My face immediately heats up, and that pit in my stomach softens. I’m not exactly sure what he’s trying to pull here. He didn’t outright say he’d take the money if we win, but if I were the only one left, we’d be reducing our chances pretty significantly.
Logan’s gaze flicks between the two of us. “I shouldn’t do this,” she says, “but as the incoming president, I imagine I have some kind of executive power. In general, I consider myself pretty hard-hearted. But what you’re doing, Neil, is really sweet. It makes me feel something right in this general vicinity.” She holds a hand over her heart and grins. “You can both stay in the game, but you speak nothing of this to anyone else.” We nod, and she steps aside to let us through. “Enjoy your safety.”
Once inside, he’s suddenly fascinated with the straps of his backpack.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, still not entirely sure how to interpret it.
He shrugs. “You were right. We shouldn’t have taken so many detours.”
That makes me feel about two feet tall. “I guess I’ll see you in half an hour?”
He nods back his agreement and once again disappears with his friends. I have never been so relieved to see mine. Mara waves, and Kirby, a little more tentative, offers a smile.
“Hi,” I say, unsteady on my feet. If I’m going to cry, at least my friends are here. “I think I need to talk.”
* * *
In a darkened corner of an indoor miniature-golf course, after I apologize a hundred more times for being sour about the Chelan trip, I confess to my friends what they’ve suspected for all these years: that my feelings for Neil McNair go deeper than rivalry.
I tell them everything else, too, about the books I read and the book I’m writing and Delilah Park.
“Go ahead,” I say, pressing my back against the wall, bracing myself. “Make fun of me.”
“You’re writing a romance novel,” Kirby says slowly. “You showed it to Neil.”
Miserably, I nod, waiting for them to insist I could have shown them. But I feel better now, knowing I’m not hiding anymore.
“You didn’t think we’d be supportive?” she asks. There’s no amusement on her face. I think she might be hurt.
“It’s a romance novel. You’ve made it pretty clear what you think about them.”
“Yeah, but…” Kirby shakes her head. “I didn’t realize you loved them, loved them. I was always joking. It wasn’t meant to be mean. You never gave the impression that you were that into them, just that you had them lying around.”
“Because I was afraid,” I say in a small voice. “And I don’t want to be. Maybe I’m not the most amazing writer yet, but I think I’m okay. And I have plenty of time to get better. I don’t want to be ashamed of what I like.”
Mara’s been quiet the whole conversation, which isn’t entirely unusual for her. “I like Harry Styles,” she finally says, which surprises both of us.
Kirby turns to her. “Really? You’ve never told me that. I mean, I can admit he’s a good-looking guy.”
A blush creeps onto her cheeks. “No. I like his music.”
“Oh,” Kirby says. “I’ve never heard it.”
“It’s good,” Mara insists. “I’ll send you some songs.”
Then Mara and I both stare at Kirby, as though waiting for her confession.
“Okay, okay,” she says. “I love reality TV. But not even the shows that require talent, like singing or fashion design. The really bad stuff that’s just hot rich people yelling at each other. I started watching it ironically with my sister a few years ago before she went to college, but then I sort of started liking it for real.”
“I love Harry Styles!” Mara shouts, in a move that’s completely out of character for her, and then giggles as a few classmates glance our way with raised eyebrows. “And I don’t care who knows about it!”
I adore her.
“Maybe you could recommend a couple books to us,” Kirby says, and my heart tugs.
“I can definitely do that.”
Recovered from her outburst, Mara places a hand on my knee. “So… Neil.”
Even his name brings heat to my face.
“For a while, I thought you guys just needed to hook up and get it out of your system,” Kirby says. “You really like him, though.”
“God. I really do. But it was like what happened on the bench flipped some kind of switch with him, and now he’s acting even weirder than usual.”
“It sounds like maybe he got scared,” Mara says. “I felt like that with Kirby at the beginning. That if we were going to do this, we couldn’t go back to how things were before. That it would change our friendship forever, for better or for worse.”
“Fortunately, for better,” Kirby interjects.
Mara threads her fingers with Kirby’s. “And school might be over, but you’d have to figure out what happens this summer, and in college, assuming you haven’t murdered each other by then. That’s terrifying. We’re going to the same place, and I’m still terrified.”
Kirby blinks at her. “You are?”
“Well… yeah. We’ll have new classes and will meet new people, and we’ll be halfway living on our own. We’re going to change.”
“But I like myself,” Kirby says with a small whine, and Mara swats at her arm.
I love them. I love them both so much, and maybe I don’t deserve them, but I am so fucking glad I have them right now.
“I am so sorry,” I say again. “About everything with Neil, and for abandoning you.”
“You can’t erase all our history in just a few months,” Mara says. “But if you really want to make it up to me, you could share a few of your Howl photos.”
“Not a chance.”
“And I’m not going to tell you ‘good riddance’ because we had one fight.” Kirby smiles sadly. “All I wish is that it would have happened earlier. The four of us could have hung out, double-dated.”
There’s that pang of regret again, the one that makes me wish the past few years had been different. I can imagine it: late nights in Capitol Hill, taking up an entire booth at Hot Cakes, Mara taking ridiculous photos. I have to press a hand to my chest, as though the regret is a physical pain.
“I don’t know what it’s going to look like, if anything happens with us.” It’s bizarre to acknowledge it as a possibility. Something might happen with us. “But I know I want you both to be part of it. Well, not all of it.”
“I want all the McNasty details,” Kirby says, batting her lashes.
I roll my eyes. “How do you tell the person you’ve spent four years trying to destroy that you have a crush on them?”
“I would guess there’s a book about that,” Mara says. “And that you’ve probably read it.”
“Make sure he knows that you’re serious and genuine. No sarcasm,” Kirby says. “You’re an overachiever. I have full confidence you can overachieve the shit out of this.”
“I’ll try.” I’m so overwhelmed with emotion in this moment—for this entire night and for them. Then I get an idea. “Hey—could we take a picture? It’s been a while.”