I push through pockets of people, making my way through the house. The kitchen is where the crowd is thickest, kids milling around an overflowing keg, draped across the punch-stained kitchen table, and perched, legs swinging, on the limestone countertop. Garrett works the pump for a throng of beefy jocks, though he doesn’t hold a cup of beer himself. I debate getting his attention to let him know that Charlotte’s arrived, but I quickly decide against it. He might think I deliberately sought him out.
Then a wave of Polo cologne almost knocks me on my butt. “Hey, Sutton, looking good,” says a voice, and a freckled, green-eyed face pops up into my field of view. It’s Aidan Grove, my five-second summer crush. Now he’s looking at me eagerly, like tonight might be the night for us. But he’s not who I’m here for.
“Hey, Aidan,” I say distractedly, glancing over his shoulder into the backyard. Where is that messy dark hair, those twinkling hazel eyes? What if Thayer decides not to come? I think of the conversation we had in the middle of the night. Are you going to Nisha’s? Probably. Why, do you want me to go?
“So how’s your summer been?” Aidan asks. “Looking forward to going back to Hollier?”
“Uh, sure,” I say, my eyes still on the crowd. Then I have an epiphany: Maybe Thayer is running late, later than me. Which is infuriating, because I timed our arrival for maximum impact, but maybe Thayer knows how to beat me at my own game.
I reach into my bag and pull out my cell. Maybe he texted. But I can see right away that my home screen wallpaper is completely undisturbed. A recent snapshot of Charlotte, Madeline, and me greets me brightly, unmarred by a text bubble or missed call notification.
“How’s your tennis game this year?” Aidan asks.
I look up, astonished he’s still standing there. “Uh, you know.”
“You want a beer?”
I barely mumble a response. My insides feel like they’re on fire. I have never been so completely confounded by a member of the opposite sex. I have never not been the one to call the shots. Whatever’s going on with Thayer, it’s totally unfamiliar and new.
And honestly? It’s kind of thrilling.
My excitement must show on my face, because Aidan’s mouth turns up at the corners. “I’ll get you a beer, then!” he says emphatically. “Let’s party!”
I place a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. “Uh, on second thought, I’m cool. I think I see Madeline outside,” I say, nodding toward the back door. “I have to ask her about something.”
He frowns. “Isn’t that Madeline right there?”
He points behind me, and lo and behold, there’s Madeline talking to Finn Hadley, the very idiot that ditched her for the au pair earlier this summer. If I weren’t so preoccupied, I’d march over there and give her a stern talking-to.
I turn back to Aidan. “Um, I just need …” I offer him an apologetic smile and push past him to the door. Who cares if I don’t have a good excuse? Aidan is history.
There are fewer kids outside, and the sound of crickets and the dull buzz of conversation meld together in a pleasant hum. The night air is cool, and the damp, dewy grass tickles at my toes through my strappy wedge sandals. I inhale the scent of the warm summer evening, flavored by the scent of woodsmoke a few houses down.
And then, from across the lawn, I see a rustling of the hedges as the gate from the front drive swings open. A boy steps through and onto the back patio. My breath catches in my throat. Thayer.
My heart hammers as he saunters through the gate, his thick hair still damp from a shower. One curl falls messily across his forehead. He wears a short-sleeved button-down that hangs perfectly on his solid frame and jeans that outline his muscular legs.
“Thayer,” I call out, raising one hand to wave. But then, when my gaze locks on the figure behind him, I lower my hand immediately. The girl shuts the latch of the wooden gate and trots forward to take Thayer’s hand. Her grasp is possessive and showy. He’s mine, it says. All mine.
I take a big step back, hoping, praying, he hasn’t heard me call his name. And as the two of them step into the light, I get a good look at that blond ponytail, that compact, trim-from-tennis frame, and the pair of James jeans she only bought because I had them. And my stomach sinks to my feet.
The girl holding on to Thayer for dear life is my sister. Laurel.
10
TURNABOUT IS FAIR PLAY
“Thayer! Hey, man!”