“Shut up.”
“My friends thought he was hot as hell,” Danica brags. “They freaked out. And after the show, when Mike walked up to me and asked me out, I thought my bestie, Katie, was going to faint.”
I’ve met Katie. She’s a raging bitch.
“What about you?” I ask, noticing that the most important details in Danica’s memory are of how her friends felt. Not how she felt.
“Well, I said yes, of course,” she says with a look-at-me, I’m-so-fabulous smile. “How could I not?”
“He gave her his drumsticks,” Joel remembers with a laugh. “Like he thought he was some kind of rock star even back then.”
Mike moves to his knees to reach out and punch Joel in the arm, and Danica’s smile widens. “And after that, it was happily ever after.”
“Right up until you dumped him,” Kit mutters as murky clouds drift across the sky, forming a puzzle of shadows that assemble themselves on our faces.
“It was for the best,” Danica says without missing a beat. “I regret the way it happened, but I needed time to grow up. I needed time to realize what I really want.” She links her arm with Mike’s, fluttering her long lashes up at him when he looks down at her. “I never would have realized what I was missing if I hadn’t had time to miss it.”
I don’t remember her missing him a few weeks ago. I remember her coming home late from dates with guys from Alpha Cheeto Alpha, her hair a mess and her mascara smeared. And before that, I’d never heard of Mike. I’d never heard of Mike Madden or The Last Ones to Know or this eternal love that Danica claims to have for him.
“Hailey, are you okay?” Rowan suddenly asks, and my stomach makes a noise that can only be described as the avenging battle cry of the cheese-mayo-mustard sandwich I just ate.
“I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“You’re not the only one,” Dee grumbles as Mike loosens himself from Danica to lean forward and study my nauseous face. I scramble to my feet because I am absolutely, definitely going to hurl.
“You’re probably seasick,” Mike says. I’m on my feet with my hands gripping my knees when he wraps his fingers around my biceps, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Let’s get you off this pond.”
“I’ll come with you,” Danica peeps as Mike leads me from the platform. She’s rising to her feet when I hear Shawn call behind us.
“Wait!” A brief pause. “I . . . actually wanted to talk to you about your idea for the music video . . .”
Danica’s footsteps stop echoing off the dock, and I want to look back to see if she’s still following us, but I’m too busy holding my hand over my mouth and letting Mike haul me toward dry land. We step off the dock, we walk through the grass, and when our group looks like nothing but tiny figurines in the distance, Mike finally releases my arm.
“Are you okay?” He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, the breeze covering me with the subtle scent of his cologne. His eyes are shadowed under the brim of his cap, and something about the perfect shape of his jaw makes my stomach cave in on itself.
I shake my head. My arms feel weak. I’m pretty sure he needs to stop touching me.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Mike asks, and I glance back to our group. Back to where Danica is.
I probably shouldn’t, but I nod. I nod my head yes, and I walk with him into the woods.
Chapter 12
I’m lost. Walking alongside Mike, I’m completely, hopelessly lost. I’m a million thoughts scrambling for purchase in my head. I’m the icy wind and the restless leaves and the erratic pulse hammering wildly under my skin.
I focus on my one-size-too-big boots, stepping carefully over rocks and branches and untamed weeds. We don’t speak. We just walk. We walk while I concentrate on the cyclone churning in my stomach and the storm brewing in my chest. We walk until my nausea subsides and I can finally gaze over at him without tripping over my own feet.
With his eyes cast down at the decaying orange carpet rolled out before us, he seems just as distracted as me—here, but not here. His thick lashes are lowered over thoughtful eyes, his black and green cap hiding his face from the fading October sun. I wish I knew all of the silent thoughts locked inside his head, and I must stare at him a little too long trying to figure them out, because without looking away from the invisible path he’s following, Mike says, “This is weird, right?”
Does he mean us walking alone in the woods? Or the fact that Danica stopped following us? Or the middle-of-the-wilderness pond in general? Or maybe him being a rock star in redneck country? Or his band making a big music video? Or—
He gazes over at me when I take too long trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Hanging out. You and me.”
Does he mean because of Danica? Is this weird? Is it wrong? Should we go back? Should I—
Mike slides his cap off to scratch his hand through his hair, and then he pulls it back on. “It’s weird hanging out face to face, isn’t it? After gaming together all the time. You’re one of my best friends now, but we only really hung out that one time a couple weeks ago.”
He waits for me to answer, but all I can manage to say is exactly what I’m thinking. “I’m one of your best friends?”
Mike’s gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer before sliding away. He pushes his loose sleeves up to his elbows and concentrates hard on where he’s walking, and then he looks over at me, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a self-deprecating smile.
“I sound like the biggest loser on the planet right now, don’t I?”
In the middle of a cold autumn day, a summer warmth stretches its rays inside of me. He looks so sincere, so vulnerable, and I ignore all of the self-doubt twined tight in my belly to assure him, “You’re one of my best friends too.”
Mike’s lips curve into a soft smile. He pulls his hat off and folds it into his back pocket, his hair a wild, abandoned mess. “Good, that means I’m not pathetic.”
“I’m pretty sure that just means we’re both pathetic,” I say, and he laughs a laugh that makes my cheek muscles hurt from trying not to smile. He hasn’t laughed like that all day, and I didn’t realize how tired the day had seemed without the sound of it.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, stepping on a sprawling pricker bush with his big boot so I can walk over it. He takes my hand to help me over a fallen tree.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to head back?”
With one leg dangling on the other side of the tree trunk and my hand still in Mike’s, I sit and ask, “What else would we do?”
My heart jackhammers against my ribs even after he releases my hand. I press my palms against the rough bark, wishing I could dissolve into it to escape the last five words out of my mouth. I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so . . . dangerous. It feels dangerous, that question, and I wish I could take each word back, but I can’t, because there they are, hanging in the air.