by Sam Mariano
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
I’m certainly not disappointed when they leave and there’s a $50 tip on the table.
I shove it in my apron before the other waitress can see. She’s unpleasant when she feels I got a better table than her, and she wouldn’t have received the same tip from them if it had been her table, but I doubt she’d believe me even if I explained it. She looks for reasons to be mad and doesn’t let go easily when she finds one.
I’m in a much better mood when I go home that night. I’m able to focus and finally finish my homework and studying for the weekend, and when I climb into bed, it’s much easier to get to sleep than it has been lately.
The next morning when I’m getting ready for school, the doorbell rings.
My heart sails as I run to the door and rip it open.
The flower delivery person stands there with a vase full of orange and pink roses.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” I tell him.
He smiles and passes me the flowers. “See you next week, maybe.”
There’s no gift this time, but I’m floored I even got flowers. I can’t even wait until I get them to the kitchen to read the card.
Love is a serious mental disease. -Plato
Cheery.
I love it, though.
I’m feeling a lot better about life as I walk to school this morning.
Every class leading up to English breezes by. I actually feel eager to see Hunter today. I want to thank him for my flowers.
He doesn’t show up, though.
At first I think he’s just running late, but he never shows up. He’s not at lunch, either.
After lunch, I go to the bathroom and discover I have finally gotten my period.
I sit there for a moment, waiting to feel relieved, but what I feel instead… it’s not relief.
Which is crazy. The last thing I wanted was to be pregnant, but in a sense… it may have been the only possibility of permanence between me and Hunter.
However illogical, I’m bummed out for the rest of the day. On top of that, I’m annoyed at myself for feeling that way because I didn’t want to be pregnant. A period is good news.
But then I take out my phone intending to text Sara and let her know my good news, and that’s weird, too. Even though Valerie is no longer the queen bee, Sara is still hanging out with that crowd. I guess that means it wasn’t a setup, or if it was, maybe they actually started liking her. I’m not sure the why of it, but for whatever reason, she’s still hanging out with them, and the more she does, the less time she seems to have for me.
I figured next year when we went off to different colleges we would lose touch a bit, but I thought it would be because of distance and life taking us in different directions. The schools I’m hoping to attend are in Boston. Sara’s first choice is Johns Hopkins. If she gets in, she’ll move to Baltimore.
That’s not a world away, but it’s certainly not close. I knew we’d see each other less, probably stop talking quite as much, but… she hasn’t left me for Johns Hopkins and bigger, better opportunities. I feel like she left me for Wally, and to a lesser extent, Valerie.
Since Valerie is apparently my arch nemesis in life, that hits a bit differently.
I end up deciding not to text her.
I don’t text anybody.
Feeling blue, I curl up in bed and go to sleep early tonight.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Riley
Two weeks pass.
I don’t hear from Hunter again.
He doesn’t talk to me in school—when he even bothers to show up.
There are two more Mondays, but no more flower deliveries.
He doesn’t show up at my work.
His absence is an aching spot in my heart nothing else can fill.
On Friday, I’m sitting at my usual table alone for lunch. Sara doesn’t sit with me anymore, so I bring a book to read every day.
I’m working my way through Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not when suddenly my solitude is interrupted.
I look up without even a guess as to who it might be, but if I had a hundred guesses, I wouldn’t have made it to who is actually sitting there.
Ryden Sherlock?
“Hey,” he says casually, like we have lunch together all the time.
I frown, glancing past him at Hunter’s table where he belongs. I look back at Sherlock, watching as he uncaps a bottle of water and starts to eat his lunch like he’s staying.
“Hi,” I say uncertainly.
He nods at my book. “Any good?”
I lift the book and look at it like I’m not sure. “It’s all right. Hemingway isn’t my favorite, but it’s better than some of his other works.”
Sherlock nods. “If it’s not about an old guy on a boat, it almost has to be.”
I crack a smile. “Yeah, that’s not one of my favorites. But I read a lot, and I actually think it’s important to read books I don’t like sometimes, too. Just to mix things up, keep my mind open. You read Hemingway?”
“I read that one when it was required for school, then figured I’d try something else to see if it sucked any less. I’ll never understand why they recommend the worst fucking books for required reading. Is the goal to make people hate reading? If so, great job, keep up the good work.”
“Ugh, I know. I mean, I like a lot of classics, but the required reading list definitely leaves a lot to be desired. I think they should open it up a bit, vary the titles, add some newer material. There are plenty of excellent books out there, some that were written this century.”
“Wild,” he says, shaking his head.
I smile bigger. “I didn’t know you were a reader.”
“Well, you don’t know me,” he points out.
“That’s true.”
“I figure now that Hunter has taken Riley Bishop off the banned girls list, I’d flip through, see if anything caught my interest.”
“Oh, did you?” I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling.
He shoots me a devilish smile of his own, then takes a bite of his sandwich.
