by Mariah Dietz
My gaze steers to my sister, accusation in my stare.
She lifts both hands. “What was I supposed to do? Your kiss made the news while I was here. I wasn’t going to lie. Plus, I couldn’t talk to Poppy about how weird it was that my best friend was dating my brother.”
“You could have given me a heads up.”
“It was fun to see you sweat a little.” She smiles.
“This is why Maggie’s my favorite sister,” I say. But this only makes her break into laughter.
When the doorbell rings a moment later, Grandpa looks at me. “For the record, I approve.”
Sarcastic retorts sheath my words, but none of them make it past my thoughts because it’s not approval that I see in his gaze but something far more significant that feels like pride and happiness.
Poppy is on the other side of the door, eyes wide like a cat.
I grin, sensing her trepidation. “They know,” I whisper.
She winces. “How’d they take the news?”
“Poppy!” Grandpa calls. “I hope you’re hungry. I made chili and jalapeno cornbread.”
Her lips slowly spread into a hopeful smile that I reciprocate without thought. “They already knew.”
“They did?”
I nod. “And they officially like you more than me.”
Her smile grows. “I’m so nervous.”
“Why? You shouldn’t be.”
“Because I love your family. I care what they think, and I really want this to go well.”
My thoughts don’t deviate to Candace often. I try not to compare the two with anything, but this is such a stark difference that it makes my entire chest tighten with regret for not having cared about this significant difference before. I didn’t need Candace to like my family—it would have been okay if she didn’t get along with them—but she never cared enough to even try.
I lean forward, sliding her hair behind one ear. “I need you to come inside so that I don’t drag you back to my house because right now, I want to put my mouth between your legs and feast on you.”
Her breath comes out in an uneven gasp. I straighten and pull her inside.
29
Poppy
I slip into Modern Political Thought with seconds left to spare, my stomach filled with pizza and my cheeks aching from the smile that’s been consuming me for the past couple of hours while I spent time with Paxton at Mario’s Pizzeria. Wednesdays are still one of my favorite days of the week because it’s guaranteed to be slow, and I get Paxton nearly alone to talk about anything and everything. Today when we talked about things we could and could not live without.
“Poppy,” Mike says, interrupting my thoughts of Pax that have me smiling.
I debate if I should keep going and pretend like I don’t see and hear him. But before I can decide if he’d believe the farce, Mike calls my name again, this time louder as he starts to stand up, making my decision for me. I slip into the seat beside him, working to ignore the niggling in my chest that tells me this is a bad idea.
“I heard a new band this weekend,” he says. “They’re out of Portland, and they’re crazy good.”
“That’s cool. Did Maddie go with you?”
Mike weaves his pen between his fingers, then tucks it behind his ear. “I also found a new bar this weekend that’s attracting a bunch of new talent. Supposedly some label execs like to go there, and word’s gotten out. They charge a ten-dollar cover fee, and it’s the best mini-concert.”
“Seattle’s the home of hidden secrets.” I don’t mean for the words to sound like anything more than a friendly response, but Mike’s eyes flicker to mine, and I can hear the silent question in his stare. I clear my throat and turn my attention to grabbing my laptop from my bag. “It sounds like you and Maddie have a new routine. That’s cool.”
“She doesn’t really like the music scene,” he tells me.
“That’s okay. I mean, I’m not a huge football buff, but I still like to go watch Paxton play.” I shrug. “It’s all about compromises, right?”
He shrugs. “Lately, she doesn’t like anything. She’s homesick, and she found that old scrapbook you gave me back in high school…” He stares at me without telling me her reaction, but I can sense it in my chest.
Alarm bells sound in my head. “You kept that?”
He looks maimed by my question. “Of course, I kept it. You made it for my birthday,” he tells me like I don’t remember spending weeks making it.
I shake my head to dislodge the accusation he’s pointed at me. “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth? Why’d you lie and say we were just friends? It would have taken away all the weirdness in the situation. Now, she probably feels like we lied to her.” I consider the situation for a moment. “We did lie to her, and why? It’s so dumb.”
“Because when I saw you, I couldn’t tell her the truth.”
I shake my head before he can continue and tell me why. “You could have. You should have.”
“You didn’t correct me.”
“I was meeting you for the first time in over a year, and you blindsided me. I wasn’t prepared to clarify our history.”
“Or you didn’t want to.”
I stare at him, resenting the fact he’s trying to make me share this blame with him. “You should tell her the truth and throw the scrapbook away.”
“You were my best friend before you were my girlfriend. Technically, I wasn’t lying. I know you better than anyone and—”
“Stop.” I shake my head and struggle to meet his eyes. “You need to think really long and hard about what you’re about to say because if you say what I think you’re going to, we can’t be friends anymore. I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. It’s over.”
“You feel it, too,” he says. “I know you do.”
I shake my head again. “They’re memories. The feelings are all past tense.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, our professor enters the classroom and calls for attention.
The moment class is over, I’m out of my seat, my things already packed. I don’t want to chance if Mike will try and say anything more to me, and I already hate that his words are playing like a podcast in my thoughts, growing an entire audience of doubt and regret about how I’ve handled things with him and with Maddie.
