My nipples harden beneath the material of my dress, a silky plum number that doesn’t allow for a bra. Laura helped me pick it out, and I probably wouldn’t have worn it except for her insisting I look killer in it. Sawyer’s gaze is even hotter than if his hands were on me, and I watch as he bites his lip when I raise my hands above my head.
I have no idea what the hell has come over me. Come over us.
Hailey appears in front of him, and I watch his hands latch onto her hips. It’s like being doused in cold water, but I can’t look away. She backs her ass up into him, her boobs nearly falling out of the skin-tight black dress that could double as a hand towel. It’s no secret that she’s basically trying to dry-hump him on the dance floor, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Here I thought he was captivated by me, but it’s just for show. It’s just to get a reaction and then slam me back down to earth.
Sawyer watches me as I watch them dance, and his eyebrow quirks up. It’s as if he’s saying, you really thought I’d be into you? I’m such a fool.
Anthony Davido meanders over. We’ve always been cordial in classes. He’s another of those popular nerds; the premier tennis champion in our conference, Anthony is a little slimmer and more wiry than I’d find attractive, but he has a cute face. But when he shrugs his shoulder and holds out his hand, a silent question, I accept. If Sawyer can shove someone in my face, I can do the same to him.
I try not to look across the floor as Anthony and I move to the music, but I can’t help it. Sawyer grabs Hailey’s waist, bending her a little, so that she’s grinding even farther into him. I make a counter-move, picking up Anthony’s hand and laying it on my own waist. We’re nowhere near as raunchy or as close as they are, but this is more PDA than I’ve ever put on.
I watch those clover-green eyes grow a murky color, the hue of the sea when it rages and thrashes during a storm. He’s jealous, pissed, and scheming, I can tell.
But I’m not backing down. If he wants to play, let’s play.
Sawyer moves his hands up to the curves of her breast.
I turn around and put my butt flush to Anthony’s crotch.
He moves a leg between her thighs.
I wind my arms around Anthony’s neck.
I watch as Sawyer bends, his lips skating over her neck, and then … I’m out. My blood runs cold, realizing that not only did he get under my skin, but I’m leading someone on who I have no interest in.
I don’t want to be a part of this competition, if that’s what I’ll have to witness. It gutted me enough reading those words he wrote about me all those years ago, and I’ve been able to stay—mostly—unaware of his dating pursuits. But to stand here and watch him be all over another girl? To put his lips on her? I can’t do it.
I hastily mutter some apology to Anthony, one he probably can’t hear over the music, and rush off the dance floor. Most of the hallways are gated off, since they don’t want students wandering the school and causing mayhem. But I know the one that isn’t and make a break in its direction. I need some air, and I need it in private.
Not even two feet into the hallway that isn’t shuttered, I hear the door I just came out slam behind me again.
“Blair.”
Sawyer’s baritone follows me down the hall, and I close my eyes as I start to speed walk faster. I’ll hit a dead end eventually, so there is no point in running away, but I do it anyway.
“Will you just …” He sounds exasperated, but he’s getting closer.
Why the hell did he follow me? Hasn’t he made a big enough fool out of me in there, even if no one else bore witness?
The far off chords of Khalid and Normani singing “Love Lies” haunts the hallway, and I know it the moment Sawyer catches up with me. He doesn’t even touch me, but I stop, knowing I won’t walk away from him any farther.
Wordlessly, I turn, and he’s standing there in front of me with one of the most anguished expressions I’ve ever seen.
“Blair.” I’m not sure what he’s going to say, but I don’t want it to be some excuse.
“Don’t. I don’t want Slick Sawyer, or the guy who is going to use his charm to try to skate over what you were doing back there. I know the real you. So … don’t.”
His eyes dart to the floor, and I watch as his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. My core clenches with that small move, and even though we’re not in the crowd of people back in the gym, this hallway is the temperature of an inferno.
Sawyer doesn’t say another word as he moves toward me, and I stand stock-still like an animal just hunted down by its prey. I don’t move as he presses his body to mine, or when his hands fall to my waist. My arms stay by my sides as he pulls me closer and begins to sway.
It’s not until he bends, pressing his forehead to mine and closing his eyes as if he’s in agony, that I wrap my arms around his neck.
The music is slow, the lyrics singing about being truthful to a partner about whether you’re into them or not. It’s a sexy, pulsing beat, and we move to it.
Alone, in this hallway for no one to see, we are one. Everything else falls away, and my heart weeps. It’s hammering so rapidly that it would be a miracle if Sawyer doesn’t hear it. We’ve never held each other like this, not even when we were friends. But this isn’t the embrace of friends, is it?
This is the dance of lovers, and I’m in so much trouble. My heart is in so much trouble.
In the background, the DJ begins to announce the homecoming king and queen and their court by grade.
“And for the senior class, your homecoming queen is … Hailey Heller!”
Sawyer doesn’t let go of me as the cheers erupt in the gym behind us. Our heads are still pressed together, and I can feel his raspy breath on my lips.
