“Hey,” I say, breathless both from the jog and his gorgeous one-dimpled smile. He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt that hugs tightly to his chest and biceps, making me swoon hard after three days of not seeing him.
“Hey there,” he says, his southern voice soothing to my soul. He leans down, and I lift up on my toes to kiss him. It’s a quick gesture, but that’s all it takes to melt away the stone in my chest. I was right. Things are okay.
Nate hands me half of the papers in his hand. “Wanna help?”
“Of course,” I say, taking my place at his side. The papers are flyers with local news and information about what’s been happening in our neighborhood over the last month. I know from memory that we have over five hundred homes in our subdivision and about a third of the residents come to these meetings. There’s a large headline at the top of the flyer. I catch the word rezoning but then Mrs. Walker approaches, and I hand her the flyer before I’ve read the rest of it.
Inside, Grace Care is an elaborate building with dark wood floors and reclaimed wooden paneling with wrought iron décor lining the high ceilings. Fall decorations fill every inch of free space, and the corridor smells like warm pumpkin pie and cinnamon scented candles. We head into the conference room which is large enough to hold a few hundred people comfortably in padded chairs. There’s a small podium at the front and a projector screen that displays the same contents as the flyer we had passed out. Nate grabs my hand, and we weave through the rows of people, some of them still standing around chatting with their neighbors. We take a seat in the first row between both sets of our parents. Mrs. Miles reaches across her son’s lap and squeezes my arm in hello. I smile back.
Mr. Roberts, an older man with a stomach almost as wide as he is tall, starts the meeting, and I immediately tune it out, instead choosing to lean my head against my boyfriend’s shoulder. He smells like body spray, and although he’s sprayed it on a little too strongly today, I still want to crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around him and never let go.
I’m vaguely aware of my parents whispering to each other in hushed tones. I think I catch my name, and I lift my head and look over at them. They both turn to look at me at the same moment, their faces identical expressions of concern and … anger? I lift an eyebrow and mouth the word what? They look back to each other and then whisper to themselves some more. Weird.
The projector screen switches slides and the word REZONING stares at me in big bolded red letters. An uneasiness falls over me like my subconscious is trying to tell me something. The room erupts into a quiet murmur, and Mr. Roberts clears his throat. “As I’m sure many of you are aware, the county has finally come to a decision on the rezoning of certain neighborhoods in Deer Valley and our neighboring city, Granite Hills.”
Boring. I settle back against Nate’s shoulder. He stiffens. “Are you listening?” he whispers.
I look back at the presentation screen, which is now showing a map of Shady Canyons, my neighborhood. Next to it is Canyon Pointe, the neighboring subdivision which is a part of the next town over. It’s also full of rich people with houses significantly bigger and more expensive than our middle-class suburbia. I sit a little straighter as Mr. Robert’s words start to make horrifying sense in my head.
“Due to the city’s rezoning to make room for all the expansion along the interstate, some of your students will now be residents of Granite Hills Independent School District.” He points to the projection screen, aiming his pencil directly at the red jagged line that cuts through a sliver of my neighborhood. My mouth falls open, and I lean forward in my chair, somehow thinking that I can refocus on the map and see it all differently. “Parts of Bent Oak Drive, Oak Moss Drive, and the entire stretch of Willow Breeze Lane have been acquired into GHISD. Now keep in mind people, you’ll still be a resident of Deer Valley, but you’ll pay Granite Hills school taxes.”
I turn to my parents. “What?”
Mom’s lips press together, and she shakes her head, her gaze concentrated on Mr. Roberts. Dad’s focusing on the screen, his brows drawn together in a calculating way. “Their taxes are higher than ours,” he mutters under his breath. “I can’t believe they would pull this shit so late in the year.”
Nate tugs on my sleeve. “You live on Willow Breeze Lane.”