Rae has a class in fifteen minutes, and I’ve already seen Paxton today at Mario’s, and we’re supposed to be going to a party to celebrate before the team leaves for Vegas tomorrow, but right now, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
“Hey, Poppy!” a girl I don’t know greets me.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Are you on your way to see Paxton? Is the rest of the team going to be there? Could I come?” Her questions fire off in quick succession, so fast and intentional I can’t recall the first one, only its purpose.
I shake my head. “I’m just on my way to the quad.”
“Alone?”
I nod.
“Oh.” She looks both ways. “Okay then. Bye.”
I watch her walk away, shell shocked by the reality of what this moment seems to confirm, which is that so many of these strangers who know my name know nothing about me and have no interest to learn. They like me because I’m a channel to Pax and the rest of the team.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the boyfriend stealer.” My spine straightens as Candace comes toward me, her expression predatory and proud like a cat who’s just spotted an injured mouse, and I am without a doubt the mouse. “How’s it going, Poppy?” she asks.
I don’t respond—I can’t. In all of the time I’ve known Candace, she’s never addressed me. It used to bother me because it seemed so blatantly rude, but then I stopped caring because I was dating Mike, Paxton was still carefully listed under the “best friend’s brother” category, and Rae couldn’t stand her most of the time, which all contributed to making not caring simpler.
Candace stops, arms folded over her chest. “What? You only talk to g
uys you want to poach from other girls?”
When I was ten, I’d visited my grandparents and accidentally got too close to a Cholla cactus that my grandma had since my mom was young. To me, the cactus always resembled a creature you’d find under the ocean, with lots of segmented arms that looked deceivingly fuzzy and soft. I’m sure I’m thinking of that now because Candace is sort of like the cactus, beautiful and capable of inflicting pain.
“I need to go,” I tell her, hitching my bag higher.
“You’re never going to be enough. He’s mine, and I’m going to fight for him. I hope you know that.”
“I’m not going to fight you, Candace.”
“You shouldn’t, because you’d lose.” Her words are a threat that makes my stomach turn. I detest women breaking down other women. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves, making this situation even uglier.
I shrug, trying my best to appear unfazed, though my thoughts are starting to fray. “You’ve ruined your chances. I was never in your way. You were in your own way. You added the final nail when you slept with Derek Paulson. Even without me in the picture, do you really think Pax would forgive you for that?”
“Have you met Paxton? Do you realize how competitive he is?” She’s goading me, passing me a glass that I know is laced with poison without even trying to mask her intent, and still, I take a drink.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s happy. Why can’t you accept that?”
“I made him happy. Me. I was there for three years, waiting while he spent hours in the gym and then came over and did nothing but watch football games. I was there when he had to wake up at dawn to go to the gym. I was the one who had to help him decide if football was more important than double majoring. That was all me. You’re reaping the benefits of my hard work.” Her voice verges on being vulnerable, and for a second, I see a fissure of pain that furrows her brow and pinches her eyes. “He’ll grow bored of you. You’re basic. Plain. You’re missionary sex on white cotton sheets.”
Anger boils in my veins. “And still, he chose me.”
She laughs, a dark and maniacal sound. “He chose to make rules and a fake relationship with you.”
Shock burns me, stealing my breath and thoughts.
“Did I mention I saw Pax this morning, and he told me everything? The rules, the lie, the fake dating…” She smiles. “You were a really good actress. For a while, even I was starting to have small doubts. Little, tiny, minuscule doubts.” She smiles again, this one fuller and brighter. Like a true predator, she’s trying to intimidate me, and she does—more than I want her to know. More than I want to realize and admit.
Her lie is steeped in the truth. I feel the barbs of the cactus piercing my thigh and the back of my calf, her words creating the same stinging and pain I’d felt then is felt across much of my skin.
“I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong.”
“So you haven’t been pretending to date Paxton?”
Panic and betrayal hold my words hostage.
“It’s only a matter of time before you stop being able to give him that safe, good-boy facade he needed for the draft, and then he’ll be running back to me, just like he always does. I’ll see him tonight, and tomorrow, and I’ll be in Vegas, and I will continue to be there, a shadow on your relationship, reminding him how much he misses red silk sheets.”
“Poppy!” Raegan calls, her voice a reprieve. She cuts from wherever she was headed and moves to stand next to me.
“See you ladies tonight,” Candace waggles her fingers and then walks away.
Rae glares at her back. “What did she say?”
I shake my head. I can’t tell her the truth because my thoughts are still trying to sort through what Candace just revealed and understand why Pax broke our first rule. Instead, I opt for a small portion of the truth and one of the most pertinent details. “That she still has feelings for Pax.”
Rae scoffs. “She loves the popularity she got from dating him.”
I wince. “Do you think that’s the only reason she was with him?”
“Without a single doubt. She loves drama and parties and attention, and she received plenty of that while dating Pax.” Rae stares at Candace until she turns a corner. “I have a class. Are you heading home to get ready for the bonfire?”
