The Creeping

“So what if anyone saw us together? Us being seniors is the point. Aren’t we a little old for all this peasant stuff? Isn’t being friends with whoever you want the point of being popular?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air.

Zoey’s eyelids drop like hoods, making crescent moons of her eyeballs. That’s the surest way to tell that you’re in for it with Zoey. She brakes on the side of the road where we usually park to hike to the cove. She twists the keys from the ignition and turns to face me, slow and mechanical. “Please. Stop. Don’t ruin our last year of high school. If you want to screw losers in college, it’s all you, but can you just give me the senior year we’ve been working for? This is our time.” She leans forward, cupping my face with her hands. “This is our year to be the best at everything. The last year we’ll be together before college. Please.”

Her pleading makes me doubly guilty. Zoey’s been a good friend. No, better than that. The best. “I’m not screwing anyone. He’s only helping me figure this whole Jeanie thing out, ’kay? We’re friends.”

“That’s all? You swear?” she whines. She pouts and makes her eyes wide. I dread this expression of hers almost as much as I do the last. It makes her look like a frightened child. For some reason it works on most people. Especially guys. Kind of pervy, if you think about it.

I open my mouth to answer. I have no idea what I’m going to tell her, but by the grace of a shooting star or a unicorn or whatever saved my butt I never get the chance to say anything, because someone’s blaring horn interrupts us. It’s like a shade snaps down on Zoey’s face. She’s sad one second and then all at once has a flirty smirk painted on her mouth. Michaela, Cole, and four guys pile out of Cole’s SUV, whooping and cheering that they’ve arrived. Taylor is obviously one of them. My surprise.

“Ste-lor is back on.” Zoey winks at me. “Get it? Stella and Taylor: Ste-lor.” When I don’t smile, she rolls her eyes. “Kidding! As if I’d be that stale. Laugh much?” She hops straight from the car into the arms of one of Taylor’s lacrosse minions, either Drew or Dean, I can’t tell which. It gives me the thirty seconds I need to text Sam, asking him if he’s with Daniel and telling him I’ll call later.

“Hey, babe,” Taylor says, throwing the car door open so I almost fall out from leaning on it. He’s wearing blue board shorts that match his eyes perfectly—definitely no accident—and is shirtless.

“Hey.” I steady myself and grab my things, shoving the cell into the pocket of my jean shorts. Suddenly, I wish I was wearing more than just my white halter bikini top. His gaze flicks over me and he grins, practically licking his lips. Usually, I like this kind of attention; today it makes me queasy.

“I called you last night,” he says.

“Yeah, I saw. You didn’t leave a message.”

“We were all headed to Townsend’s. His parents are in Chicago. Total rager. We had a sick beer pong tournament. Too bad you missed it.” I shrug in response and try to focus on the gap between his two front teeth rather than his defined abs. I imagine all the spinach or broccoli that could wedge itself in there. His mouth moves to add something else dazzling, when someone pinches the crook of my elbow hard.

I turn, ready to lay into one of the Ds. Caleb, Zoey’s brother, stands there, smiling a Cheshire cat’s grin at me.

“Oh my God, why didn’t you text you were coming home?” I squeal, throwing my arms around his neck.

“I just drove up last night,” he says, squeezing me. “Are you okay?”

He pulls back and studies me. He definitely isn’t checking me out; this is Caleb. Caleb, who’s the closest thing to a brother I have; who taught me how to ride a two-wheeler; who beat up Mike Walt in the sixth grade when he called me an abomination for surviving what I did; and who saved my life in Chicago last winter, by springing me from the mind-sucking awkwardness of Mom giving me the silent treatment and her husband drilling me on Dad details. I slept in Caleb’s dorm room from the day after Christmas to New Year’s Day, when my flight left for Minneapolis. Mom never even called looking for me or told Dad I was MIA. I guess she felt the unscalable wall between us as much as I did and figured I’d booked it home.

Caleb bobs his head finally. “You could look a lot worse for what you’re going through.”

“Gee, thanks,” I laugh, punching his arm softly. “But really, why aren’t you in Chicago? You had that internship thingy.”

He claps a hand on my bare shoulder. “Sometimes things don’t work out, doll.” He does an old-timey newscaster voice. When they were kids, Zoey and Caleb treated falling into weird accents as an art form. Zoey only relapses when we’re alone and she’s trying to get out of trouble by being cute. “It fell through, and I had a few weeks to kill. And then I saw the news. I needed to be here with you guys.” Half his mouth smiles sadly. I hear Taylor sniff from over my shoulder.