by Jamie Shaw
“You said you’d never be caught dead in it, but it might look cute on one of your family’s pigs.”
My jaw drops open, and Danica’s expression changes. Her eyes widen, her lips unpurse, and she shakes her head wildly because she knows she messed up. “I wouldn’t—”
“You would,” Mike says. “You did. I wouldn’t forget something like that, Danica.”
My cousin’s expression hides nothing as a million excuses race through her head. I have no idea how she’s going to get out of this one, and I’m not sure she deserves to.
“What a bitch thing to say,” Dee remarks unapologetically, and even though Mike doesn’t owe it to Danica to come to her defense, he does. It’s the chivalry in him, and I should know by now never to expect less.
Or more.
“Hey—” he warns, looking over my cousin’s shoulder at Dee, and with stark clarity, I can see it happening: I can see all of Dee’s Yoko predictions coming true. This is the moment Danica is going to put a wedge in the band. This is the moment she’ll come between Mike and Dee, and Mike and Joel, Mike and everyone.
“Danica just puts her foot in her mouth sometimes,” I blurt. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“I didn’t!” she hastily agrees, even though I’m sure no one believes her, because I sure as hell don’t.
“Why are you defending her?” Dee snaps, and I shrink under her steel gaze.
Rowan speaks for me when I can’t find my voice. “Can we all just stop fighting?” she pleads. “This is ridiculous. We’re in a freaking meadow, for God’s sake. It’s pretty.” She sneezes and wipes her nose on her sleeved elbow. “It’s like . . . something out of Twilight. There are probably vampires around here or something, and they’re probably . . . like . . . glittering.”
Adam chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders, kissing her hair. “Only rock stars, Peach. No vampires.”
“So I won’t get to make out with Robert Pattinson today?” Rowan pouts, and Adam picks her up and threatens to throw her into the pond. She’s screaming and laughing and kicking, and then he’s tickling her and she’s crying with laughter. The next thing I know, they’re kissing, and then they’re disappearing into the woods while the rest of us hang around wondering what the hell just happened.
“I’m eating their sandwiches,” Kit informs everyone, walking to the other side of the dock and kneeling down to unzip Rowan’s backpack. Shawn, Dee, Joel, and I follow her lead, claiming spots on the checkered picnic blanket at that side of the dock to give Mike and Danica some privacy.
“I’ll fight you for them,” Joel challenges, crawling to sit by Kit.
“I’ll throw you into the pond.”
“So?”
“You’re a shit swimmer,” she says, pulling out handfuls of Saran-wrapped sandwiches and tossing them onto the blanket. “You’ll probably drown before you reach the shore.”
“You’d let me drown?”
“I’d be too busy enjoying my sandwiches to notice,” Kit says, unwrapping a sandwich and taking a big bite out of it to prove her point.
Joel chuckles and wisely picks up only a single sandwich, and the rest of us follow suit—all of us except Mike and Danica, who stay where they are to have a hushed conversation that the rest of us pretend not to notice.
Well, most of us. Dee doesn’t try to hide the fact that she’s watching them like her own personal soap opera.
“So Kit,” I start as I unwrap a ham and cheese sandwich. I take the ham off and offer it to Joel, who shoves the whole slice into his mouth. “You went to school with everyone too?”
Kit nods, her mouth full and her hands holding two half-eaten sandwiches. It takes her a minute to finish chewing, and then she swallows and says, “Yeah. I was a few grades lower though.”
“Did you all run in the same circles or something?”
“Not really,” she says, and then she amends, “Kind of. Uh. Well, one of my brothers knew the guys. They weren’t really friends or anything, but they went to the same parties.”
“Sometimes Kit came to those parties too,” Shawn adds, smiling as Kit’s cheeks turn bright red.
“And Danica?” I ask, too curious about my cousin to try to find out why Kit is blushing from head to toe.
“What about me?” Danica asks, joining us at our side of the platform as the guys laugh at my question. I make room for her to sit down, and Mike sits on her other side just as Adam chases Rowan back onto the dock.
