by Angel Lawson
Right, I think, watching her walk over to the other cheerleaders, because in the end, it’s all about the myth.
3
Ezra
The hit blindsides me, two-hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle. I’m flung across the turf, sliding three feet with Mitchell Paine grinning down at me.
“Baxter!” Coach Chandler yells, “Get off your ass and prove to me you should be out here!”
Mitchell heaves his massive body off of mine and another figure blocks out the sun. I blink and see a gloved hand outstretched.
“You okay?” Finn asks, taking my hand and helping me off the ground.
“Yeah, sun got in my eye, and I didn’t see him coming.”
He gives me a look, like he’s not sure he believes me, but doesn’t say anything. He pats me on the back and runs back over to get in formation. The truth is that I caught a glimpse of Kenley walking across the track and became completely and wholly distracted.
Damn, that girl is gonna kill me.
“Ezra!” my name bounces off the track that surrounds the practice fields. I wince, looking over at where my father is standing with Coach Chandler. Over the last few weeks, he’s started coming to afternoon practices. Some kids would love it, but my dad has been semi-neglectful for the past three years; the last thing I need is for him to take a sudden interest in my life.
He waves me over, and Coach doesn’t say anything, so I jog to the side of the field. When I get there Coach Chandler heads out to the field leaving me alone with my dad.
“What the hell’s going on out there, son?” he asks, hands on his hips.
“Sorry, sun got in my eye.”
“The sun?” He shakes his head. “What’s going to happen on Friday night when the glare of the lights is raining down on you? Or the band starts to play. Or,” he says, his voice filled with meaning, “the cheerleaders walk by in their short skirts?”
Busted.
How he knew that’s what distracted me, I’ll never know, but, if I had to guess, it’s because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My dad is a hound.
He grabs me by the helmet mouthguard. “You had three years to fuck around, Ez, but now it’s time for you to get your shit together. You’re an excellent player—you should be captain, not Finn Holloway—but it takes more than skills to lead a team, and right now Finn has all of that. There’s still time to make a difference. You win the next two games, and you’ll get into the playoffs and that’ll get you the notice you need from scouts.”
“Scouts?”
“You think you’re getting into school on your academics? You have a record, one I plan to bury once you turn eighteen. Get out there and show them you’re a legacy, that you deserve one of these,” he points to the gold championship ring he never takes off, “that you’re a winner.”
He pushes me off, leaving my head rattling, and I escape back on the field. I think back to when he paid attention to me like this before—it was prior to the trouble, the drugs, the petty arrests—back when football ruled my life. Now that I’m back in the game, he’s back in my life.
I’m not sure it’s the trade-off I want.
Coach blows his whistle, and we get into position, my dad still pacing the side line, confirming that what I want and what I’m going to get are two very different things.
4
Kenley
“What did you get for number three?” I ask, using my phone as a flashlight. Finn and I are out on the roof outside my window. The temperature has cooled, and both of us are wearing layers while our backs are pressed against the house. Finn’s hand is on my leg, providing warmth and weight. His mouth is on my neck, both cool and hot.
I’m trying to get my AP Lit homework done, but Finn Holloway has other ideas.
Very distracting ideas.
“Finn,” I say, twisting away from him pretending like my heart isn’t racing. “Did you do your homework?”
“Well,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against his side. His cold fingers dip under the hem of my shirt, sending both a chill up my spine and a flare of heat to my belly. “First, I had football practice, and after that we had a meeting where we listened to Coach tell us again how important the next two games are. When he finally let us leave, I had to shower, then eat dinner, then come over and see you.”
His mouth is near my ear, his breath warm and yes, he smells like soapy, clean goodness. “So basically, what you’re saying is that no, you didn’t do your homework.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing out here?”
I laugh. “I’m doing homework. You’re, well, you know.”
“Getting to know you better?”
I look him square in the eye. “We’ve known each other since we were four years old.”
He places his hands on my cheeks and brushes his lips across mine. “That’s not the kind of knowledge I’m talking about.”
Finn isn’t your typical dumb jock. He’s smart and does well in school while barely trying. I, on the other hand, have to work hard. I suck at tests, and the only thing that gets me through is acing my other assignments.
But the boy next to me is doing a very good job of keeping me off-task, stoking a fire that I’ve long had smoldering. I don’t resist when he kisses me again, this time deeper, sweeping his tongue against mine. I taste more than the chocolate cookies his mom made for him, and that he brought me two smuggled in his pocket, but the hunger just beneath the surface. It scares me. Terrifies me. Because he brings out that hunger in me too, but—
“Okay,” I say, pushing him back with both hands. He could overpower me in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t. His forehead furrows, and worry replaces the lust.
“Sorry,” he says, shifting away from me. His chest rises and falls, like he’s just run for a touchdown. “Too fast. I know. You just make me—”
“I get it,” I tell him. “I feel the same way.”
My cheeks burn. I’m embarrassed to say what I’m really worried about.
“Talk to me,” he says, taking my hand. “I can tell your mind is spinning.”