I’ve never paid much attention to Ryden Sherlock, mainly because he’s a friend of Hunter’s. He plays football, but he doesn’t look like a jock. He has wild black hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s attractive, but not in the clean-cut, all-American way.
Hunter’s beautiful, but there’s a rougher look to Sherlock, an edginess. I’m pretty sure he picked Anderson’s pocket to get Hunter the keys for the stunt he pulled at homecoming, so it’s probably safe to assume he’s not too worried about what most people think. He’s a rule-breaker.
I kinda like that.
But he’s Hunter’s friend, so even if the possibility existed that I could like Ryden Sherlock, I can’t.
Instead of letting him think I might be open to him, I open my book back up and resume reading. It’s ruder with him sitting here than it was when I was alone, especially since we’re the only two people at the table, but I’m also aware of the possibility that the longer he sits here, the greater the chance Hunter will glance this way.
I’m not sure how he would react, but I wouldn’t want him to turn on his friend.
I don’t think Ryden Sherlock would be fazed by a loss in popularity, but I didn’t care about any of that either. It still sucked to be treated like shit by my classmates.
I don’t want Hunter to bully him, and he might if he thinks he’s sniffing around me.
“What are you doing tonight?”
My heart seizes. I blink at the page of my book, then slowly look up at my lunch companion. “Me?”
“No, the other person at this table.”
“Um… nothing.”
“You’re not working?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
He nods. “Good.”
“Why is that good?”
He takes a bite of his sandwich and takes his time chewing, just to leave me hanging in suspense. Th
en he looks at me across the table and says, “You’re coming to Hunter’s party with me tonight.”
My heart sinks so hard, I think it leaves my body. “What?” I’m so stunned, I laugh uneasily. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
My eyebrows rise. “No, I’m not,” I say more forcefully. “Look, you’re right, we don’t really know each other, but here’s something I know about you: you’re Hunter’s friend. Here’s something you know about me: Hunter took my virginity. Given those two facts, without investigating any further, isn’t it safe to say this isn’t kosher? I’m not going out with one of Hunter’s friends. It’s a dick move, and we may not be together, but I do still care about him.”
“I care about him, too,” he says easily. “I wasn’t suggesting we hook up, Riley. Trust me, if I wanted to fuck you, I’d be much more persuasive. I just want you to come to his party with me.”
I frown, confused. “Why?”
“Have you talked to the guy lately?”
I shake my head.
“He’s not doing so hot. He’s kind of a mess, actually. He’s partying every night, blowing off school. If he doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to get kicked off the football team. He hasn’t been right since homecoming, and while he hasn’t exactly opened up and shared his troubles, it’s not that hard to piece together. Obviously, something went down between you two. That’s your business. I just thought it might do him some good to see you. Maybe snap him out of it.”
“You mean, seeing him there with you might snap him out of it.”
He shrugs, not denying it.
I sigh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hunter’s a jealous guy. If I show up with you—”
“He’ll wake up,” Sherlock interrupts, cutting to the point. “It’s not real. We won’t keep it going. We won’t lie to the guy. We’ll show up together and let him draw the obvious conclusion, but that’s it, then it’s over. He needs a shock to his system, something to drag him out of this self-destructive spiral he’s heading toward. If you can’t count on your friends to help pull your head out of your ass when you need it, who can you count on?”
When he puts it that way, it makes a lot of sense.
I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea, but lunch is nearly over and I don’t want to give him my number, so I don’t have long to think it over.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll meet you at his house. He lives close to me, so I can walk over and meet you out front.”
“You sure? I could pick you up.”
That’s too much like a date, so I shake my head.
Sherlock nods. “All right. As long as we walk in together, he won’t know I didn’t bring you. Let’s show up late, though, once the party is in full swing.”
“Okay. What time should I get there?”
“I’m thinking 11,” he says, standing and grabbing his lunch tray. Before he goes to discard his trash, he smiles at me and says, “Wear something sexy.”
___
Bad idea, party of two.
I turn, sighing as I inspect my own reflection in the mirror.
I look good. Really good. My dark hair is down the same as always, but I put on some dramatic eye makeup that makes my blue eyes really pop. I glossed up my lips and borrowed an outfit from my mom—I don’t have anything sexy. My skirt is short and black. The red top I borrowed is super sexy, a solid cami top underneath and a sheer layer over it.
It’s actually so sexy, I have second thoughts about wearing it. I almost take the whole outfit off and change into simple jeans and a T-shirt, but I’m running late as it is.
I grab the Kate Spade bag Hunter bought me since it matches my outfit best, then I head out to go to his house.
Unfortunately, Mom’s home.
“Whoa, holy hell, where do you think you’re going?”
I slow to a stop, tugging on my skirt. Ray is on the couch with her, so I’m more conscious of how short it is. That’s probably a clear indication it’s too short and I should go change.
“Um, a party.”
Mom blinks at me. “A party? With who?”
“A guy.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does this guy have a name?”
