“No!”
“Yeah, you are.” He pulls back, giving my ponytail a little tug before releasing it. His distance is a relief, and a disappointment. “You didn’t get in trouble with your dad, did you?”
“No,” I lie again.
“’Cause it was no big deal, right?”
My shoulders rise, then drop.
“I mean, I know I acted like an ass,” he goes on—at least he can speak the truth. “But things between us aren’t gonna be weird, are they?”
Not weirder, I guess.
My palms have gone clammy, and eye contact is nearly impossible. I gather the wee bit of poise I’ve managed to preserve in the wake of this hellish exchange and use it to strengthen my voice. “Please, Max. Give me a little credit.”
“Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding uncertain. “Me stopping by, the kissing, all of it … It’s gonna stay between us, right? I mean, it’d suck if Becky found out because”—he glances at me briefly, uncomfortably—“well, you know.”
Becky’s the last person I want to talk about. The last person I want to think about. She and I aren’t friends, but I feel like a jerk for letting Max kiss me while they’re together. He may’ve been drunk, but I wasn’t, and I’m hardly going to go blabbing about the indiscretion I helped facilitate. It’s freaking embarrassing.
“I’m not proud of what happened,” I tell him in a chilly tone. “So don’t worry. Becky won’t find out.”
“Hey, don’t get all angsty. It’s just—”
“I’m not angsty, and you don’t have to explain. She’s your girlfriend—I get it. Besides, it was no big deal. You said so yourself.”
“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”
The last few minutes catch up to me in a rush of anger, and I swivel in my seat to face him squarely. “God, Max! Just let it go, okay?”
I’m expecting him to counter, and I’m hoping he’ll apologize, but he doesn’t respond at all; he just stares out the windshield, unaffected, and I’d like to strangle him. Instead, I follow his gaze. Leo uses a giant hand to snatch Kyle’s pass from the foggy air. He’s laughing, as usual.
Max checks his watch, then retrieves his bag. “You need a ride home?”
“I’ll ask Leah to take me.”
He stills, one hand gripping the door handle. “Jilly.”
I meet his gaze and his expression, now the opposite of unaffected, startles me. It’s identical to the one he wore last night, when our kiss met its abrupt end. Frustrated, contrite, yet not entirely regretful. He holds it—mouth tight, brows drawn, eyes swimming with emotion—ensuring that I bear its full weight. Then he shutters all those feelings inside and graces me with a cool smile. “See you around.”
He slams the truck’s door and heads toward the guys. Jesse launches a pass in his direction and he leaps, snagging the ball from the air like an NFL all-star, graceful and agile, and I almost forget about his mention of Becky and his insensitive reminder that she remain in the dark. I almost forget about the asshole comment he made regarding my so-called angst. And I almost forget about the chills I felt when he twined my hair around his hand, and the warmth that erupted in my chest when I thought he might kiss me.
Almost.
5
I CLIMB DOWN FROM THE TRUCK. I’m shoving thoughts of Max into the darkest recesses of my mind, looping one strap of my bag over my shoulder when, from a good fifty feet away, Leo calls, “Jill! Go wide!”
My bag whacks my hip as I whirl around. A football rockets through the air, a blur of russet leather speeding toward my face. With a gasp and a quickness that surprises me, I dodge it—barely. It whizzes past my ear, bounces on the asphalt, and rolls under the bumper of a nearby Kia.
“Jesus, Leo, watch it!” Max shouts. “You almost took her head off!”
Leo chuckles. “Aw, come on, Jill. You’re supposed to catch those!”
I stoop to retrieve the ball. “How about a little warning next time?”
“Seriously,” Kyle says. “Bruise my best friend’s face and I’ll be forced to bruise yours.”
Jesse taunts, “You should’ve had it, Jill!”
Leah, Jesse’s faithful girlfriend, strolls over. “Give her a break. None of you guys could’ve caught that pass.”
I throw the ball—a perfectly arced spiral—to Kyle. Sinuous and freakishly accurate, he’s one of the best quarterbacks McAlder’s seen. He’s also blond and lanky and far prettier than me; most presume he’s in the closet, but nobody cares one way or the other because he’s the nicest person ever, and he wins football games. He’s all-American with a twist, like apple strudel.
He catches my pass, flashing an appreciative grin. “Nice, Jelly Bean.”
I beam at his silly nickname. “Learned from the best.”
I don’t allow myself to look at Max, but I suspect he’s scowling. After all, he was the one who taught me to throw a football, years ago, in the street between our houses.
The soda I drank in the truck—the soda he bought me—fizzes in my throat.
Leah blows Jesse a kiss. She’s flawlessly dressed—dark jeans, tall leather boots, fitted jacket. Her air of sophistication enviable but matchless. She grins at the mischievous brow raise her boyfriend sends in return, then links her arm through mine. “Ready to head to the quad?”
Part of me would rather hang in the parking lot, tossing the football around with the guys like I might’ve a few years ago. But a bigger part of me is looking forward to escaping with Leah, who radiates Zen. After the ride I just suffered, I need some girl talk.
We take off for campus. I listen as she chatters, resisting the urge to peek at the guys until we hit the quad, where I allow myself the tiniest backward glance. Max launches a pass and then, by chance, glances in my direction. Our eyes meet, and his expression is strange, unfamiliar and indecipherable. Our shared gaze holds for no more than a second, but that’s all it takes for weirdness to come rushing back, a groundless sensation, like I’m floating on the open sea without a grain of sand in sight.
*
“So,” Leah says as we meander down a walkway on the quad during lunch, headed for the bench we claimed at the beginning of the school year. Unless it’s really and truly pouring, nobody but freshmen eat in the cafeteria, which means the quad’s swarming with upperclassmen every day at noon. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that you should run for student council this spring.”
I laugh, taking a seat on our bench. “No, thanks.”
“Why not? You don’t do anything after school.”
“Uh, I have a job, remember?”