“I am aware of that.” The words are mine, but they sound like someone else’s when they leave my mouth. A few people complain loudly about the new change, arguing about where they can protest. My mom even says something about thinking they had more time, but all the shouts and disagreements fade into background noise as I watch the screen, focusing on the jagged red line that splits my neighborhood apart. Nate’s house is on one side of the line and mine is on the other.
“There’s nothing more we can do about it,” Mr. Roberts bellows from the podium, trying to make his voice drown out the protests. “The decision is final and students like Miss Rush here,” he gestures toward me and then to a brunette girl a few rows over, “and Miss Morgan will be attending Granite Hills in two weeks. Derek and Judy, your kids will be in Granite Hills as well. This doesn’t affect many of the children in Shady Canyons, just a few.”
Just a few. Like me.
I swallow but the lump in my throat only doubles in size. Mom grabs my hand and squeezes it. Nate’s dad whispers something to him. I am a statue, unable to look his way or even take my eyes off the screen in front of me.
How can this happen to me in my senior year of high school? I’ve been a Warrior since kindergarten. The Deer Valley Warriors have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My family bleeds green and gold. The Granite Hills Wildcats are our rival. We hate the blue and white.
NORTH SOUTH EAST AND WEST
IN ALL DIRECTIONS WARRIORS ARE BEST
WILDCATS WILDCATS HEAR US CRY
GO GO DEER VALLEY HIGH!
“This isn’t happening,” I hear myself whisper.
Mom leans in, and she smells like vanilla hand lotion. “It’ll be okay, honey. It’s not that big of a deal.”
I meet her gaze with tears in my eyes, and I force myself to nod. But it’s not true. A new school means new friends, new classes. A new mascot and new school colors and a whole new football team. No rides to school from my boyfriend. No more seeing Nate each morning and evening and before and after each class.
This is not a big deal. This is a massive, earth-shattering deal.
Chapter Three
The kitchen smells like cookies and warm icing and for the first time in my life, the allure of Mom’s baked goods doesn’t make my mouth water. Mom takes out another tray of double chocolate chip cookies from the oven while I press my football-shaped cookie cutter into the raw dough in front of me. With a sigh, I let the football shape drop onto parchment paper and then I press the cutter back into the rolled-out dough. Tonight is the annual last party of the summer, a bonfire held at Alexander’s house, which is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. The football players throw the party every year, and only those with an invite get in. I’ve been invited all four years of high school, no doubt thanks to Nate.
“I’ve never seen someone so damn sad to bake,” Mom says. The sarcasm in her voice clashes with her sparkly eyeliner and the green and gold hairclip that pins back her bangs. She taught a cheer clinic to five-year-olds this morning, and she’s still dressed up from it. “Here Isla,” she says, holding out an icing bag with a star tip. “Switch me. You’re great at icing these things.”
I sigh again and take the bag. We walk around the kitchen island, taking each other’s place at our makeshift cookie factory. I squeeze a border of green icing around the football cookies that have cooled off. Then I switch to the bag with yellow icing and line the inside. “You know no one will care about these cookies,” I say, switching back to the green icing. “The guys go to these parties to get drunk and the girls go to hook up with the guys.”
“And you better not do either one of those things,” Mom warns, pointing a cookie cutter at me. �
��You can eat the cookies if no one else will.”
“People will eat them, they just don’t care about them,” I say, concentrating really hard on the piping task in front of me so that I don’t have to look my mom in the eyes. “Ever think that maybe you try too hard with this school spirit stuff?”
“No,” Mom says flatly. “You’ve had a very fun life because of me. You’re popular and well-liked, and you’ve been dating that cute boyfriend of yours for four years. You think school spirit had nothing to do with that? Because it did.”
I don’t say anything because she’s right and I hate admitting it. Though I’d had a crush on Nate for months back in seventh grade, he never really noticed me until I started going to the junior high football games, cheering from the sidelines with my green and gold hair ribbons and glittered Warriors shirts.
“I shouldn’t even go to the party tonight,” I say, frowning. “It’s a Deer Valley party, and I’m no longer in Deer Valley High. I don’t belong with these people.”