My heart beats harder, but I’m relieved she asked about the guy and not where the party was. “His name is Ryden Sherlock.”
Faint surprise flashes across her face. “Oh. Sherlock. I don’t know that name. I mean, I do, but assuming he is not a fictional British detective, I’m thinking of a different one. Have I met his mom?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Not a PTO mom?”
“I really don’t know. I don’t know him that well. He’s a friend of—” I stop, horrified, and try to backpedal. “Sherlock’s on the football team. He reads. He likes turkey sandwiches and bottled water. This is the extent of my knowledge about him.”
She smiles teasingly. “Is he cute?”
“He is,” I say with a nod.
Her gaze drops and she checks out my mostly bare legs. “Is that my skirt?”
“It is. I borrowed it. Is that okay?”
Her gaze returns to my face. “I’m not sure. Do we trust this turkey sandwich eater enough to wear such a skimpy skirt around him?”
I crack a smile, but my face warms. “Yes. He’s fine.”
“You’ll have your phone on you at all times?”
“Of course.”
“And you remember that move I showed you? Make a scene if you need to, break his nose, run away?”
“I will never forget,” I assure her.
She nods, but still looks a bit worried. “I should’ve been more prepared for you wanting to go to a party. I should’ve bought pepper spray.” She looks over at Ray. “Do you have pepper spray?”
“I do not need pepper spray,” I say before he can answer.
“I can show you a couple of moves, too,” Ray offers. “I do teach a women’s self-defense class.”
“Oh my God, guys. I don’t need self-defense. It’s just a party. There will be plenty of people around.”
“Get your own drinks,” Mom says. “If a guy wants to be all chivalrous and grab one for you when you’re not looking, tell him no thanks. And if this Sherlock guy drinks alcohol, do not get into a car with him. Call me, I will come and get you.”
“I’m not even riding there with him. The party is in walking distance, but I’m already late and I need to go,” I say, inching toward the door.
Mom sighs. “Why couldn’t you be deeply religious and interested in life as a nun?”
“Goodbye,” I say, turning around and heading for the door. If I let her, she’ll keep me here all night.
“You’d never have to buy makeup, and you could wear the same outfit every day. Think of all the money you’d save,” she calls after me. When I don’t stop walking, she adds, “Be safe. Have fun. I love you!”
“I love you, too,” I call back as I step outside the door and pull it closed behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin as a deep voice says, “So soon? Usually it takes a few dates. I must’ve made quite an impression.”
I clutch my heart, jumping and bumping into the closed door behind me as I look up into the mischievous gaze of Ryden Sherlock.
“What the hell?” I demand, shooting him a dirty look. “Why are you on my front porch?”
He points to his wrist and I see he’s actually wearing a watch. “You didn’t show up. I thought you might be blowing me off.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, bracing my palm against my racing heart. “You can’t just show up on people’s porches like that. How did you even know where I live?”
“I have my ways.” He turns and nods in the direction of his car. “Ready?”
I look, raising my eyebrows at the classic black Camaro sitting in my driveway. “That’s your car?”
“That, or I stole it,” he says, walking down the steps. “Might as well roll the dice, right? Hunter’s house isn’t f
ar, I’m sure we won’t get caught.”
“Wow.” My gaze drifts back to the shiny black automobile as I descend my porch steps. “I am not at all a car person, but this is a sexy car. When Chuck Whitehouse was bragging about his dumb car at the party at Valerie’s house when school first started, you should’ve rolled up in this and made him feel like an idiot.”
Sherlock tosses a smirk over his shoulder as he walks around to the driver’s side. “I wasn’t at that party. I’m not a big fan of Valerie. A little too Regina George for my tastes.”
I sigh, carefully opening the car door and sliding in. “You get better by the second.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Rachel McAdams is hot,” he says.
I pull the door closed. “Without question.”
“But the whole bitchy, ‘I have to cut other people down to feel better about myself’ bit? Hard pass.”
“I think I do love you, Ryden Sherlock. Maybe we shouldn’t go to this party and make Hunter jealous. I want to be your friend for real.”
Sherlock smirks. “Wouldn’t being my friend require hanging out with me? So he’d still see us together.”
“Well, yeah, but not in this skirt.”
I shouldn’t have said that. It draws his gaze to my bare legs. When his gaze travels all the way up my body and lands back on my face, there’s a glint in his eye that makes my heart jump into my throat.
“That is a nice skirt.”
I swallow, clear my throat, and train my gaze ahead of me. “Well, you said to wear something sexy.”
“And you listen very well,” he says, a hint of honeyed amusement in his tone.
My chest tightens. My stomach twists up with a strange sense of guilt.
“We should go,” I say quickly, before I chicken out. “I’m like… really close to jumping out of the car and going back in the house, so if you want to make an appearance at this party… Let’s get going.”
He doesn’t ask if he made me uncomfortable. He knows he did and he doesn’t mind, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, either. Instead, he puts the car in reverse and slowly eases back out of my driveway.