Fiona gestured to the empty place against her back, where her guitar wasn’t. “Then they know something I don’t.”
She’d gotten through the whole semester without having to play for anybody. Luckily, Flem wanted to hear himself more than his students. But from the description of next semester’s music class, she doubted she’d get so lucky again.
David shrugged. “It’s probably just people home from school.”
They found Lucy in the nook, sprawled across the futon, her battered boots clamped on the chair across from it. “Nice of you to finally get here,” she said, sitting up. “I’m like the cranky old lady saving seats on Christmas Eve.”
“A cranky old lady,” Fiona said, hugging her much-missed best friend. “Such a stretch.”
Lucy and David did a sideways, back-pat kind of hug before settling in. Because of the crowd, Fiona had to raise her voice. “Where’s Ryan?”
Lucy pointed to a crowd at the bar. A few people separated him from Gwen, who now stood on the customer side of the counter. Her back to Ryan, she appeared to be in an animated conversation with people Fiona didn’t know. Ryan was talking with a neighboring clump of strangers.
She couldn’t believe he hadn’t waited at home for her. She thought of their dad and uncle, who spoke only three times a year; they exchanged birthday and Christmas cards. It hurt her heart that she and Ryan might end up like that.
“Who wants what?” she asked, leaving David and Lucy so she could go claim her brother.
She said hello to Gwen and her friends. Then she hugged Ryan and asked if he’d grown, it’d been so long since she’d seen him. He rolled his eyes and poked the guy next to him, whose back was to them both. “Hey, this guy goes to NU. He said he knows you.”
Oh crap, she knew that wrinkled button-down, those jeans, which looked so comfortable she’d considered stealing them on more than one occasion. Fiona’s heart began to pound and would not listen to her commands to calm down.
The dark, wavy hair slowly turned. Jackson faced her, smiling lopsided. He pointed a thumb at Ryan. “I met the brother.”
“So I see,” she said.
“Did you really cry in the cafeteria last week?” Ryan asked, laughing. “When it snowed?”
“I did not cry.”
“Please,” Jackson said. “You were totally watery.”
“Watery is not crying.” The coffee shop guy handed her three mugs from his side of the counter. She picked up two, frowning at the third. “Ryan, help me with Lucy’s.”
“A very fine hair to split.” Jackson stepped forward, picking up the third mug. “Point me toward this Lucy person.”
Ryan nearly spit out his coffee. “Dude, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Now I’m really curious.” He leaned close, whispering conspiratorially. “It might be a clue to the enigma of Fiona Doyle.”
It was ridiculous how quickly her traitorous body reacted.
Jackson motioned her forward with his head. “After you.”
Fiona widened her eyes at her brother, hoping he would correctly interpret her desperate look, which said: Grab that cup from him. Jackson belongs to Northwestern Fiona, not Memphis Fiona.
Unfortunately, he did not correctly interpret. Instead he turned toward Gwen and asked, “Babe, are those two with the dueling harmonicas playing tonight? They’re hilarious.”
Taking a deep breath, Fiona headed to the nook and tried to convince herself she was overreacting. When she handed David his mug, he looked to the stranger at her side—and back to her. She couldn’t make eye contact with him. Instead, Fiona focused on her best friend. Lucy, too, was glancing between her and Jackson.
“So this is Lucy,” Fiona said. “And David. Y’all, this is Jackson King. He goes to Northwestern, too.”
Fiona cringed at the slow, totally inappropriate smile spreading across Lucy’s face. “Well, Jackson King, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard—”
Fiona coughed. Lucy caught her eye and let the rest of her statement fade away.
Jackson handed Lucy her mug and plopped down beside her. “Now, you look familiar.” He looked up at Fiona, who stood helplessly at the end of the futon. “How could I possibly recognize your friend and not you? It’s so wrong, the world’s off balance—like a cat with a bandanna around its middle.”
This was not happening. “It’s the hair,” Fiona said.
Jackson got another look at Lucy’s wild, tall hair. Hair that “possessed its own soul,” Lucy liked to say.
