“Holy shit, Hailee, this is amazing.” She’d captured Grady, one of the other senior players, mid-drill, throwing his body against the blocking sled. It was only rough, but the lines and shadowing caught the impact in a way I would never have thought possible. “You’re really talented.” I started to flip to another page, but she grabbed the pad.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
“Hang on, I want to see more.” I wrestled it off her, holding it just out of reach, and turned another page. My mouth fell open, the air sucked clean from my lungs.
“Like I said,” her voice was small, uncertain, “It’s just a rough sketch at the moment. Something to work with once I’m in the studio.”
My eyes drank in every detail. The curve of my arm as I prepared to throw the ball, my wide stance and narrowed gaze as I sought out my teammate across the field. The intricate shading around the fourteen on my jersey, giving the illusion of the material moving with the air.
“Cameron?” Her voice was quiet, but it reverberated all the way down to my soul.
“Y- yeah, sorry.” I closed the sketch pad and handed back to her.
“The final thing will be much better.” Hailee tucked her hair behind her ear.
I knew I should probably say something, but I was speechless. “Come on,” I managed to choke out, and we walked the rest of the way in thick silence.
It wasn’t that I wanted her to think I didn’t like the sketch, I did. I liked it a whole lot, but it had done something to me. She had done something to me.
And I didn’t know how to undo it—if I even wanted to.
“Okay, this is it,” I said, shouldering the door to the storage room. Hailee’s eyes fell on the dusty boxes.
“There’s a lot of stuff here.”
“Yup. Coach is kind of a hoarder. Good luck with that.” I offered her a smile, but she didn’t return it.
Shit, I was being a dick. “So, Homecoming is this week.” I tried to change tack. “Do you have a date?”
“A date?” The words got stuck in her throat.
“Yeah, you know, a guy asks you out, you dress up all pretty and he brings you flowers, and you pose for awkward photos.” Stop. Talking. Asshole.
“Isn’t that Prom?”
“Same thing.” I shrugged suddenly feeling like a complete idiot. “So do you? Have one, I mean?” Why was I pushing this? I didn’t want to hear about Hailee and her date.
“I do actually.”
She did?
Fuck.
“Flick.” Hailee frowned, watching me with a strange expression. “I’m going with Flick.”
“Oh right.” Relief flooded me, easing the tightness in my chest. “That’s… nice.” Nice?
“Are you okay, you’re acting a little strange?”
“Me? I’m fine.” I shrugged, backing up, but I hit the corner of a stack of boxes. “Shit.” My hands shot out and I managed to steady them. When I looked back at Hailee, she was fighting a smile.
“So, I should, uh, go. I should go.” What the fuck was wrong with me?
It was the damn sketch. It had voodoo powers or something because I felt all off-balance.
“Okay.” She watched, her expression a lot more playful than it was five minutes ago.
“See you around?” My voice went up at the end making it sound like a question and I wanted nothing more than to bang my head against the wall. But before Hailee concluded I was completely certifiable, I gave her a little salute and got the hell out of there.
Hailee
“Are you sure about this?” I took a deep breath, running my hands down the pale-silver, fit and flare dress Flick had insisted I wear. It was the first one I’d tried on and she had leaped off the bed, shrieking with delight, declaring it ‘the one’. But even now, in my kitten heels and subtle makeup, I wasn’t sure.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I said, clutching my stomach as we approached the gym.
“Hails.” Flick whirled around, the layers of her own dress fanning out like a cascading waterfall. “You’ve got this. It isn’t ninth grade. You’re not going to walk in there and be the laughing stock of the school. It’s senior year. We’re seniors and we deserve this. Okay?” She gave me a warm smile.
“Okay,” I replied despite my mind screaming, ‘no, no, no’.
“Although it would’ve been a helluva lot more fun if we had dates,” she added, and I elbowed her in the ribs. “I’m your date.”
“I know, and honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way, Sista.” She grinned at me. “Now what do you say, we go in there with our heads held high and have some fun?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to ditch and hang out with Jude and Toby instead?” I knew he’d been texting her. Toby had sent me a few texts here and there too, only I got the impression he was a little wary now he knew who my step-brother was. But it was probably for the best. Toby was nice, and we’d hit it off, but he didn’t set off a legion of butterflies in my stomach. He wasn’t the guy consuming my every thought.
My body thrummed with nervous energy at the idea of seeing Cameron. All week we’d danced around one another; watching each other across the cafeteria, sitting close but not touching in history, and there had been another moment, Wednesday after practice, when I’d caught him looking at my mouth. Whatever this thing between us was, it was building. Growing into something more with every passing day. I knew it was dangerous getting tangled up with him; he was Jason’s best friend. And I wasn’t naïve enough to think he would ever be okay with me and Cameron. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself either. I craved him. Craved the way he made me feel. The thrill of getting caught.
It was official, I was completely head over heels in lust with Cameron Chase. And he was in there, no doubt looking more drool-worthy than ever. He’d joked more than once about me saving him a dance. Granted, we probably wouldn’t be able to have said dance because of my asshole brother, but just knowing he wanted to dance with me was enough.
Wasn’t it?
Flick grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the door. With every step the beat of the music inside mirrored my own heartbeat. Boom. Boom. Ba-boom. “You’re nervous.” She observed.
“No, I’m not. I’m just pissed you had me wear this dress.”
“The dress looks hot, just like your hair and makeup. Now stop worrying. It’s a dance. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Fun, right.
I could totally do fun.
But as we stepped inside, I was fourteen all over again, watching my date kiss another girl. Except Cameron wasn’t kissing the girl he was talking to. But they did look pretty close; her hand on his arm as she smiled up at whatever he was saying. Flick noticed and yanked me in the other direction, an amused smile playing on her lips.
We found the bar—really, it was just a long table and Mr. Henderson dressed up in a tux making some funky looking drinks—and ordered two mocktails, and then went to sit at an empty table on the fringe of the dance floor. Khloe Stemson and the rest of the bitch squad were draped over their dates like cheap throws, but there wasn’t a football player in sight between them.