I smile. I’ve wanted Finn in my life for a long time, and the way I got him—it was a rocky and strange start. I can’t help but wonder if Rose was still alive would they have made up? I don’t think so, but it’s hard not to think about it. I also can’t help but wonder if he expects me to be where he and Rose left off—which is not possible. Their affection for one another was well known. He’s never denied to me that they had sex. It’s a fact. One I’m okay with. It just makes me feel… “Inadequate,” I blurt. “I feel inadequate when I start comparing myself to Rose.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Why would you compare yourself to Rose.”
I chuckle. “Why wouldn’t I? She was your dream girl. Your first…everything. You learned it all together, and now I’m ten steps behind.” I look toward the sky. It’s a clear night filled with a million stars. “I don’t know if I can make you feel the way she did.”
Finn stares at me for a long minute, so long my skin starts to itch. I think that maybe I hit the nail on the head, and that he’s been waiting for me to say something—give him a solid reason to back away from this right now.
He doesn’t. Instead he gets up on his feet and steps behind me, squeezing in the space between me and the house. He pulls me back between his knee-bent legs and wraps his arms around my waist. It’s warm. Comfortable. Sweet.
He rests his chin on my shoulder.
“I feel like I need to clear a few things up,” he says, breath warm on my cheek. “First of all, Rose wasn’t my dream girl. I was stupid and young and fell into the absolute bullshit myth of being the star quarterback, having the cheerleader on my arm, and going to all the parties. I thought being with Rose would be easy.” He laughs. “God, I was wrong. It was hard, in all the wrong ways. I’d know for a while that I didn’t want to be with her. I mean, I did break up with her, but now that she’s gone and whatever it was she had—”
“Charisma?”
“Maybe.” His arms tighten around me. “Whatever it was, now that she’s not here I realize how messed up our relationship was. We were using one another—I knew how to smile perfectly for her ChattySnap photos. She let me watch football with the guys, and I didn’t have to worry about having a date to homecoming or prom.”
I get it. Rose charmed us all—that’s why she was a legend—a mystery. And I also understand what he means about her being gone. I feel like a fog has lifted.
I lean against his chest, cheeks still burning. “What about the rest of it? The firsts. Your experiences and I guess, expectations.”
“I can’t take back what Rose and I experienced together, but I can promise you’re more than adequate. You’re beautiful, smart, fun.” He presses his cheek against my neck. “You’re sexy and kind. You’re not afraid of being yourself, or letting others see who you really are. And because of that, I know you’re nervous. This is new for you, and I’m pretty freaking thrilled to get to share in that newness with you, on your terms, your speed, your way.”
I crane my neck until I’m able to see him. His expression is sincere, which only makes him more handsome. My heart swells and twists.
“I need to let it go.” I laugh and shake my head. “Jesus.”
“What?” he asks, totally confused.
“That’s what Alice kept telling me before Rose vanished, that I needed to let her and you, actually, go.”
“Alice got half of that right,” he says, kissing my jaw, then my chin, then making his way to my mouth. “If you try to get rid of me, I’m just going to keep coming back.”
We kiss again, less hungry, more even. I feel around the roof with my hand, finally touching the smooth surface of my notebook.
“Okay, so,” I say, snuggling into his chest, “What did you get for number three?”
5
Finn
“Where do you need this lumber?” I ask, leaning out the window of my dad’s truck. I’m idling in Ezra’s driveway. Coach Chandler is such a fan of the traditions of homecoming, including mandatory participating in float building, that he gave us an hour off practice to help out. I have no doubt we’ll pay for his generosity in the weight room tomorrow, but I no complaints. Since my family owns a truck, I got sent to the hardware store to pick up a donation of supplies.
“Over by the trailer,” Ezra says. It’s funny that he’s the one hosting this year. Extra-curricular activities haven’t been his priority recently. Other than freshman year, I think the last time I saw him at float-building he was there to not-so-discreetly hook up with some of his buyers.
I park the car and get out. Ezra’s got the tailgate open and has started to unload before I make it to the back of the truck.
“Any idea on how to build one of these things?” he asks.
“A little,” I reply, grabbing a stack of two by fours. This is probably why Coach was okay with us taking time off. It’s still grueling work. “They’ll send an alumni by who will act as a mentor. They should come tonight and a few more times.”
It doesn’t take long to unload the lumber. There are a few boxes of other supplies; hardware, rolls of chicken wire, cans of spray paint and jugs of glue.
“We’re going to make a float out of this.”
“And a shit-ton of tissue paper,” I say, nodding to the boxes already delivered by the SGA.
“What the hell did my dad get me into,” he mutters.
I laugh. “It’ll be fun, and this is our last year. We need to win.”
The last year we won was freshman year, which ironically was the last time everyone in our group had been on good terms. It was before Rose and Juliette pulled the prank on Kenley. Before Rose and I started dating. Ozzy and I were still hanging out all the time, and Ezra was set to be the star of the Thistle Cove football team.
It’s weird how things have come full circle, except for one missing piece—the piece that seemed to keep all of us apart.
“I saw your dad getting on your case today,” I say. “Everything okay?”