“It is pretty memorable,” Jackson said, his eyes a little wider.
Fiona closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them in David’s direction. “He’s sort of replacement Lucy. At school, I mean. It seems I’m a glutton for abuse . . . and strange metaphors.”
“Another clue!” Jackson said. Then his eyes moved between her, perched on David’s armchair, and David.
Fiona gestured to her unhelpfully silent best friend. “Feel free to take over any time.”
“I don’t have the heart, my friend,” Lucy said, staring past Fiona’s right shoulder.
Fiona followed Lucy’s gaze. If she weren’t hovering near a meltdown, she might have laughed. Because of course this was the perfect moment for Trent McKinnon to walk over and say hello.
Oh, but college had treated him well. Trent filled out his shirt like the fine male specimen he was. Given the bronze color of his face, she figured he must train outside most of the time. Wide, natural swipes of light blond highlighted his hair. The boy was, indisputably, part god.
But he wasn’t Jackson King, was he?
“Hey, partner,” he said, smacking Fiona on the shoulder. “Long time no see.” Trent nodded to the others before turning back to Fiona. “Man, you look awesome.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Trent bent his knees and brought his face inches from hers. Their eyes lined up—and then he looked at her like she’d never been looked at before. Her attraction to Jackson notwithstanding, she wasn’t made of stone. Trent McKinnon was her first love, and they were close enough to kiss.
She was The. Worst. Girlfriend. Ever.
However, as his eyes continued to rake from left to right, she stopped swooning—and started feeling like a science exhibit.
“Seriously. I mean, it’s incredible,” he was saying.
David’s hand tightened around her waist. Jackson leaned forward, his eyes darting between Trent and Fiona—not that they had far to travel. No one said anything for several long seconds as Trent continued scrutinizing her face.
The other three interrupted him at once.
“Dude, how about you give her some air?” said Jackson. “All right, show’s over,” Lucy said. And David: “Trent.”
Trent straightened, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s just . . .”
“Incredible. Yes, we know,” Lucy said. “Hey, could you send Ryan Doyle over here?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Trent said. After an awkward second, he pivoted toward the bar. “See you later, partner.”
“Trent,” Fiona called, because despite the inspection, she’d always have a soft spot for him. “Don’t lose touch with the soil.”
He smiled, fired a finger-gun at her, and disappeared into the crowd.
David’s hand was still clenched around her waist. “I know you’re friends with him, but Jesus, Fiona. That was ridiculous.”
“He was being nice,” she muttered.
“It was like you were a freaking science fair project.” His voice came out louder than normal. It made Fiona look at him twice.
Ryan walked up. “What’s going on? Trent McKinnon said I had to come over.”
“I needed to give him an activity,” Lucy said.
Jackson’s eyes hadn’t moved from Trent. “That dude’s an asshole, right?” he asked no one in particular.
Ryan and David said yes, Fiona no, and Lucy meh.
“Okay, it’s girl time,” Lucy said, standing and pulling Fiona up with her
. “See you boys later.”
She dragged Fiona outside of the coffee shop, to the battered back porch by the parking lot. The night felt colder than when she’d left the house—and she’d left her jacket in the car, out of spite.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Lucy asked.
Sinking down onto the stairs leading to the parking lot, Fiona dropped her head in her hands. “The most awful thing is, I don’t know which he you mean.”
“It’ll be fine. Just tell him.”
“Tell who what?”
“Well, I imagine you’ll have to tell both whos.” There was a pause. “Just to clarify, we’re talking about David and Jackson, right?”
Fiona nodded into her hands.
“Do you like him? Jackson?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” But the answer was noncommittal. She buried her face deeper into her hands. “I’m such a bitch.”
“Why are you a bitch?”
“I don’t want to be that girl. The something better comes along girl.”
Lucy snorted. “That’s life, Fiona—just a strung-together series of abandoning one thing for another.”
“That’s terrible! You’d just ditch me if someone better came along?”
