“Look, I’m sorry, okay.” I tried to school my irritation. “I know you want to fit in. I know you have your list and you want to make senior year one to remember. But it can still be fun without them.” My eyes flitted over her shoulder and back to the house.
“What about Cameron?”
“What about him?” My chest ached remembering how he’d rejected me last night and then acted as if nothing had happened this morning.
“You like him,” she added. “I know you do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quietly, feeling my chest constrict. “He’s Jason’s best friend, Flick, a Raider. Our worlds aren’t supposed to co-exist.” The quicker I got that through my stupid head, the better. Cameron was loyal to Jason, which made him my enemy. So despite any attraction between us he was a bad idea. Really bad. Because Cameron Chase wouldn’t only hurt me. Given half a chance he would completely ruin me.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
I wouldn’t.
“But—”
“Come on.” I cut her off, done talking about him. “We can walk back to your house.”
She nodded, following me down the long winding driveway. “Hey, were you crying last night?” I asked, the vague memory suddenly flooding my mind.
“What? When?”
“When you came to bed? I thought I heard you crying.”
“No.” It rolled off her lips a little too quickly, and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “If Asher hurt you Flick—”
“Hails, I don’t know what you think you heard, but you’re wrong. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. As for Asher, like I said, I don’t like him like that.” I’d known Flick since we were twelve. I knew her tells. The little things she did when she wasn’t being completely honest.
And right now, I knew she was lying.
But if Asher wasn’t the one who had upset her… who was?
Thursday morning, things finally felt like they were returning to normal. I’d almost survived Rivals Week. There had been no more social media posts about me from Thatcher—he’d been too busy posting smack talk for tomorrow’s big game—and Jason, Asher, and Cameron left us alone for the most part. I knew Flick was feeling dejected by Asher’s recent change of heart where their blossoming friendship was concerned. But refusing to be thrown off course, she was focused on two things: her list and what to wear to Homecoming next weekend. The same Homecoming that despite recent events, she still insisted we attend.
“Looking forward to the game Friday?” Kent asked me as I entered the kitchen. Barely awake, I grabbed a mug of coffee and then slouched down on one of the stools.
“Game, what game?”
“I know you don’t live under a rock, Hailee. It’s Rivals Week. Not even you can ignore that.”
“Oh, I’m not going.”
“Of course you are. It’s a big deal for Jason and the team, and we have tickets for the family section.”
“Who’d you have to bribe to get extra?” Players were given two tickets each for their families and spares were like gold dust.
“Coach Hasson,” he confessed, yanking on his tie as if the thing was too damn tight.
“Is Mom going?”
“She is. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Of course not. I swallowed the words.
“I know things haven’t always been easy between you and Jason, but I’m really hoping that now we’re married, things will—”
“Good morning.” Mom breezed into the kitchen looking far too bright and alert for seven thirty in the morning.
“Good morning, wife.” Kent grabbed her as she passed him and kissed her with more gusto than I needed to witness. Ever.
“Do you mind?” I snorted.
Mom’s dreamy gaze slid to mine. “Morning, baby.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she sounded a little breathless. Gross. “How are you?”
“I was okay until you came in and started sucking face with Kent.”
“Did he tell you the good news?” She beamed, untangling herself from his arms and making a beeline for the coffee maker.
“You’re going to let me go to New York for my eighteenth birthday?”
“Nice try, but no, sweetheart. We have tickets for tomorrow’s game.”
“Oh, that.” I gritted my teeth.
“Hailee, this is important to—”
“Jason. Yeah, yeah, I already heard a very compelling argument from Kent. If I agree to go, will you at least think about letting me go to New York?” One of my favorite artists had an exhibition coming up at The Met that I really wanted to see.
My mom and Kent shared a glance and he gave her a little nod. “Fine,” she said. “If you come to the game Friday and the dinner Coach Hasson is throwing afterward, then yes, we’ll think about it.”
Dinner at Coach Hasson’s? With the whole team and their families. I’d need reinforcements. “Is there a spare ticket for Flick?”
“I’m perfectly aware the two of you come as a package deal, Hailee.” Kent gave me a warm smile. “Tell her we’ll pick her up before the game.”
“Fine, then you have yourself a deal.”
A football game, and dinner at Coach Hasson’s house, in exchange for a trip to New York for my birthday.
It was a small price to pay.
Later that day, I had a free period, so I headed to the studio. I’d only been there all of fifteen minutes when Mr. Jalin’s voice echoed through the room. “Ah, Hailee.”
Dropping the brush onto the easel, I spun my chair to face him, pushing my glasses up onto my head. “Hi, Sir.”
“Nice.” His thick-browed gaze swept over my canvas. “That’s looking really nice, Hailee. I particularly like what you’ve done with the broad strokes.” He moved closer, tracing the thick brush marks with his fingers, careful not to get too close. “You’ll be using this for your final submission piece?”
“I think so.”
“Good choice.” He offered me a reassuring smile. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now for the real reason I’m here.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Mr. Jalin regarded me with a reserved expression. “You’re a very talented artist, Hailee. One of the best I’ve ever seen come through the doors of Rixon High. Coach Hasson and I were talking, and he wondered if this year, for the Seniors Night presentation, we tried something a little different.”
“I- I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” The mention of the football team had me a little tongue-tied.
“Every year, Coach Hasson likes to present his seniors with a memento. Usually it’s a photograph to mark their time with the Raiders. But this year, we thought it might be nice to include a painting.”
“You want me to… paint the team.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Well, yes, unless there’s a problem?”
“No, no, Sir, I just…” I wiped my clammy hands down my apron, a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea flooding my mind. But despite my inner voice screaming at me not to do it, all I could think was Mr. Jalin, Rixon’s Director of Arts; and Coach Hasson had asked me to do this.