“I mean. I think we heard enough. It’s between them.”
“You mean now that we’ve heard all the good stuff?”
“No.” I looked away sheepishly. “Well. Maybe a little. But it’s personal. We should … leave it to them.”
“Then why’d we come down here?”
The kiss upstairs was meant to be a diversion. And our first ones were for research, and our second ones were a mistake. I couldn’t keep up. What if all our kisses were like that? What if we just went on kissing for oddball reasons, like because a Kiss Cam is pointed at us at a sporting event, or to generate warmth when we’re snowed in with no power—what if we just trope-kissed for the rest of our lives?
“Wanted to see your room,” I said after a moment.
“What do you think?”
“It’s no kitchen window. But it’s pretty nice.”
A smile flickered across his face, and then it was quiet.
“Look, Soph—” He paused, dropped his gaze to the ground, took a deep breath. “I know I’ve messed everything up between us. And I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“I’m still mad at you.”
He nodded. “That’s fair.”
“You left here without leaving a note.”
He looked up, eyes shining. “I could leave you one now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Sophie. I will be staying in Acadia for the foreseeable future. I regret to inform you that you’re stuck with me.” He swallowed. “And that I love you.”
It was quiet.
“You didn’t sign it,” I said. “Where are my fondest wishes?”
August smiled, tentatively. “Fondest—”
I was already kissing him.
fifty-four
I lost track of what was happening upstairs, couldn’t tell when Heather went back outside, but eventually two sets of footsteps were moving across the length of the ceiling.
We broke apart, August blinking at me. “Is she leaving?”
I sat up. “I have to—” I climbed out of bed, slipped on my shoes. “Sorry, I have to talk to her. Just—quick, I’ll be back—”
And I dashed upstairs.
Heather was in the living room when I got up there, shutting the door.
“Is she—”
“Hurry,” she said, swinging the door back open.
“Megan!” I called out the front. She was at the end of the driveway. A large black SUV was parked across the street. A woman was sitting in the driver’s seat, probably Megan’s age or a little younger, scrolling through her phone, looking bored.
I caught up to Megan, my flip-flops slapping against the front path.
“Sorry,” I said when I reached her. She looked a little bewildered, like she had when I originally answered the door. “I just wanted to …”
It felt stupid, in person. It felt like asking so much, but somehow at the same time, embarrassingly little? But I had to. I owed it to the band. I took a deep breath and it came out fast:
“The Marching Pride of Acadia is going to the Rose Parade this year and we were wondering if you would be willing to appear at the fall festival this year as part of a fundraising concert?”
“Uh.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Uh, yeah, I saw—I read something about that. My publicist showed me a … Let me … I’ll give you my manager’s info, you can contact her about it.”
I didn’t have my phone, or pen and paper, but I could run back inside, I’d be right back—
“I’ll text Heather, how about that?” she said, crossing around to the passenger’s side of the SUV. The woman in the driver’s seat looked up, set her phone aside.
“That would be great. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She nodded, and got into the car.
* * *
August and Heather were sitting in the living room when I went back into the house. The TV was on, playing softly.
I sank down on the couch next to August, and we all pretended to watch whatever show this was for a few moments. At least, I was pretending. I was waiting for Heather to say something—anything—but she just sat looking at the screen, expression unreadable.
I wanted to hold August’s hand, but I felt embarrassed in front of Heather. Which was silly, seeing as she had sent us downstairs with full knowledge of what would probably happen down there.
“Why’d she come back now?” August asked finally.
“They told her someone got hurt at her house,” Heather said. “She got into Springfield a day early for the state fair, thought she’d come out and have kind of a last look at the place, I guess. Said they’ll probably knock the house down, try to sell the land.”
“Did you tell her it was me?” August said.
“I kept that part to myself,” she replied with a wry smile.
It was quiet, until I looked over at Heather. “She said she’d text you her publicist’s info, so we can arrange the fall festival stuff.”
Heather nodded. “I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”
* * *
What Heather didn’t tell us then, and August told me later, was that Megan had brought Heather a huge check. Bigger than last time. She offered her the land as well, the house if she wanted it.
“What would I want with that house?” Heather had told August and Kyle. “We’d have to fix the August-shaped hole in the floor.”
She didn’t rip up the check, though. She put it in one of the kitchen cabinets. August said he could hear footsteps going in and out of the kitchen all night.
fifty-five
“I think she probably won’t come back,” I said on one of our drives after work, Dash behind the wheel. We had demolished some sandwiches from the deli section. I had half a bottle of soda left, but I was more preoccupied with twisting and untwisting the cap than I was with drinking. “Megan. I think she’s probably not going to do the show.”
I had checked in with Heather a few times, but she hadn’t heard anything from Megan. She didn’t seem too surprised.
“I really thought I could do it.” I fumbled with the cap. “Maybe that’s my problem.”
“What?”
“That I think I can make something happen just by wanting it enough. Objectively, it’s like … pretty stupid and naive.” August didn’t want his mom to go to prison but that didn’t keep it from happening. Brit wanted to beat Tanner Barnes but it didn’t make her feel any better.
“Maybe,” Dash said. “But it’s also kind of good, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“It’s probably better than thinking that nothing you feel or do can ever make a difference, right? I’d rather believe in something.”
“I guess.”
It was quiet for a bit, until: “That’s why I didn’t tell Brit,” Dash said.
“Tell her what?”
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “That whole thing with Tanner.”
He didn’t go on, but I knew he would, so I didn’t prompt him.
“Luke wasn’t drugged,” Dash said eventually. “It wasn’t something done to him. He took that shit on purpose, with Tanner and the rest of them.”
“How do you know?” I straightened up in my seat, looked over at Dash even though I knew he wouldn’t take his eyes off the road to look back. “The other guys on the team—they would lie. They’d make stuff up to make sure they don’t get in trouble.”
“He told me. Once, at their house, when I went to drop Brit off. Got her settled in, and he was there in the living room. He was drunk. Don’t think he would’ve told me otherwise.” A pause. “We shouldn’t tell her, I figured. Probably best to let him tell her. Or to let her believe what she believes. Maybe it’s better that way, sometimes.”
I nodded.
fifty-six
Mrs. Benson from the booster club came through my line at Safeway a few days later. The booster club was set to meet the week before school started, to review the summer’s efforts and get a start on fall’s fundraising agenda.
“Do you think we’re still really far off from our target?” I said, ringing up her four, five, six boxes of instant oatmeal.
“Mm.” Mrs. Benson fussed with her wallet, looking for her card. “We’ll be okay.” She located it, stuck it in the reader. “We actually—well, I probably should keep it under wraps, but you’re head of the student group, so you get the inside scoop.” She leaned in, eyes shining. “We got an anonymous donor who agreed to cover whatever we can’t raise ourselves by the end of November.”
My heart leaped. “So we’ll be funded no matter what?”
She smiled. “You got it.”
* * *
“Who knew?” Brit said after work. We were sitting around Flora’s backyard with August. “Your Megan Pleasant scheme actually worked.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s never going to come back here, but this way, she did her part for her town and can feel good about herself.” Brit looked over. “I mean, obviously. Who else can give money like that?”
I glanced at August.
* * *
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heather said when we asked.
August shook his head. “I know you said you don’t care about the money but you shouldn’t do this, you should save it for Cady and Harper—”