“I was just asking if you guys were all friends in high school or something,” I repeat, and to my surprise, Danica laughs just as hard as Shawn and Joel did.
“No.”
“Let me guess,” Dee says, pointing a manicured finger across our makeshift circle at her. “Cheerleader.”
“Captain,” Danica boasts, and Dee huffs before going back to ignoring her.
“So how did you two end up together?” I ask, turning my head to question her and Mike.
Mike looks from me, to Danica, to me—and Danica finally gives me an answer.
“He asked me out at the school talent show our freshman year.” She gazes lovingly at Mike. “He’d had a crush on me forever.”
“Since third grade,” Mike agrees on his cue, and the few bites of cheese sandwich I ate nearly make a reappearance.
“Before the last song,” Danica continues, her gaze returning to mine, “he walked up to the mic, told everyone that the next song was for the prettiest girl in school, and then pointed his drumsticks at me.”
“He was so fucking nervous.” Adam laughs, digging his whole braceleted arm into a bag of barbecue potato chips.
“I thought he was going to throw up,” Shawn teases, and Mike’s cheeks turn a bashful shade of pink.
“Shut up.”
“My friends thought he was hot as hell,” Danica brags. “They freaked out. And after the show, when Mike walked up to me and asked me out, I thought my bestie, Katie, was going to faint.”
I’ve met Katie. She’s a raging bitch.
“What about you?” I ask, noticing that the most important details in Danica’s memory are of how her friends felt. Not how she felt.
“Well, I said yes, of course,” she says with a look-at-me, I’m-so-fabulous smile. “How could I not?”
“He gave her his drumsticks,” Joel remembers with a laugh. “Like he thought he was some kind of rock star even back then.”
Mike moves to his knees to reach out and punch Joel in the arm, and Danica’s smile widens. “And after that, it was happily ever after.”
“Right up until you dumped him,” Kit mutters as murky clouds drift across the sky, forming a puzzle of shadows that assemble themselves on our faces.
“It was for the best,” Danica says without missing a beat. “I regret the way it happened, but I needed time to grow up. I needed time to realize what I really want.” She links her arm with Mike’s, fluttering her long lashes up at him when he looks down at her. “I never would have realized what I was missing if I hadn’t had time to miss it.”
I don’t remember her missing him a few weeks ago. I remember her coming home late from dates with guys from Alpha Cheeto Alpha, her hair a mess and her mascara smeared. And before that, I’d never heard of Mike. I’d never heard of Mike Madden or The Last Ones to Know or this eternal love that Danica claims to have for him.
“Hailey, are you okay?” Rowan suddenly asks, and my stomach makes a noise that can only be described as the avenging battle cry of the cheese-mayo-mustard sandwich I just ate.
“I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“You’re not the only one,” Dee grumbles as Mike loosens himself from Danica to lean forward and study my nauseous face. I scramble to my feet because I am absolutely, definitely going to hurl.
“You’re probably seasick,” Mike says. I’m on my feet with my hands gripping my knees when he wraps his fingers around my biceps, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Let’s get you off this pond.”
“I’ll come with you,�
� Danica peeps as Mike leads me from the platform. She’s rising to her feet when I hear Shawn call behind us.
“Wait!” A brief pause. “I . . . actually wanted to talk to you about your idea for the music video . . .”
Danica’s footsteps stop echoing off the dock, and I want to look back to see if she’s still following us, but I’m too busy holding my hand over my mouth and letting Mike haul me toward dry land. We step off the dock, we walk through the grass, and when our group looks like nothing but tiny figurines in the distance, Mike finally releases my arm.
“Are you okay?” He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, the breeze covering me with the subtle scent of his cologne. His eyes are shadowed under the brim of his cap, and something about the perfect shape of his jaw makes my stomach cave in on itself.
I shake my head. My arms feel weak. I’m pretty sure he needs to stop touching me.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Mike asks, and I glance back to our group. Back to where Danica is.