“And your homecoming king is … Sawyer Roarke!”
Those green eyes connect with mine, but he doesn’t take his hands off my waist. They’re cheering for him in there, and it dawns on me that this is all we have. Just this stolen moment, a display that no one else will see. It’ll be his dirty little secret, but his true life is in there. As the king among them, poised to take his crown and reap their congratulations.
“Go,” I tell him, trying not to betray the emotion crawling up my throat.
“Blair …” His face is a storm of expressions.
It’s the third time he’s said my name, and I just want to slap him. He can’t just come out here and make my knees turn to jelly without even attempting a real conversation.
“Go. They’re waiting for you.” I back away from him, being the one to break our connection.
When his hands fall away, I feel empty and cold.
“I don’t want to …”
I’m not sure if he means he doesn’t want to go back in there, if he doesn’t want to do this, or if there is a part of that sentence he doesn’t know how to complete.
Either way, I’m not sticking around to find out. I’m the one to go, fleeing in another direction down a hallway that I think leads to an exit that hasn’t been blocked off.
I forgot myself tonight. I forgot what he did to me. But just as quickly, I’ve been brought back to reality.
Sawyer Roarke isn’t mine. And he never wanted me to be his in the first place.
13
Sawyer
“This week we’re going to start the project you’ll be completing at the culmination of this marking period,”
my AP government teacher, Mr. Fennis, announces as the class straightens in their seats. This isn’t a room full of students who will groan at the prospect of hard work; no, we’re the brainiacs who actually enjoy school, as witnessed by our willingness to have our asses handed to us in an advanced placement course.
“You’ll be paired off in teams, one president and one vice president. You’ll need to come up with your platform, stance on issues, marketing strategy … basically, you’ll be putting together an entire mock campaign. Each week, I’ll expect a written report on aspects such as your
healthcare initiative, foreign policies, social issues, military goals, etcetera. Then right before winter break, we’ll be having two separate debates; one for the presidents and one for the vice presidents.”
This actually sounds like a pretty cool project, and I always prefer learning hands-on than sitting at our desks and being lectured to. It’s not like I’m interested in going into government or politics, but this sounds better than textbook work.
“I’ve already randomly assigned your partners, so listen up.”
Mr. Fennis begins to read off the pairings, and I stare daggers at Blair’s thick curtain of chocolate hair right in front of me.
My fingers still tingle with the thought of her body making contact with them. I’ve thought of barely anything else since Saturday night, and as much as it kills me to admit it, I’ve been waiting for this class since I left the dance in Matt’s car.
The after-party that night is a blur; not because I was drunk, but because my emotions were spiraling. All I seemed to want to do was run over to Blair’s house, climb up the trellis outside her bedroom window, and sneak into her room. I wanted to get her naked, get my hands on something other than the silky material of that dress that clung to every curve.
But I watched the light go from her eyes in that hallway. The minute they announced my name, reality was a cold, hard punch to the gut. We were … well, we were us. We put on this show of loathing each other for years, and here we were, two seconds from sharing an earth-shattering kiss just feet from our peers. Peers who thought we hate each other. I know that I was hesitant, and I could tell from her body language that she was scared out of her mind. Scared of me, I put that fear there.
And just when I thought that I could forgive her, that I could swallow the pill of anger that has lingered in my throat for so long, I realized that I did way more damage than I ever thought. I’m not sure there is any way to get her back now, I’m not sure she’ll ever look at me like she did before all of this transpired.
How do I even broach the subject? Hey Blair, I think I’m in love with you even though I treated you like shit because you treated me like shit first, so can we just forget the last two years and make out? Pretty sure that’s not going to fly.
“Sawyer Roarke and Blair Oden, Bradley Young and Greg Vichy …” Mr. Fennis is listing off names.
A couple students shift in their seats to look at Blair and me; my desk is directly behind hers. They all know exactly how we feel about each other.
I’m waiting for her to turn around, to give me a death glare or stink eye or something. But she keeps her head straight-on, only moving to swoop her hair over one shoulder so that I have a view of her elegant neck. Even with the shock I’m just dealt, being announced as her partner, my mind is fixated on kissing up and down that column until she sighs my name.
Mr. Fennis talks about some more aspects of the project, and sets the first benchmark of assignments, but I’m barely listening. Being paired with her is both the best and worst thing that could have happened, and I don’t know how to handle it.
The bell rings, and I’m expecting Blair to turn back toward me, to begrudgingly agree on when we should discuss the beginnings of our partnership.
Instead, I watch as she walks to the front of the class and right up to Fennis’ desk.
And by the way she bends to him, to talk in low tones, I know exactly what she’s doing.
She’s trying to switch her partner. Trying not to work with me, trash my name or some shit.
Blair Oden is trying to get away from me. Her, get away from me.
I’m so livid that I can’t just brush it off. So confronting her head-on it is.