Ezra rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Yeah, he’s just riding me hard about playoffs.”
“The old guys are really focused on it, aren’t they? I saw Mr. Waller downtown when I was picking up the lumber. I kind of hate seeing him, you know?” Ezra nods in understanding. Talking to your dead ex’s dad sucks, especially when you may be part of the reason why she jumped over the side of a bridge. “All he wanted to talk about was the next two games and how important they are—like we haven’t already been told a dozen times.”
He laughs. “For real. My dad has started having these little motivational meetings at breakfast. He got our housekeeper to load me up on some kind of maximum impact nutritional diet.”
I grab the tailgate and slam it shut. “You know what I’m not looking forward to?”
“Getting your ass handed to you in the weight room tomorrow?”
I roll my eyes. “No, the homecoming spectacle that Juliette’s planning for halftime. It’s going to turn into some kind of Rose Waller tribute. I just know she’s going to drag me into it, and that’s going to mess with Kenley’s head.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“Even gone, Rose has some kind of hold on KK. Just last night, I had to reassure her that I’m not comparing them.”
His hands grip the top of the tailgate. “I hate that because…”
“There’s nothing to compare, and if you do, Kenley wins out every damn time.”
“Yep.” A few cars pull into his driveway. It’s six—time for kids to start arriving. He pushes off the back of the truck. “It’s going to take more than a few weeks for Kenley to shed those insecurities, but if there’s one thing we can do, it’s help her through the process.”
“How do we do that? I already talked to her, I’m just not sure how well it worked.”
“Let me think on it,” he says, walking away, “but the best thing we can do is assure her that there’s only one queen in our lives, and despite what everyone is going to pretend the next two weeks, it’s not Rose Waller.”
6
Kenley
The first night of float building is always chaos, but this year there’s a different vibe. I call it the “The Homecoming Queen Killed Herself” vibe, which has settled over the senior class in particular like a heavy coat of dew. Everyone fights an internal battle with the fact that Rose is gone and should be here, and the fact that Rose is gone, and life continues.
The Powers That Be determined this is one tradition that will continue, and I think that permission, plus the familiarity of the event, incites an energy that’s been missing for a few weeks, and I’m shocked when Ozzy and I pull up to Ezra’s house and see how many people came out.
There’s a certain rhythm to this tradition. Freshmen are gung-ho, full of energy and in it to win it. Unfortunately, they’re the less skilled so results may vary. Sophomores are suddenly too cool for any and all things, have just discovered sex and drinking, so theirs usually sucks. The juniors are caught in the reality of AP classes, college visits and the hard truth about their GPA. They struggle to participate but tend to pull it off in the end for a solid second or third place win. But the Seniors? Well, we realize it’s our last year, one final block in all the blocks, we’ve also already started applications, firmed-up college exams, and are completely out of fucks to give.
Add in Rose Waller? Everyone is ready to just have fun.
“I was skeptical about having it at Ezra’s,” Ozzy admits, standing at the end of the driveway, “but I take it back. This is the perfect location.”
Bright spotlights shine down on the driveway, which is good since it’s already dark, and we need light. The trailer is parked near the back on a nice flat surface. Ezra’s driveway fits the house, oversized and spacious. Loud music is pumped through speakers, providing a burst of energy. A group of parents sit around the firepit, “chaperoning,” their cups
kept close. Alcohol most likely. You’d have to drink to take on this job.
Kids cluster in groups, “pomp-ing” which is a float building term I only learned because of this particular tradition. Tiny squares are cut into tinier squares and rolling into pea-sized balls. We’re required to make exactly one-gazmillion of these that we then glue on cardboard one at a time to create the float’s design. It’s ridiculous, tedious and mind numbing. It’s also part of what makes the whole thing fun.
We walk by a table filled with pizza boxes and drinks. Ozzy snags a piece of pepperoni, and we pass the different groups, still separated into cliques. Float building is equal opportunity—everyone is invited because everyone is needed—but that doesn’t mean we all hang out together. It’s more like we work parallel to one another, each focused on small pieces that will ultimately create one final design. It’s a lot like real life.
“You made it,” Ezra calls, jumping off the trailer. He’s got a tape measurer in one hand, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. Finn stands behind him holding up a few pieces of lumber. He winks, and that familiar heat creeps up my neck.
“What do you need us to do?” I ask.
“The mentor just got here—want to take lead on that?” He nods toward the chaperones, and I see one woman I don’t recognize. She’s got shoulder-length brown hair and a nice smile. She looks about the same age as the parents, but again, she’s not familiar to me. “We don’t need a huge amount of help, but she may have something interesting to add.”
“Sure,” I say, leaving Ozzy to help the guys.
I walk down to the chaperone circle, noting that Mr. Baxter is the only dad here. He’s sitting with Monica Chandler, and surprisingly, Regina Waller. Not surprising, because they’re all old friends, but surprising because it’s crazy to me that she wants to be here. A rush of guilt tugs at me; it happens every time I see either of the Wallers. If only I’d talked to Rose that night and accepted her apology, I can’t help but wonder if thing would be different.