Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  “Yeah,” Jordan says, grinning. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect.” And it is.

  “I made you dinner,” he says, his voice proud. He leads me into the kitchen to show me what he’s cooked, and I stop short when I see mac ’n’ cheese.

  “From the box?” I ask, turning to smile at him.

  “Yup. Kraft. That’s your favorite, right?”

  I get up on my tiptoes and kiss him. “Right.”

  Dinner turns out to be completely cheese-themed, which makes me laugh when I think of asking him if he had something cheesy planned. Mac ’n’ cheese, broccoli and cheese, Cheetos, and bagels and cream cheese. It’s perfect, except for one thing. The longer we sit here eating, the more distracted Jordan gets. And I can’t figure out why.

  “You okay?” I ask, finally.

  “Yeah,” he says, giving himself a slight shake.

  “Okay.” I don’t quite believe him, but I’m feeling so good about tonight that I choose to let it go.

  When we’re done eating, I start to take our dishes into the kitchen. But Jordan waves me off. “Part of the deal is that you don’t have to clean this up.”

  “But I want to help you.”

  He comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist. “And I appreciate that,” he whispers in my ear, “but here’s the thing. I can take care of it later. Because right now, there are other things I’d rather be doing.”

  His voice sends a shiver up my spine. “Like what?” I ask, twisting around so we’re face-to-face, so close we’re almost kissing.

  He kisses me lightly and pulls away, laughing, as I try to deepen it. “Like giving you your present.”

  I take a deep breath to slow my heartbeat. “I didn’t think we were doing presents.”

  “I know,” he says, “but I found this and knew I had to give it to you.” He goes over to one of the bookshelves in the living room and pulls out a silver-wrapped package. “Here,” he says, holding it out to me as he comes back over. He scoots his chair around and sits down next to me and adds, “For you.”

  I open the lid slowly and stare at what’s inside. Then I crack up laughing. It’s a custom bobblehead of Jordan wearing a basketball uniform from our middle school.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask.

  He grins. “One of the parents had them made for the whole team at the end-of-season banquet in eighth grade. I totally forgot about it until I saw your collection. Figured you’d appreciate it more than I did.”

  “Oh, I will,” I say between giggles. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I lean forward to kiss him, but before I make contact he pulls away from me. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes … no, I don’t know.” He leans forward so his elbows are on his knees. He’s not looking at me. “I have to tell you something.”

  A heavy feeling settles over me. I set my bobblehead aside and pull my knees up to my chest. “Okay.”

  “I had a meeting with Coach yesterday. To talk about Wichita State.”

  Understanding hits me and I smile at him even as my eyes start to water and my throat gets scratchy and tight. “They offered you the spot, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking a little. There’s a long pause where we just look at each other. “I’m gonna take it. I sign tomorrow.”

  I give this watery laugh and swipe at my eyes. “I’ll have Mom frost some basketball cookies for me to bring. That’ll really be—”

  “Amber.”

  “—good. God, I’m so proud of you. I told you watching you play is like magic, didn’t I? I’m glad they could see it. Do you think—”

  “Amber. Stop.” He reaches out and grabs my shoulders and I stop, focusing my gaze on his face. “Actually, there was a second thing I wanted to tell you. And a third thing too.”

  “Is that all?” I squeak. I’m not sure I can handle two more things. Not after the first one. Not after the past week.

  “Yeah. Promise.”

  “Okay. Hit me.”

  He looks at me for a second and then he gets up and holds out his hand. “All right. But first we have to go outside.”

  “Okay…” I say, following him out to the garage. I watch as he opens the garage door and rummages for the basketball. “What does this have to do with the next two things?”

  “You’ll see. Come on. You first.”

  I miss, so Jordan gets the ball. He takes a hard shot, harder than usual, and when I miss again, he says, “That’s L.”

  “What?” I ask, chasing after the ball as it rolls down the driveway. “What kind of horse are you spelling?”

  But he smiles and shakes his head. “Come on, Amber. Just play.”

  We play, and he gets an L, and then I get a second letter and he says, “That’s O,” and my breath catches because I think I know where this is going now. I miss again.

  “That’s V.”

  I let the ball roll into the street and go over to him.

  “What are you spelling?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “What do you think?” He closes the space between us and reaches up to brush my hair out of my face.

  “Love?” I whisper.

  “Love,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you,” he says.

  “Really?”

  He nods.

  “I love you too.”

  Saying that to him feels like freedom. Like its own kind of magic.

  He kisses me and I breathe him in and it is everything, this moment. But then he lets me go and I remember that he had one more thing to tell me.

  “What’s the third thing?” I ask.

  He grins. “The third thing was really more of a question. How do you feel about long-distance relationships?”

  “Scared,” I say, and his grin fades. But I am scared, and I can’t lie to him about that even with the best of intentions.

  “Me too,” he says. “But I don’t see us breaking up before August, do you?” I shake my head. I definitely do not see that happening. “That’s what I thought. And since that’s the case, I want to try to stay together. Making it work long-distance is less scary than not being with you.”

