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “My mom went to Stanford and my dad is a Princeton alum, and they expect me to attend a top school as well. At my old school, I pretty much would’ve been a shoo-in wherever I wanted to go. But now that we’ve moved here, I’m a little worried about my chances.” He paused, then quickly added, “That’s not me complaining about Hamilton, by the way. At least, not intentionally.”

“No,” I said. “I know. And it makes sense. Hamilton’s not exactly a prep school.”

“It’s grown on me, though.” He cleared his throat. “So why are you stressed about college?”

“Because I don’t think I can go.”

It was the first time I’d said it out loud, and doing so made it feel so much more real and scary. I’d been ignoring the issue — or trying to — for months, but now, with only a semester left in my senior year, I was running out of places to hide.

“But you’re in AP classes,” he said. “That seems like a lot of stress for someone who isn’t college-bound.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. But, I mean, how could I afford it?”

“Loans?”

“I don’t even live with my parents, and I just lost my shitty part-time job. Who in their right mind would give me a loan?”

“So what are you going to do after graduation?”

“I have no f*cking idea.”

Once again, I was scared I might have said too much. That he’d realize I was a girl from a Podunk town with no future. But, just like in the park a few weeks ago, he didn’t seem fazed by this. He didn’t even let go of my hand. In fact, he gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said. “You’re the first one I’ve admitted that to. I haven’t even told Amy. She still thinks we might be able to go to school together, and I haven’t been able to let her down yet.”

“I won’t say anything,” he said.

“Thank you.”

His hand stayed in mine as we drove through the darkness. And it was still there when we pulled into the Rushes’ driveway ten minutes later.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

He was still holding my hand.

“Thanks for the fun afternoon,” he said.

He was still holding my hand.

“So you had fun playing dress-up, then?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

He was still holding my hand.

It may have been the dead of winter, but it felt like the hottest summer day in that car. Every nerve in my body was on end. Every muscle I possessed was tense. Ryder and I were in a dark car, holding hands, and he was looking at me. Really looking at me. Staring at my eyes.

At my lips.

He had some nice lips himself.

He was about to kiss me. I knew it. I started to lean toward him. My eyes started to slip shut. And then — He pulled his hand free, turned his head, and scooted away from me so fast that I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined everything that had come before.

“So … do you know if Amy has any plans for New Year’s?”

It was like he’d dropped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I was mortified.

And pissed.

I sat back in my seat and used my now empty hand to undo my seat belt. “Um … yeah. I think we already have plans. Sorry.” My voice was cold and brittle.

“Oh. Too bad.” He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, it looked like he was focusing very, very hard on the steering wheel.

“Right. Well, see you at school, Ryder.”

Before he could say another word — not that he would have — I got out of the car and hurried inside, slamming the door behind me.





“We should do something,” Wesley said as he slid into the seat across from me.

“Could you be more specific?” Bianca asked. She was sitting next to him, sipping a Cherry Coke.

It was a couple of days after Christmas, and the four of us — Wesley, Bianca, Amy, and me — were spending an evening at the Nest, a local hangout popular with some of Hamilton’s high school population.

Amy and I definitely weren’t too keen on the place, but Wesley had insisted we go for “old times’ sake.” His old times, not ours. But alas, we’d caved in.

Wesley plucked a french fry from the basket in the middle of the table. “Winter break’s not that much longer. We should do something fun before we have to go back to New York.”

“I thought we were here because you thought it would be fun,” I said.