by Niki Burnham
Now she has my attention. Maybe Mom and Dad won’t kill her after all. “That’s impressive, Tessa. Good for you.”
“Now do you see why I couldn’t wait to tell you?” Her grin stretches ear to ear. “Even if I decide that I don’t want to teach yoga, it’ll look fantastic on my resume that I handled finances for a small business while in college. And if I ever decide to pursue an MBA, it’ll look good on those business school applications to have some work experience.”
I can’t believe she just mentioned the possibility of an MBA. Dad would die of joy if he knew. “I assume you told Matt about all this?”
She squeezes my wrist. “That’s the best part. All these years, every time I made a decision, if I had a boyfriend I ran it by him first. This time, I made a decision that was all for me. I saw the ad online for a part-time receptionist and went straight to the studio and applied. When I told them I was an accounting major and did bookkeeping, too, I could tell they were impressed. But I was so nervous about what Matt might say, I didn’t tell him until it was official.”
“How’d he react?”
Tears of happiness puddle at the bottom of her eyes. “He was so supportive. I could see the excitement on his face before I’d even finished giving him the news. He might’ve been more excited than I am!”
“Even though it’s not his studio?”
She nods. “He thinks it’s better that I’m not working in his studio. If I want to teach yoga someday, Matt says it’s helpful to get as broad a range of experience as possible. The place I’m going to work—it’s called Westminster Yoga—has been around for nearly twenty years and has a great reputation. Matt says working there will give me the opportunity to see how someone else operates.”
She lets go of my wrist and relaxes into the pillows beside me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tessa so…giddy’s not the right word…it’s a deeper happiness than that. I’ve never seen Tessa this content. Happy, yes, but at peace with herself.
I’m both thrilled for her and insanely jealous.
She lets out a long, slow breath. “Pey? Keeping my mouth shut while I made this decision felt good.”
“In that case, I’m glad you woke me up to tell me.” And I mean it.
She glances sideways at me from her nest of pillows. “Well, now that you’re awake, I’m ready to go to sleep.”
“That’s what you get for leaving Syracuse so early. That was nuts.”
As I slide out from under the covers, she describes how much she enjoyed the drive. It gave her rare time alone with her own thoughts. “The sun rose over the horizon at the exact moment I crossed into Massachusetts,” she says, her tone wistful. “It felt like I was seeing a sign.”
“You did. A big blue one that says, ‘Welcome to Massachusetts’ with a picture of a turkey dressed like a pilgrim. But since you ignored the sign with the speed limit—”
“Silly. I mean a sign I’m moving in the right direction.”
“I know that. I was trying to be funny.” Why I try with my siblings, I don’t know. Maybe because I wish I’d seen a big blue sign about this time yesterday telling me what to do about Connor.
When I return from a quick bathroom break and start foraging in my closet for shorts and a T-shirt, she says, “You looked so serene when I tiptoed in here that I didn’t want to wake you. Were you dreaming?”
“Since I didn’t fall asleep until roughly an hour after you left Syracuse, yes. I was zonked.”
Frown lines crisscross her brow as she comes to stand beside me. “Is something going on with you? If I’d known you were up so late—”
“No big deal.” I ignore her question and wave off the apology even as she yanks the dirty clothes basket out of my closet and rummages through it. She withdraws a delicate pink and caramel ruffled top that used to be hers, raising an eyebrow as it dangles from her fingertip.
“You gave that to me,” I point out so she doesn’t think I stole it from her closet while she was away.
“Yeah, I know. Ages ago. If you’re still wearing it, you need to update.” She lets it fall back into the basket, then pulls out another shirt for inspection. “So back to my original question. What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”
Since she’s not pestering me about the reason for my insomnia, I give. “You’re going to laugh.”
“Was it a guy?”
“Ha! Those are your dreams.”
She tosses the shirt into my face and sticks her tongue out at me, because we both know it’s true. I mimic her expression, then explain, “Believe it or not, I was running. Out behind the high school, on the path that loops behind the track and then cuts through the woods. You know, where the cross country team sometimes trains.”
“You? Running? Don’t you despise running?” Before I can answer, her eyes widen in concern. “Wait, were you actually running, or were you being chased? That’s a fairly common dream, with much deeper connotations—”
“No, not being chased. Running.” I retrieve the shirt she threw at me, flipping it back in the laundry basket. “It’s weird, but in my dreams, I run a lot. If there’s a barrier, like a branch on the path or a guardrail at the side of a road, I leap over it and it’s fun. I even scale fences and splash through water obstacles. You know, like those urban courses where the runners can go over walls, up fire escapes, and through the subway system. Except mine’s behind Eastwood High School.”
“Parkour,” Tessa says. “I watched a TV special about it. It’s non-competitive. Like yoga.”