  Warmth sparks in my chest and starts moving through my veins, hot and slow. I reach up and cup Jordan’s face in my hands. “I like that plan.”

  He sags in relief. “Good.”

  I have so many things I want to say to him, but I can’t seem to find the words. So I kiss him again and try to pour everything I’m feeling into it, and hope he understands.

  thirty-five

  The next morning when I wake up, I roll over and stare at my Valentine’s Day present—my own Jordan to keep always—for a long time before I get out of bed. I get a text from my actual real Jordan right after I get out of the shower that makes me tear up. It says, I thought you said you didn’t get me a present and is followed by a screenshot of his text conversation with Cammie. There are two new messages from her to him, dated this morning.

  Sorry for being such a dick for the past week, the first one says.

  And then, a minute after that one, Tell Amber thank you for the reminder, okay?

  When Buffy and I come downstairs, Mom and Kevin are both in the kitchen, leaning into each other over coffee mugs at the island. I stop short when I see them and Mom turns to look at me.

  “Good morning, honey,” she says, her voice tentative but happy. Behind her, Kevin grins.

  “Morning,” I say. “How was Ti Amo?”

  Mom holds a cinnamon roll out to me. “It was good. Wonderful, actually.” She gives me a small smile. “Thank you for making that suggestion.”

  I shrug and look away. “I thought it might help.”

  “You were right. It did.”

  Kevin clears his throat, and Mom and I both turn to look at him. “Your mother and I thought,” he starts, and then he stops to raise his eyebrows at her. She nods and he continues, “Your mother and I thought that, sometime this we
ekend, maybe tonight after you get home from school, we could sit down and talk about your living situation next year. Together.”

  “Like, as a family?”

  Mom shoots me a worried look. “Well yes, but—”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe me.

  “Okay. But can I eat first?”

  Kevin laughs, long and loud, and Buffy gives a happy bark in response. It sounds wonderful after all the quiet around here lately. “Of course.”

  * * *

  At school the principal gets on the announcements at the beginning of third period, to say that anyone who wants to see Jordan Baugh sign to play for Wichita State next year can now head to the commons. Half of my study hall class leaves with me, and I can’t say I’m surprised. Spring semester is always full of signings like this, but it’s not very often that one of our classmates goes D-1.

  I let the rest of my class push their way toward the front of the crowd and hang back, waiting for Hannah at the end of the hall like we planned. She shows up after a minute with Elliot, Ryan, and Megan in tow. All of them smile at the surprised look on my face, and Hannah hooks her arm through mine and leads us down the hall.

  After a few minutes of everyone milling around and talking, the principal gets up on a little platform at the edge of the tables up front where Jordan’s sitting and asks everyone to quiet down. Then he starts in on his speech. We’re so proud of this student, such a fine athlete and academic, so honored to have these choices, et cetera. Hannah and the boys and I are back by the dessert tables, so I grab one of the basketball sugar cookies Mom frosted at warp speed this morning and hold it up for Jordan to see. He grins.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder and I turn around to see Cammie standing behind me.

  “Hi,” she says warily, studying my face.

  “Hi,” I say, exchanging a glance with Hannah, who gives me a thumbs-up. “Are you coming over this weekend?”

  “I don’t know,” Cammie says, the words halting and slow. “Maybe.”

  “You should. It’s better.” Not perfect, but better. And I’ve learned to take what I can get.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good,” I say, and then we turn and watch Jordan sign on for his dream. I do a wolf whistle and Cammie does a weird catcall and the two of us look at each other and grin. But that’s not the best part.

  The best part is that when I look back up front, Jordan is looking right at me. Or really, at me and Cammie. And at the sight of both of us together, cheering him on, he beams.

  * * *

  Over spring break in March, Mom, Kevin, Cammie, and I go to Lawrence to take a second look at some of the apartments I checked out and so Cammie and I can see the rental house Kevin’s friend set aside for us.

  I finally hear back from KU on my updated FAFSA the week before we leave. My aid package has improved a little, but even with that, the outside scholarships I’ve gotten, and the job I finally got offered at Pet Universe in the fall, I still won’t be able to afford the house on my own next year without taking out any loans. So we make a deal: If I love the house, Kevin will add his name to the lease and pay the difference to make it work for me.

  “You really don’t have to do that,” I say, but he shakes his head and smiles.

  “I already set aside that money, Amber,” he said. “It’s on the table whether you live in this house or not.”

  And even though I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around his generosity, I agree.

  For the most part, Mom hangs back while we look, letting Kevin and Cammie and me do the talking. I laugh when Kevin looks in the kitchen cabinets at every apartment we check out. I’d thought Cammie was doing that because she was bored or mad, but I guess she wasn’t. She got that from him.

  We go to the house last, and even though I try to keep an open mind and a cool head, I love it as soon as I see it. It’s tiny and old and the yard is overgrown with vines and weeds, but I can already picture myself living in it. By the end of the tour, I’m ready to tell Mom and Kevin that the apartment jig is up, that I want this place to be mine for sure. And then Cammie points out the basketball hoop hanging above the rickety garage door.