Mom’s golden hair sways back and forth as she shakes her head. “Stop being dramatic, Isla. You’ve known these people your whole life and your boyfriend will be there and besides, you still live in the same house! You belong with them.”
I bite the inside of my lip and focus on the cookies, making a perfect football shape with my yellow icing. Going to this party is just delaying the inevitable. Am I really supposed to attend an entirely new school and still come back home to make green and gold stuff with Mom? Will the team still let me hang out with them when they’re planning pranks on Granite Hills if I’m a part of their rival school?
I don’t bother asking Mom these things because when I asked Nate on the phone last night, he hadn’t had an answer for me. I’ve gone from being a part of the group to feeling like an outsider in just twenty-four hours.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yeah?” She slides a tray of cookies into the oven then looks up at me.
I give her an innocent expression. “You think I could be homeschooled for senior year?”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not smart enough to teach you, and your father doesn’t have the time.”
I open my mouth to object and this time, she points an oven mitt at me. “It’s nearly sundown, girl. Go get dressed for the party and stop worrying about things that don’t matter.”
In all the history of the world, I’m not sure any seventeen-year-old has been as annoyed as I am to have her mother demand that she go to a party. I head to my room and throw on some cutoff jean shorts and a gold flowy tank top to make my school spirit more nuanced than Mom’s rhinestone Warriors tees. I tie a green ribbon around my ponytail, and I wear the strawberry lip gloss because it’s Nate’s favorite.
Nate texts me saying he can’t give me a ride to the party tonight because, well I’m not sure why since he avoided the question, so I try really hard not to take it as a sign that I shouldn’t go. Mom helps me load a million plastic-covered trays of cookies into the backseat of my old Honda Civic. I seem to be driving this car a lot more than usual lately since Nate keeps bailing on being my ride.
“Have fun,” Mom says, waving to me from the door. I nod and wave back at her as I back out of the driveway. Just because some decision-making suits at the county office don’t want me to be a Warrior anymore doesn’t mean I’m not still a Warrior at heart.
The Hastings house sits on the very edge of Deer Valley, where our small Texas town goes from suburban neighborhoods to farmlands for as far as you can see. Alexander’s family has lived in Texas for as long as Americans have been in the state. His ancestors acquired so much land and oil that fifty generations from now, they’ll still be hella rich. He’s a good friend to have when you want to throw a party for two hundred people and guarantee that the police won’t show up. Because Alexander’s uncle is the police chief.
I find Nate’s truck in the field to the left of where the road dead ends. I pull in a few spots behind him, grateful when Kaylee and Tess arrive just a few seconds later and park next to me. They’re also on the Spirit Squad.
“Hey, guys,” I say when I get out of the car. “Care to help me carry in cookies?”
“Sure,” Tess says with a smile that kind of looks like she’s pitying me.
“What?” I say, handing her a tray of cookies.
Kaylee comes around to the other side of my car and takes two trays from the backseat. “We weren’t sure you’d come tonight,” she says.
“Someone has to deliver my mom’s cookies,” I say with a laugh like this is not a big deal.
“Yeah but isn’t it weird?” Tess asks. She closes my car door with her butt, and we all carry the trays through the field and to Alexander’s long, concrete column-lined driveway. “I mean, it’s a Warriors party, and you’re not going to our school anymore.”
I sigh. “It’s not like that was my choice. Besides, Nate wants me here, so I’m here.”
That last part was bitchy, but I don’t care. Out of the ten of us cheerleading rejects on the Spirit Squad, I’m the only one with a football player boyfriend. It’s kind of like I’m Queen of the Losers, but whatever. These girls are my friends, or at least they’re supposed to be, and friends shouldn’t point out that you don’t exactly belong anymore.
An uneasy thought filters into my mind, and I shove it away. Kaylee stops at the double door entrance to the Hastings house and frowns. “Still, doesn’t it feel weird? Like suddenly you’re not a part of the group anymore. I mean, we still love you, but it’s weird.”