“So not like yoga.” No moody music, no dark rooms, no calming voices telling me how to move or hold a pose. Just me.
“But it’s freeing.”
“Exactly. It’s nothing like real life running. It’s more like I’m flying. Exhilarated. My head is so clear I can think straight and I’m never tired. My muscles don’t get sore, my lungs don’t ache. It’s…it’s like I’m completely liberated.” I sound like a goon, but I can’t stop.
“Have you been running in real life? As opposed to when you’re sleeping?”
“Sure. Miles upon miles every day.”
She frowns at my sarcastic response. “Maybe your subconscious craves a bit of freedom. I find it in yoga. Maybe you’ll find it in running?”
“I think not. Do you know how humiliating it is when I run? I’m as graceful as an ostrich.” I pull a cute, ruffled white top out of the closet and match it to a pair of gray shorts. “I’m happy to run in my dreams and leave it at that.”
I’m about to pull on the shorts when Tessa snatches them from my hand and deposits them on the end of the bed, then does the same with the white top. “Not today. Get your running shoes. And I know you have them, even if you don’t use them. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going running, Tessa. I’m barely awake.”
She kneels in front of my closet and digs around on the floor. Her hair flops over her face just before she comes up with the Asics Mom bought me last year. Tessa presents them to me with a flourish, the way a model might display a game show prize. “You taught me that I needed to figure out what matters most to me. Now it’s your turn.”
“Running does not matter to me. I know this for a fact.”
“I didn’t say running matters to you. I said you need to figure out what matters. To do that, you need to clear your head. Now put these on. If you don’t, I’m going to tell Josh what’s on your desk.”
I stare at her. How can she look so innocent when she’s not? “You were snooping while I slept? Tessa!”
“Where do you think Josh learned? At the feet of the master, of course.” Her self-satisfied grin makes me want to clock her. “Making Academic Olympics as a junior? Not bad. But I bet that’s not what was keeping you up last night. While we run, we’re going to talk about what else I saw on your desk.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m no idiot. I don’t keep a diary or draw little hearts on notepaper with my name attached to a guy’s. Ever. I hazard a glance at the deskto
p. The Academic Olympics packet is exactly where I put it last night after Connor left, next to my AP Chemistry binder and my textbooks. Connor’s binder is at the bottom of the stack, apparently undisturbed.
Then I realize that my cell phone, which I’d left charging on the corner of the desk, is now on top of my scribbled trig homework. Tessa’s gaze tracks mine, so there’s no denying what she’s done.
“That’s not cool!”
“Neither is telling Josh whose name popped up more than once on your caller ID this weekend. Or telling him that your trash can contains roughly two boxes’ worth of used tissue, and that I’m soooo worried it’s a coincidence. It would be for your own good, of course.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about with my caller ID, and you know I have allergies.”
“Yeah, in the spring. According to my handy dandy calendar, today’s the second of October.” She angles an eyebrow and flips the Asics up and down to mimic a jog.
She’s evil.
I yank the shoes from her hand. She’s out of my room and to the top of the staircase before I can add the caveat, “We’re not going far!”
Chapter Sixteen | Connor
“Mom!”
Is everyone in my house deaf? Or can’t they hear me over the doorbell, which sounds like it’s stuck? I burrow further under my pillow, squeezing the sides to my head even as the doorbell grows more insistent.
What jerkwad holds down a doorbell at seven-thirty on a Sunday morning?
Unless my parents both managed to lock themselves out when nabbing the paper from the end of the driveway. They wouldn’t be that stupid, would they? Then again, it would explain the belligerent ringing and the fact my parents haven’t responded.
With a groan, I heave my pillow in the direction of my closet door and stumble out of bed, pausing to snag yesterday’s filthy soccer shorts from the floor and pull them on over my boxers. I better earn serious brownie points for this, because I am not in the mood.
I thump down the stairs and whip open the front door to see none other than Josh. His car’s in the driveway, while my dad’s is nowhere to be seen. The paper’s gone, too.
“About time you got your tail out of bed,” he says, as if it’s noon and everyone’s moving but me. “Your parents left for breakfast without you.”
“Because I wasn’t awake, Josh. The birds aren’t awake. You shouldn’t be awake.”
“Tough. My stupid sisters woke me up, jabbering in Peyton’s room at six a.m., so here I am.” He lets out a long, smelly burp to punctuate the sentence.
“Really? Was that necessary?”
“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes as if he can’t believe I asked the question. “Open up. It’s confession time. And while I’m here, got anything I can eat? I’m starving.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I mumble, rubbing sleep from the inside corner of my left eye. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”
The thought of freshly brushed teeth makes me think of Peyton, which makes me want to crawl back in bed even more.