  “You and J can keep up your tradition,” she says, looking back and grinning at me.

  I almost start to cry. I haven’t told Cammie or Hannah much about me and Jordan’s plan for next year, other than that we’re staying together. But it doesn’t matter. They both know I’m scared it won’t work out. Hannah has been giving me pep talks disguised as regular conversations, but Cammie has stayed quiet about the whole thing. Until now.

  “You’ll have to come up with him sometimes,” I say, once I’m sure my voice is under control. “Play a game with us, for once.”

  She shakes her head, her expression more serious now. “Those games are for you two. But I’ll watch.”

  * * *

  The night we get back from Lawrence I take Buffy over to Hannah’s house. We go out to her backyard, where she has a fire going in her parents’ chimenea, and Buffy curls at our feet while we settle into patio chairs with plenty of blankets to keep us warm.

  “Okay,” Hannah says, looking over at me. “You ready?”

  “Ready,” I say, and I toss the piece of paper with the rules into the fire.

  We wait until the paper has disappeared into a curl of smoke before we start on the next part of tonight’s project, and it doesn’t take much longer than that before we have a new set of rules. Better ones this time. Ones that make my mother smile when I go home and show her. Ones that I feel okay posting above my desk in my bedroom, so I won’t ever forget what they say.

  the rules, revised

  1. Always keep your eyes on the horizon, but don't forget to look at the here and now too. Forest and the trees and all that.

  2. Get used to introducing yourself to strangers. It's going to happen a lot, and you never know who you'll meet. You could get lucky. (Of course, if said stranger looks like a creeper, throw this rule out the window and run.)

  3. Protect your plate at all large meal gatherings, holidays and otherwise. If you don't, you might run into an Aunt Marin situation, and things will get awkward real fast.

  4. Learn to tell the difference between when to depend on yourself, and when it's okay to ask for help.

  5. Stop worrying so much. You'll thank me later.

  6. Remember you love your mom. I know it's hard sometimes (sorry, Mom), but do it anyway.

  7. It's okay to guard your heart, but don't hold it so close that you miss out.

  acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t exist without the help, feedback, and encouragement of a lot of wonderful people, and I feel so lucky that I get to thank them here.

  First, thank you to my editor, Emily Settle. Your enthusiasm for this book has been clear from our first phone call, and I am so grateful for your insight and support as we worked to get it ready to share with the world. Thank you for loving Amber and her people (and Buffy!) as much as I do. Their story is so much stronger because of you.

  Thank you to Jean Feiwel, Lauren Scobell, Perry Minella, Morgan Rath, and the rest of the team at Swoon Reads HQ for making my dream of being a published author come true. Thank you to everyone who read, rated, and reviewed Rules We’re Meant to Break on the Swoon Reads site. Thank you to Kylie Byrd. And thank you also to Katie Klimowicz for designing such an amazing cover. I wanted to pet it from the moment I saw it, and I’m still not over the fact that now I get to!

  Eternal squish hugs to the Swoon Squad. Thank you for welcoming me into the fold, for answering all of my random questions, and for being such supportive, awesome people. I am lucky to know each and every one of you. Special shoutouts to Karole Cozzo and Nikki Katz for sharing their wisdom; to Sandy Hall, the best mentor I could ask for, who read an early draft of this book and all my long, rambly emails; to Melinda Grace, who came to my rescue when I got stuck in the middle of edit
s; and to Prerna Pickett for sharing her words, for reading mine, and for all the chats about this debut journey.

  Thank you to all the dedicated people involved with Pitch Wars, both now and way back in 2014, especially to Brenda Drake for creating such a wonderful contest and community for writers. Thank you also to Margo Berendsen and Rachel Lynn Solomon, and to the Pitch Wars 2014 ToT for their support and camaraderie. And extra-special thanks to Veronica Bartles, who selected me as her mentee and whose invaluable feedback helped shape this story into the version I originally uploaded to the Swoon Reads site.

  Huge thanks to my first two readers ever: Krystal Marquis and Brittany Driskill. Krystal, this book would not be what it is today without your notes and comments on those early drafts. Thank you so much for helping me find the good bones amidst all the extra plot tangles and word vomit. Brittany, I will never forget the day you found out I was writing a book and said, “Well, I want to read it!” Thank you for reading as I wrote, for encouraging me to finish the story so you could find out how it ended, and for the last twenty years (!!!) of friendship. Here’s to many more.

  I’ve found that I am a better, happier writer when I have a day job that I love, so I also owe a giant thank you to my coworkers for their support and enthusiasm as I’ve gone on this publishing journey. Thank you all for celebrating with me the day I got “the call,” for asking how the whole editing thing was going, and for only teasing me a little about how much chocolate I eat.

  Love and thanks to my family for cheering me on in life and in writing. Thanks to my dad for all those nights we spent at Borders, reading together in the cafe; to my mom for fueling my love of stories from an early age; to my brother for keeping me in the loop on what’s hip and what’s not (aka probably not saying the word hip in this context); and to my in-laws for always asking about my writing, even when the answers were super boring.