I figured Thayer needed a little talking-to.
So yesterday, between fifth and sixth periods, I pulled him aside at my locker. This was the first time we’d really talked in public, and Thayer looked uncomfortable, like he was the one who’d lose popularity points if he was seen talking to me. “What’s up with the radio silence?” I asked in a quiet voice as kids streamed past us. “Six hours between notes is not acceptable.”
Thayer’s brow furrowed. “Yesterday? I was busy,” he said after a moment.
“Too busy to text ‘I’m busy’?”
He shifted on his feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, where were you?” I pasted a smile on my face so everyone passing would think we were just having a silly, on-the-surface conversation. “Were you with Laurel?”
Thayer tilted his chin. “No, I wasn’t, but would it be so bad if I was with Laurel?”
I turned away, steeling my jaw. Yeah, I wanted to tell him. His friendship with Laurel annoyed the hell out of me. I knew I was the prettier sister, the one he wanted, but still. As hard as it was for me to admit, I was kind of jealous.
Thayer sighed. “You should be nicer to Laurel, Sutton. She looks up to you.”
“Me, nicer to her?” Rage boiled in my blood. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, but . . . forget it.” Thayer suddenly looked exasperated. He put his hands on his hips. “And you know, I thought you weren’t that kind of girl.”
“What type?”
“The obsessive type. The type that needs to know where I am at all times.”
All sound fell away. No one calls me obsessive. And seriously, who was Thayer to question me? He was supposed to say he was sorry, he’d text sooner, he’d do anything to keep me in his life. I didn’t need this crap.
I barked out an ugly-sounding laugh. “Look who’s calling who obsessive.” An evil smile spread across my face. “Mads told me about the picture you keep of me in your bedroom. My eighth-grade class portrait? How long have you been carrying that around?”
Honestly, I don’t know what made me blurt that out—and so loudly. People stopped in the hall, stared at Thayer, and started to snicker. Guys nudged each other and rolled their eyes. Girls made sad faces at Thayer, pitying him. It was a scene that had been played out many, many times before: Sutton Mercer putting a boy with a puppy-dog crush on her in his place. Thayer was just another one of my victims.
Thayer’s cheeks bloomed strawberry red. His eyes narrowed with anger, but there was a look of hurt on his face, too. Without another word, he wheeled around and stormed down the hall. I brushed my hair over my shoulder and turned back to my locker, pretending to be unruffled, but inside, my heart was pounding. Thayer and I had never fought before. Was he actually mad?
We haven’t spoken since then, either—no good-night texts, no smiley-face IMs, not even a “like” on Facebook. Now there’s a nagging pit in my stomach that I can’t shake.
Laurel stares at me, expecting me to answer her question. She might not know what my fight with Thayer was about, but sometimes I wonder if she suspects something is going on between us. Thayer is her best friend, after all—could he really keep that from her?
There are footsteps in the hall, and our father walks into the kitchen. “Dad!” Laurel lunges toward him. “I really need Thayer’s help to study for Spanish, but Sutton won’t drive me even though she’s going to see Mads! Tell her it’s not fair!”
Dad gives me a look. “You should take her, Sutton. What’s the big deal?”
I squeeze my orange juice hard, wanting to break the glass. Of course he takes her side. Doesn’t ask me what’s going on in my life, doesn’t ask me why I might not want to—nope, it’s whatever Laurel wants, Laurel gets.
Perfect Laurel. Straight-A Laurel. Never-gets-in-trouble Laurel. Basically, in my parents’ eyes, the complete opposite of me. Sometimes I wonder if my parents would have even adopted me if they’d had Laurel first. I mean, she and my parents share actual blood. How can I compete with that?
“Fine,” I grumble, slamming my glass on the counter. “But give me twenty minutes, okay?”
“Thank you!” Laurel trills.
I storm out of the room without answering, hating that she’s won again. But at least I get twenty minutes. And I’m going to use it wisely. With some distance, my fight with Thayer feels petty and ridiculous. I shouldn’t have hauled out that eighth-grade-photo reference. Then again, he also shouldn’t have called me obsessive.