Wait…did he say confession time? And if Tessa is home from Syracuse talking to Peyton at six in the morning…I grind the heel of my hand against my temple.
On an exhale, I open the front door wide enough for him to walk past me. “Come on in. Guess I don’t need you kicking my ass in front of the entire neighborhood.”
He scoots by me, heading straight for the fridge. I close the door and shuffle behind. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee hits me at the same time I see a note from my mom propped on the kitchen counter, telling me that she and dad will be back soon.
I hold up the pot. “Want some?”
Josh shakes his head. He’s already pulling a tub of butter from the fridge. “But I’ll throw in a piece of toast for you if you want.”
“Nah.” I pour myself a mug of coffee and stir in a massive spoonful of sugar. Once he’s dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster, I say, “Look, I’m really sorry I walked out on Peyton yesterday, but it was for the best. I’m sure she’s mad, but I swear, I didn’t do it to be mean. I wanted her to take some time to think about things.” This has to be the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had with Josh. “And I know I probably should’ve talked to you before any of this happened, but I thought it’d work out, and then we’d—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Josh waves both hands, palms out, and turns his face away as if in pain. “First, because you’re starting to sound like a girl, and second, because I don’t want to know.”
“Wait a minute.” I set my mug on the counter and eye him. “On Friday, you specifically asked if there was anything you should know about Peyton and me. Now you show up here at the crack of dawn asking for a confession—”
“I didn’t show up asking for a confession, you spongebrain. I’m offering one.”
“What the hell for?”
The toaster pops. Instead of stuffing a slice in his mouth, Josh opens a cupboard and grabs two small plates. “You got my text about being eliminated at Cumby’s yesterday, right?”
“Couldn’t wait for your Cherry Chill Zone fix.”
“I wasn’t there for a Chill Zone.” He slathers butter on both slices of toast, handing one to me even though I’d passed. “I was there to see Molly. I knew it was a risk to leave the house, but I figured Joe couldn’t shoot us both at once and I couldn’t wait.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to ask her out.”
“Yeah, right!” I start to crack up, but a sheepish grin hooks up the edges of his mouth and I realize he’s serious. I stare at him. “No way. No. Friggin’. Way.”
After all these years of Josh’s insistence on remaining single, he settles on Molly? And after everything that happened this week? Personally—though I understand what drove her to do it—I want to throttle her for fixing the tournament assignments.
Apparently Josh had his own plans for how to handle her.
He takes his toast to the table, plucking an apple from the fruit basket on the way. “She said yes, by the way. We’re doing the ever-so-corny dinner and a movie tonight so we can get home before the next round of Senior Assassin begins. Her team’s still in, you know. If we draw her next round, it could get very interesting.”
“This is your confession?” I hop up on the counter opposite the sink and take a bite of my toast. “Don’t get me wrong, because this is fairly big news, but you had to get me out of bed to tell me?”
“Had to tell someone.” He gives me a wry grin. “I’ve liked her for years. But first she was with Drew, then getting over Drew. Then I was afraid she liked you and I wasn’t going near that.”
I wash down the toast with a slug of coffee and say, “That’s why you kept asking and asking if I liked her?”
“I had to be sure, you know? Then when she laughed in your face at lunch and hinted that she might like someone else, well, I knew I’d never get my chance if I didn’t ask her out right away. So I did.” He stretches his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles as he rolls his shoulders. “Sometimes, my friend, you’ve gotta take a risk to get what you want.”
I’m not sure whether he means a physical risk—that is, being eliminated—or an emotional one, but then he adds, “You’ll figure things out with Peyton, too.”
“Nothing for me to figure out.” I know I’ve fallen for her, from her brilliant-yet-confused blonde head to her purple-painted toenails. I grimace at Josh over my coffee mug. “I won’t give you the down and dirty details, but the bottom line is that, as much as I like your sister, she’s the one who has to do the figuring. Ball’s out of my court.”
Josh swallows his last bite of his toast and runs his hand along the tabletop, gathering stray crumbs before depositing them on his plate. He’s as solemn as I’ve ever seen him when he looks at me again. “For the record, Peyton could do a lot worse.”
I finish my coffee and set my mug in the sink. “So could Molly.”
“She has,” he says, unable to resist
the chance to take a dig at Drew, especially if it means breaking a moment of seriousness. “And Peyton will do what’s right. I know you will, too.”
“Thanks.” I might not end up with the girl, but it’s a relief to know Josh and I are cool. I glance at the clock. I should shower and get dressed before my parents return, but Peyton wasn’t the only thing keeping me up late last night. Josh and I never did decide how to handle the fact Molly rigged the game.
“Speaking of doing what’s right…we can’t let this go on with Senior Assassin. I want that Toyota more than anything, but—”