“Best friends don’t count,” Lucy said, nudging her shoulder.
Fiona shook her head. “Everyone counts—well, everyone important. Loyalty matters.”
“Does their loyalty matter more than you? Does what David wants—what he deserves or whatever—count more than what you want?”
Fiona looked away. The car directly across the parking lot had those silly stick-figure bumper stickers, one per family member—a mom, dad, girl, two boys, three dogs, and a cat. By stickers alone, Fiona knew the family’s school, soccer and cheer teams, and that they didn’t like the previous president. One sticker said Mean People Suck.
Fiona wondered why people felt the need to advertise their lives, their politics, and causes. It was like what Jackson said that morning in the cafeteria back in November—you shouldn’t fall back on catchphrases. You should speak your own philosophy.
Still, she couldn’t look away from Mean People Suck. “David liked me when I was a mess, Luce. Breaking up with him after, once I’ve been fixed—how’s it different from someone divorcing his wife when he gets rich? Or famous or whatever?”
“First off, you’re eighteen, so the marriage comparison is a stretch. Second, what? You’ve got to stay with David the rest of your life because he noticed you first? Don’t get me wrong—good for David—but seriously, Fiona. It doesn’t give him lifetime possession rights.”
“It sucks, feeling like this.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You do?”
Lucy gazed across the parking lot, too. “On the flip side. A girl I like at school likes somebody else more than me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s weird talking about it.” Lucy shrugged. “It’s just not me, the brokenhearted thing. Honestly, the whole fluttery-crush action isn’t much better. All that up and down—it’s too much emotional turmoil. I prefer to remain uniformly crotchety.”
“Oh, Luce. I’m sorry.”
“It was fair, though, her choice. Doesn’t make her—or me—less. Decent people break up with other decent people all the time.”
“You’re a better woman than me.”
“Agreed.” Lucy shifted back, resting her hands behind her and leaning into them. “So let me ask you this—what if David broke up with you? How would you feel about it?”
Fiona frowned. “Annoyed—like, about why. Worried we couldn’t be friends anymore.”
“And Jackson? If nothing happened there?”
“Oh.” The idea was worse than that rusty-nail feeling she got when Trent McKinnon broke her heart. This felt like a chunk of her getting sawed off by an old, dull knife.
She looked at her friend and whispered, “He smells like cantaloupe.”
JANUARY
FI
Fi slogged to the sidelines, cold, wet, and irritated. For the past three hours, the Milton women’s club lacrosse team—go Badgers!—had put forth the saddest display of skills and teamwork Fi had ever seen.
“Fi, got a sec?”
Fi looked up from her bag. Mandy Pittman, the coach who wouldn’t let the team call her “Coach” since she was, in fact, only two years older than the seniors, stood a few feet in front of her. “Sure,” Fi said.
Mandy sat beside her. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“The growling made me suspicious.”
“I wasn’t growling,” Fi muttered.
“I’ll be sure to clarify that with Kristin. She’s worried you’re going to come after her in her sleep.”
Fi scowled, thinking about Kristin, the sophomore attack who couldn’t catch a ball if someone handed it to her. By some miracle, the girl had found herself in the perfect position for an assist from Fi—smack in front of the goal with no defenders near her. Fi even tossed her the ball at about a quarter strength, and Kristin missed it. How she managed to bounce the ball off her toe, Fi couldn’t guess.
Still, she didn’t want anyone to be scared of her. “She’s upset?”
Mandy waved her off. “She has a brother here, two years ahead. They have disturbing wedgie battles in the cafeteria. I think she can handle a little growling from a freshman.”
Wow. Ryan might be annoying, but at least he’d never tried to wedgie her—privately or publicly. A few years ago, she might have taken him, but he was about six foot two now.
Mandy pointed across the field, where the rest of the team was heading to the locker room. “They’re doing their best, you know. Most of us are just here for the fun of it.”
Fi zipped her bag and sat up, looking past the gray, soggy field to the campus beyond it. The buildings were pretty—stone, ivy-covered—and flanked by cobblestoned paths and sweeping bright-green lawns. “Yeah. I know.”
