“Yeah, that kind of shit stresses me out. Probably because cash has been tight in my house ever since I was a kid.”
Once again, guilt lodges in my throat, making my voice come out hoarse. “Seriously, dude. I did a crappy thing last night. And it’s not that I think you can’t pay your debts. It’s just that I shouldn’t have made that bet in the first place.” I forcibly grab his hand and smack the bills into his palm. “Take it. It’s not charity. It’s me promising to never again throw you under the bus to save my own hide. I’ll deal with Felicity another way. If you don’t take it, I’m going to follow your ass around and shove the cash in your pocket at inconvenient times. I might even buy you a car and park it in the lot outside with a big-ass bow on top. I can be real annoying.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” he drawls.
“So you’ll take it?”
After a long moment, he nods. “All right.” Gratitude and a tinge of respect line his voice. “I’m glad you told me the truth. I really didn’t want to have to hate you.”
I laugh. “You wouldn’t have been able to hate me, anyway. Nobody can.”
Bran and I bump fists and then head out to the practice field.
* * *
Next up is Hartley. As I make my way to first period, I finger the chain in my pocket. There’s a fancy velvet box that goes with it, but I figured that would be overkill.
“Hey, bestie.” I catch up to Hartley before she can enter the classroom.
She steps away from the doorway to let a few other students in. “What’s up?”
“I made up with Bran.”
“Did you?” She brushes a strand of hair away from her face. My fingers itch to do it for her.
“He can’t resist my charm,” I tease.
“No one can,” she replies with a grin. “Not even me, obviously.”
A broad smile breaks across my own face. I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace. “Anyway, since I’m apologizing, I want to give you this.”
Her eyes widen as I dangle the necklace in front of her. She stares at it for a moment and then reluctantly brushes a finger across the delicate chain. “I can’t accept this.”
“I got it from Candy Machine,” I tell her. “So either you take it or I’m going to throw it away.”
“A candy machine?” she asks. Her fingertips linger on the chain, tracing it down to cradle one of the three little gold charms. She wants it, but for once in my life, I don’t press her. She likes to make her own decision and in her own time.
“Yup.” I grab her palm and drop the chain in it. “Here. It’s yours to do whatever you want with. If you don’t want it, toss it.”
And then I make myself walk into the classroom without another word.
* * *
The rest of the day flies by. Much to my relief, Felicity steers clear of me, even at lunch. She sits with her headband-wearing girlfriends, looking like a ’50s girl band, while I joke around with my own friends.
In Calc, I sit between Ella and Hartley, but we don’t get a chance to talk much because Ms. Mann springs a pop quiz on us. To my uneasiness, she watches me for most of the period with an unhappy look.
I’m not the only one who notices. At one point, Hartley pokes me in the ribs and whispers, “What’d you do now?”
“Nothing,” I whisper back. I haven’t had any contact with Ms. Mann since I, well, had contact with Ms. Mann.
“Mr. Royal, Ms. Wright,” comes the sharp voice of our teacher. “Less talking and more solving, please.” She’s just asked everyone to solve questions one through five in the textbook.
Hartley immediately bends her head to resume the task. I’ve already solved all five equations, so I scribble something else in my notebook. I tear off the corner of the page, wait until Ms. Mann is looking away, and slide the note onto Hartley’s desk. I’d written: Coming to the game Friday night?
She stiffens for a beat, looks to the front of the room, and then unfolds the note.
After she reads it, she picks up her pencil, writes something, and slides the paper back.
Maybe, is her response.
I scribble again and pass the note. Maybe?? We’re best friends! I need support tonight. Best friends support each other.
She passes it back. I might have to work Friday. I told one of the other waitresses I can cover for her if she needs me.
The note passes between us several more times.
OK. But you don’t know for sure if you’re working?
Not yet. I’ll find out the day of.
OK. Let me know. If you’re not working, you’re coming to the game! OR ELSE.
Hartley snickers softly, but not softly enough. Ms. Mann’s sharp gaze once again lands in our vicinity.
“Eyes on your own work, Ms. Wright.”
Hartley flushes at the implication that she’s been cheating. She discreetly tucks our note under her notebook and gets back to work.
The moment the bell rings, I shove my books into my backpack and get to my feet.
“Mr. Royal, a moment, please.”
Crap. “See you at lunch?” I say to the girls.
Ella nods and pats me on the arm, while Hartley shoots a wary look between me and Ms. Mann. Right. Hartley was outside the door that day, which frickin’ blows, because the last thing I want is to remind her of that. She already thinks I’m a dog.
“Mr. Royal,” Ms. Mann commands.
Gritting my teeth, I approach her desk. “Ms. Mann,” I mock.
She glances toward the doorway to make sure it’s empty but doesn’t make a move to get up and close the door. I guess she wants to eliminate temptation.
When her gaze returns to mine, her expression is cloudy with frustration and her voice is barely above a whisper. “Whatever you’re saying to people, you need to stop.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“Dammit, Easton!” She gasps at her own raised voice, swallows nervously, and looks at the door again. Then she’s back to whispering. “You told someone about what happened between us.”
That gives me pause. I didn’t tell a damn soul about—no, wait. Ella knows. So do Hartley and Reed. And Pash definitely suspects.
“Another teacher insinuated about it in the faculty lounge this morning.” Panic creeps into her eyes. “If this gets back to Headmaster Beringer, I’ll be fired!”
I can’t stop a sarcastic retort. “Don’t you think you shoulda thought of that before you fooled around with me in this classroom?” I wave my hand around the empty space.
Her pretty face collapses. She looks like I just slapped her, and even though a rush of guilt floods my stomach, I try to tamp it down. Why can’t people take responsibility for their actions? I knew what we were doing was wrong when we did it. I own that. She needs to own it, too. The woman made it clear from the first minute I stepped into her classroom that she wanted to take me for a ride.
We didn’t even do that much.
I try to reassure her. “Look, relax. Nobody saw us, and there’s absolutely no proof that anything happened. If Beringer questions us, we just deny it.”
Ms. Mann bites her lip. “We deny it…”
“Yes.” My tone is firm. “It never happened, okay?”
A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “What never happened?”
I grin wryly. “Exactly.”
* * *