I probably shouldn’t, but I nod. I nod my head yes, and I walk with him into the woods.
Chapter 12
I’m lost. Walking alongside Mike, I’m completely, hopelessly lost. I’m a million thoughts scrambling for purchase in my head. I’m the icy wind and the restless leaves and the erratic pulse hammering wildly under my skin.
I focus on my one-size-too-big boots, stepping carefully over rocks and branches and untamed weeds. We don’t speak. We just walk. We walk while I concentrate on the cyclone churning in my stomach and the storm brewing in my chest. We walk until my nausea subsides and I can finally gaze over at him without tripping over my own feet.
With his eyes cast down at the decaying orange carpet rolled out before us, he seems just as distracted as me—here, but not here. His thick lashes are lowered over thoughtful eyes, his black and green cap hiding his face from the fading October sun. I wish I knew all of the silent thoughts locked inside his head, and I must stare at him a little too long trying to figure them out, because without looking away from the invisible path he’s following, Mike says, “This is weird, right?”
Does he mean us walking alone in the woods? Or the fact that Danica stopped following us? Or the middle-of-the-wilderness pond in general? Or maybe him being a rock star in redneck country? Or his band making a big music video? Or—
He gazes over at me when I take too long trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Hanging out. You and me.”
Does he mean because of Danica? Is this weird? Is it wrong? Should we go back? Should I—
Mike slides his cap off to scratch his hand through his hair, and then he pulls it back on. “It’s weird hanging out face to face, isn’t it? After gaming together all the time. You’re one of my best friends now, but we only really hung out that one time a couple weeks ago.”
He waits for me to answer, but all I can manage to say is exactly what I’m thinking. “I’m one of your best friends?”
Mike’s gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer before sliding away. He pushes his loose sleeves up to his elbows and concentrates hard on where he’s walking, and then he looks over at me, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a self-deprecating smile.
“I sound like the biggest loser on the planet right now, don’t I?”
In the middle of a cold autumn day, a summer warmth stretches its rays inside of me. He looks so sincere, so vulnerable, and I ignore all of the self-doubt twined tight in my belly to assure him, “You’re one of my best friends too.”
Mike’s lips curve into a soft smile. He pulls his hat off and folds it into his back pocket, his hair a wild, abandoned mess. “Good, that means I’m not pathetic.”
“I’m pretty sure that just means we’re both pathetic,” I say, and he laughs a laugh that makes my cheek muscles hurt from trying not to smile. He hasn’t laughed like that all day, and I didn’t realize how tired the day had seemed without the sound of it.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, stepping on a sprawling pricker bush with his big boot so I can walk over it. He takes my hand to help me over a fallen tree.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to head back?”
With one leg dangling on the other side of the tree trunk and my hand still in Mike’s, I sit and ask, “What else would we do?”
My heart jackhammers against my ribs even after he releases my hand. I press my palms against the rough bark, wishing I could dissolve into it to escape the last five words out of my mouth. I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so . . . dangerous. It feels dangerous, that question, and I wish I could take each word back, but I can’t, because there they are, hanging in the air.
What else would we do? Nothing.
Not go for a walk like I might with Rowan. Not climb trees like I might with Kit. Not chase clouds like I might with Luke.
Nothing. Nothing.
Mike’s eyes hold mine, and mine hold his, and when thunder cracks like a whip through the forest, I nearly fall off the log.
One raindrop falls while I steady myself. And then another. And another.
“Shit,” Mike hisses, turning his eyes up to the invisible threat slithering through dark clouds in an even darker sky. We’re far from the pond now, which means we’re really, really far from the cars. Which means we’re going to get absolutely drenched—if we don’t get struck by lightning or have a tree fall on us first.
Mike lowers his chin and wipes wet droplets from his forehead. “When I was up here last year for that party, I found an old cabin. I think it’s the way we’re heading.”
“You think?”
“It should be close.” The corners of my mouth turn down, and Mike tugs his cap from his back pocket. “Do you want to try for it?” he asks, twisting his hat onto my head.