“Yeah…”
Rae’s attention flashes to me. “Are you okay? Did she say anything else?”
“I don’t know. I just… She’s vile, but do you think she does love him? And did they have enough time apart? I mean, they broke up like a minute before I got on the scene. And I wanted the popularity as well, that was my entire purpose, remember?”
Rae shakes her head. “Hold on to the vile part. Candace loves herself too much to care about anyone else. And they were broken up for two months before you guys started your thing, and you and Pax both had your reasons at first.”
Her words do nothing to reassure me. “You should get to class. You’re going to be late.”
“Poppy, talk to me. Don’t let her get in your head. She’s trying to create doubt and mess with you.”
She already has. “I know.”
“Call Pax and hear his reassurances. It might sound needy, but sometimes we need to hear it straight from the source. He’ll tell you the same thing that I am. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were in the picture or not. He was over her, and they were done.”
“Except he told me I could help be a reason to quit her,” I say the thought aloud.
Raegan frowns. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. He’s just dense sometimes and doesn’t think before he speaks.”
“You seriously have to go. I’m fine. I’ll see you when you get home. We can ride to the bonfire together.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
She wraps me in a tight hug, holding me for several long seconds. “Ignore her.”
I nod and offer a smile before we part ways, her heading toward class and me to the parking lot where I find my car and slink into the seat. Emotions are lighting off like fireworks, loud and blinding. I turn the radio off and drive home.
When I unlock the apartment, I set my things down and head to my room, where I pull out the journal that lives between my mattress and box spring. I carry it to the closet and set it on the shelf. I don’t want the words or thoughts or memories to be near me right now. I then grab my current journal, kick off my shoes and plop down on my bed, turning to a fresh page.
Dear Diary,
I am so torn by a conversation I just had with Candace, if you can truly call it a conversation. It felt more like a sneak attack, one I was ill prepared for, which is silly because she’d shown her claws, I just didn’t think she would really use them.
I hate how she’s gotten into my thoughts because Rae’s right, she wants to cast doubt on my feelings and his feelings for me. And in this same vein, I’m worried I might be a little like her. I wanted to be popular, I wanted people to notice me and Rae thinks that’s why she wants to be with Pax. I’m not fully convinced. I think her feelings must run deeper than something so superficial and temporary. Love has a history of making people do crazy things, maybe she really does care about him? Love is also sacrificing and she revealed she feels like she sacrificed a lot and if it’s anything like Rae and Lincoln, she did. Time and weekends and dates and emotions that are cashed in for this sport.
And the doubt she created seems even more vast because she mentioned having seen Pax this morning and he told her about our rules and how we were fake dating. Only four people know about this, so he had to have told her because there’s no way Rae or Lincoln would’ve, and I certainly didn’t. Why would he have seen her? Why would he have told her? Has he been seeing her this entire time?
I feel so betrayed. So used.
I release a breath and scrub a hand across my forehead. Rae’s right. I need to talk to Pax. I glance at the clock to check the time, knowing he’ll be leaving for practice soon. It’s
four. He has to leave in thirty minutes. I reach for my phone, but my doorbell rings before I can scroll to his number.
I set my journal down and cross through the apartment, my thoughts splintered between the past and present, Candace and other mean girls from my past, and Pax. I pull open the door, and my thoughts collide as Paxton stares at me, his gaze anxious and searching. “Rae called me,” he says.
“She shouldn’t have. I’m fine.”
“She said Candace cornered you.”
“She didn’t corner me…” I don’t know why admitting that she did makes me feel so inferior, but it does. “She…” Thoughts of how long Pax and Candace dated and the reminder of how many times they’ve gotten back together stain my mood. I consider how her picture still takes residence on his desk and how he still has that ugly hat she gave him. I wonder how many other things she gave him that are still in the house—in his room. How it took me months to get over Mike and how Pax has moved on with little to no remorse, grieving, or anything aside from the few punishing kisses at the beginning of our agreement which he delivered with a very specific audience: Candace.
My thoughts are spiraling. I hear my mom’s voice in my head from past radio shows that talked about jealousy and how unhealthy it is, reminders about how communication is key and essential for any relationship. It was difficult for me to understand how so many had failed to just ask clarifying questions and have open dialogue, yet currently, my feelings seem like weaknesses, and words feel like a commodity that I’ve been robbed of.
“Did you see Candace this morning?” I ask him.
His unease and the memory of her confidence create the same burning, stinging sensation that was felt when the Cholla cactus barbs were removed, a process that was even more painful than the initial injury. “It’s not what you’re thinking. She stopped by. I didn’t invite her over.”
“Why’d she come?”
“To pick up the last of her stuff.” Mike and I never experienced this sorting. Once in a while, we’d leave a sweatshirt or textbook in each other’s car by mistake, but I’m realizing now that comparing my relationship with Mike and holding hands and him tucking his fingers into my back pocket and sleeping together in the privacy of my room before my parents got home is like a different dimension to what these two experienced while dating. The reality makes my breaths feel more labored as jealousy seeps into my veins, contorting his words and my interpretations. “Things she needed after four months? Like what?”