14
Blair
I come out of the classroom, and Sawyer is hot on my heels.
“You really asked to switch?”
My cheeks burn at being so obviously found out. “You really want to work together?”
“Hell no, but I’m not going to be a fucking baby about it.”
My eyes slice to him, because I don’t need to be cursed at in the hallways of my high school. He’s basically trailing me down the hall as I try to speed walk away from him, and we’re drawing looks.
“And I don’t need to be paired with someone who doesn’t value this project in the same way I do.” I make up an excuse.
Of course, I know how smart Sawyer is, and he’s going to do a great job on this assignment. He’s never given half-effort in any of the advanced classes we’ve been in together. But I can’t be this close to him, especially for the next couple of weeks. If homecoming is any indication, I still have a weak spot when it comes to him. And after all that we’ve been through.
The jock god rears back like I’ve hit him. “You really think I’d do some half-ass job? Wow, Blair. You think so highly of me.”
“What else am I supposed to think of you?” I stop in the middle of the stream of people and plant a hand on my hip. “Because you’ve just treated me oh so kindly for the past two years.”
Sawyer squares off against me, the two of us obstinate boulders in the middle of a sea of students. “Like I said, let’s not forget who started this war.”
“Oh my god, let it go, Sawyer. We’re not friends, we’re never going to be friends. Not again. You’ve solidified that. I have no idea what’s gotten into you the last few weeks, but it doesn’t make up for how horribly you’ve treated me. So no, I don’t feel like working with someone on a project that is going to cost me my entire grade this marking period.”
“Because you’re just Miss Fucking Perfect when it comes to everything government. Lest anyone forget you’re the head honcho on class cabinet. Jesus Christ, Blair, you act like you’re some congress member when all you do is decorate the gym with streamers for some lame dance.”
I swear, it feels like he just shot an arrow through my chest. I know my student government position doesn’t wield any power, but it’s the one passion I have in this hellhole that is high school. And he’s just slicing right through the only thing I actually enjoy about this place.
My temper snaps, and I come out with knives drawn. “Maybe I just don’t feel like working with some daddy’s boy who isn’t used to working for anything in his life. You skate through life, Sawyer, everyone knows it. You’re an athlete, which means you’re given preferential grades. And eventually, you’ll skate through college and take your nice cushy, easy job at our fathers’ firm because you don’t know how to work hard for—”
I’m in the middle of my sentence when a force knocks me sideways, and the books and binders I’m holding go flying everywhere. I topple to the floor, about to be chopped liver under the feet of all the students rushing to their next period before the bell rings.
My hip is throbbing as I hear, “Jeez, you can’t just stand in the middle of the hall.”
The high, whiny pitch of the voice belongs to Hailey, I’d recognize it anywhere. My personal items are scattered as people unconsciously kick them about, and I squirm around on the floor, trying to gather them while my body aches from the hard fall.
As I collect my books, I hear Hailey crack a joke. “Oh look, I guess it was granny panty day at the Oden household. What happened, Blair, all your sexy panties were in the wash? Wait no, I doubt you even know what sexy is.”
Her little minions crack up behind her, and I keep my eyes on the tiles beneath my hands. My underwear must be peeking out of my jeans, not that it’s granny panties at all. It’s a cute pair I picked up from the Gap, but apparently that equals frigid and prude.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I try to will the thought into being so that the universe pays me some small mercy.
“Fuck, it’s not like anyone would want to see her in a thong.”
That one comes from Sawyer, and his voice is ice. Its jagged edges pierce my heart, and they all cackle together. I stay down, wishing they’d just move on, let me suffer my humiliation in peace.
Not one of them moves to try and help me as I gather up my
things and bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood. I try to keep my fingers from shaking out of embarrassment and hot shame. It’s one thing for Hailey and her bitchy worker bees to bully me, but I thought, for one short moment, that Sawyer was actually turning a corner.
I know now that I’m dead wrong. He’s one of them, always has been, always will be. I insulted him with my comment about working for our fathers, and he pointed a loaded gun straight at my confidence.
I make it past them, fleeing down the hallway, before I find a janitor’s closet and fling myself inside.
Only then do I let the tears come. Hot and streaming, as I bite my fist to keep from making any noise.
15
Sawyer
After homecoming, everything usually passes by in a flash.
From soccer games to school projects to weekend parties, life seems like a blur. It’s a marathon to the holidays, and with college applications looming over our heads, every senior I know seems jumpy and also trying to live on the edge. Or, well, as on the edge as a seventeen-year-old kid in suburban New Jersey can live.
I’m sitting at our kitchen table, my laptop and a ton of notes laid out around me, when Dad walks in.
“You working on your essay?” he asks, going to the fridge and pulling out a container of blueberries.
Dad brings them over to the table, plopping down in a chair and placing the fruit between us. We each pop a couple in our mouths and stare silently at what I already have in my document. It’s the supplemental essay, my main one for the general application already having been completed about two weeks ago.
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