The question remains in his eyes even as lightning snakes across the sky. Another crack, another flinch, more rain.
“And you’re pretty sure it’s this way?” I ask, tucking my frizzing hair behind my ears.
Mike nods, but his expression doesn’t look confident. “I think so . . . but I could be getting us lost.”
I cling to the log and worry my lip, and Mike watches me cling to the log and worry my lip.
“Let’s go for it,” I finally say, swinging my leg to the other side of the fallen tree. I drop to the solid earth and wait for his feet to hit the ground next to mine.
Mike leads the way, and I follow him deeper into the woods. I follow him through lightning and thunder. I follow him through weeds and mud. I follow him even when the sky breaks open and unleashes hell on us.
I’m running ahead of him a couple minutes later, when the rain is beating us unmercifully to death. Each swollen drop feels like it’s been shot from the sky. I’m pelted again and again as I do my best to race through the trees, slipping on wet grass and narrowly avoiding being eaten alive by bushes with teeth. “We’re going to die because of you!”
Each strike of lightning is a heart attack in my chest as my lungs struggle to pump oxygen into my legs. I’m in the woods, lost, in the middle of a storm that’s howling and raging like a living beast. I’m being drowned by rain.
“I’m sorry!” Mike shouts, but he doesn’t sound very sorry.
“Are you laughing?!”
“I’m sorry!” Mike yells again, this time laughing in earnest.
I’m about to spin around and save this serpentine storm the trouble of murdering him, when the forest suddenly clears enough for me spot it—a set of old wooden stairs leading up to an old wooden porch attached to an old wooden cabin.
“Thank God!” I shout, doing a final mad dash through twisting sheets of rain. My boots slap one-two-three up the porch stairs, and I throw myself into the door, twisting the knob and practically tumbling inside. I double over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. And when I finally do catch it, I find Mike in the same position. Doubled over, hands on his knees.
Only, he’s laughing. His entire body shakes with it, a
nd when he peeks up at me and sees the indignant expression on my face, he laughs even harder.
“I should have left you out there,” I say through a sternly suppressed smile, and any last sense of composure leaves him as he laughs hysterically.
“I never swam with a manatee!” Mike laugh-shouts, making fun of the frantic things I cried as I ran through the monsoon, watching my life flash before my eyes. “I never learned to water-ski! I never hugged a koala!”
The sounds he’s making no longer even sound like laughter. He’s howling, coughing, crying, and I can’t help laughing too.
“Stop making fun of me!”
I playfully chuck his hat at him, and he stands upright to catch it. “I never ate pizza in Italy!” he teases.
“Pizza in New York!” I correct, and Mike grins with streams of rain trickling down his happy face. He’s soaked, from the ends of his hair to the laces of his boots, and I’m not in better shape.
“We’re going to catch pneumonia,” I warn, but Mike just shakes his head and chuckles.
“You’re going to live to cuddle a koala someday, Hailey, I promise.”
He takes off his drenched hoodie and hangs it on a wall hook to dry, revealing the black T-shirt he has on underneath, and then he sits on the floor and stretches out his long legs, watching the rain pummel the forest outside.
The cabin is empty, save for about ten years’ worth of dirt and dust. I swipe my shoe over a filthy spot on the wooden floor, and then I sit down too. “How long do you think it’s going to rain?”
Mike pulls his phone out of his pocket like it’s going to tell him the answer. “No idea.”
“No service?”
“None.” He leans back on the palms of his hands, and I crisscross my legs.
“Do you think everybody else is getting soaked too?” I ask, and Mike chuckles.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Rowan had a popup tent and a space heater in that backpack of hers.”
If she doesn’t, I’d bet good money that Danica is not going to be happy when we get back, but I keep that little prophecy to myself. I’m sure Mike is well aware.
“You’ve really never had New York pizza?” he asks, glancing over at me. Rain pounds against the roof and batters the dusty windows, but Mike sits near the open door of the cabin, content to cross one ankle over the other and talk to me about pizza.