Mandy turned to look at Fi. “Not to be nosy, but—why are you here?”
Fi’s heart broke a little at the question. Did the “fun of it” part not apply to her? “Because I love it.”
Mandy shook her head. “No, I mean why are you on our team? Why are you playing for Milton?”
“It’s a good school,” she said. “I wanted to be close to home.”
“You didn’t want to play, like, for a good team?”
“No, I did,” she said, fiddling absently with the zipper on her bag. “I was talking to Northwestern, actually.”
Mandy whistled. “Great school.”
“But far.”
“And that was bad because . . . ?”
Fi took a deep breath. She was partially tempted to reveal the whole story—the dead boyfriend, the blown chance at Northwestern, her multiple-personality emails to Candace Starnes, the head coach. “Personal reasons,” she said instead.
“Look, Fi. I’m sure everyone on the team would love to learn some tips from you—but we are what we are. We’re not trying to win the league. We’re playing some lacrosse and having a beer after, okay?”
Fi nodded.
“If you want to talk to other teams, I’ll help however I can.”
Nice. I’m getting pushed off a bottom tier club team. She stood up, flinging her bags over her shoulder. “Are we done?”
“Yes, we’re done.”
Without another look at Mandy, Fi walked across the muddy field, flung her stuff—and then herself—into her car, and clenched the steering wheel.
Her. Life. Sucked. Lacrosse at Milton. Pathetic grades. Her best friend was currently a stuffed bear.
She wanted to see Trent.
It was such an urgent, unexpected thought. But what was she going to do? Just pop in? Vent? Cry on his shoulder? It wasn’t like he would comfort her, tell her everything would be all right. Trent might offer his shoulder, but he couldn’t stomach wallowing.
A muddy, sweaty mess, Fi cranked the engine and heade
d south anyway. A little over an hour later, she was following Highway 6 into Oxford. She took a right when the green University of Mississippi sign told her to. At first, the road was all sprawl and chain stores, but eventually, Fi was driving past big old trees and pretty buildings.
She’d been down here a few times before—some football games with Ryan and her dad—but she didn’t know the campus well. She rolled down a window and yelled to a runner on the sidewalk. “Hey, is there a dorm around here called Stockman? Strockman? Something like that?”
The guy pointed to two tall buildings peeking over the trees. “Stockard. Take a right on Rebel Drive. You’ll be right there.”
She pulled into the lot, but couldn’t get into the dorm without a card, and the desk appeared to be empty. Trent wasn’t answering his phone, so she did the only thing she could think of—buy some bad coffee at the little mart across the street and wait on her hood until he came back. There better not be a back entrance he could slip into without her catching him.
Thirty minutes later, Fi was still on the hood, curling in on herself against the cold and wishing she’d brought a coat, or at least dry clothes. At four thirty, the sun was setting. Winter sucked.
She’d about given up and was digging through her bag for her keys when from behind her a voice said, “Fi?”
Trent stood at the side of her car, a few guys behind him, a girl right by his side. He looked older—collegiate—even though he wore only jeans and an Ole Miss sweatshirt that looked comfy enough to steal. He had the same backpack from high school.
“Hey,” she said.
“Uh, hey,” he drawled, looking at her like she was unstable. “What the heck are you doing here?”
Fi looked past him to the people she didn’t know. “Um—”
Trent followed her gaze. Quickly he gestured to the guys. “This is Zach, Brian, and Chris. Lacrosse.” Then to the girl. “And Lindsey.”
Fi held up a hand. “Hi.”
Trent waved his friends on, saying he’d catch up with them later. Lindsey looked over her shoulder at Fi as she went to the dorm.
Hopping onto the hood, Trent slid beside her. “So, Crazy, why are you here?”
Fi sighed and slumped against the windshield. Trent followed suit. Her shoulder rested against his upper arm; her head lolled onto it as well. “I don’t know. Bad day, I guess.”
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