The uneasy thought comes back again. Screw them. I’ll just make new friends at my new school.
Once again, I shove the idea to the back of my mind, smile, and ring the doorbell. We’re let inside the house by a drunken wide receiver and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Marcus Garcia’s face lights up when he sees me. “Girl you know the way to my heart,” he swoons, grabbing the tray of cookies from my hands.
I roll my eyes. “Enjoy,” I say, as we slip into the party which is already packed with other seniors. I scan the area for Nate, but he isn’t in the living room where couples have already paired off and started making out on couches. He’s not in the crowd of mostly girls who are dancing to pop music so loud it drowns out my own thoughts. Kaylee and Tess disappear into the crowd, along with the rest of the cookies. I pull my phone from my back pocket and open a new text.
Isla: I’m here. Where are you?
I gnaw on my bottom lip and tuck in next to a potted fern that’s as tall as I am while I wait for Nate’s reply.
After ten minutes of watching my phone alone, I’d settle for any friendly face right now. But all around me are people who go to my old school, hanging out in small groups, talking and laughing and drinking without me. My boyfriend is nowhere to be found. I double back to the kitchen, grab a red plastic cup and fill it with something blue from a glass pitcher on the counter. It smells heavily of vodka.
The bass beats from speakers hidden in the ceiling, and I can feel the heavy vibrations in my cup. I take a sip and then check my phone again. Still nothing. I take another sip. Someone calls my name, and I look up, nodding to the passing group of athletes. I give them a small wave, and I act like everything is fine. Nate will find me eventually, and this party will become fun. I take another drink and memories of my first party at Alexander’s flood into my body—or maybe that’s just the warmth of the liquor.
It was freshman year, and Nate had just made it onto the varsity team, the only freshman to accomplish a starting spot on the team that year. We’d caught a ride with Marcus’s older brother and the older guys immediately gave us drinks and welcomed us into the party. I felt like a badass, like a trophy girlfriend. Nate and I had sneaked off into one of the guest bedrooms and made out, taking things way further than we ever had before. From the very first sip of this classic blue drink, I had known that high school would be awesome. And so far it has been, but tonight …
“There she is.” It isn’t Nate’s voice, but I look
up from my phone’s home screen and see him and Ford, both wearing their football jerseys and jeans. Ford is all toothy grin and glassy eyes, and I’m pretty sure the red cup in his hand has been refilled a few times. He holds out his fist, and I bump knuckles with him. “We were just talking about you,” Ford says.
“Oh yeah?” I look at my boyfriend, and he’s looking at Ford. “Hey you,” I say, poking Nate in the stomach. “Is this how you say hi to your girlfriend?”
Ford keeps talking, unaffected by my question to Nate. “We were asking around, and only that Casey chick is going to the other school this year. And that sucks for you, ’cause she’s a bitch.” He draws out the last word and looks around as if he’s afraid anyone will hear him. He grabs my shoulder and squeezes so hard it hurts. “Good luck next year, kid.”
I pick up his hand and toss it off me. “I’m the same age as you, idiot.”
Ford laughs. “Fuck it. I’m drunk. Everyone’s a kid.”
“Hey, give us a minute,” Nate says to Ford. I hold back the urge to make a joke about how apparently Nate does have a voice. Maybe he’s also drunk. He really doesn’t seem like it, though. He’s usually the sober one out of his group of friends, which is another reason why I love him.
“Sure thing, kid,” Ford says, tossing me a wink before walking away.
“He’s so annoying when he’s drunk,” I say, stepping closer to Nate. His football jersey is the only shirt he has that doesn’t cling to his muscles like a second skin. I wrap my arm around his waist and give him a quick hug.
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he says, frowning at the cup in my hand. “You know you’re a lightweight and someone might take advantage of you.”
I lift an eyebrow. “This is my first drink. Besides, you’re here.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
The Breakup Support Group Page 2