by Randi Rigby
Harper blinked. “Justin? What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “Checking out Sweet Mountain parties. Todd—this is Todd,” he paused to indicate his friend with a thumb. “We met this girl downtown. I think she said her name was Jasmine?” He looked at Todd for confirmation. Todd nodded. “Anyway, she invited us.” The way Justin looked at Harper made me casually drape an arm around her shoulder, just to make sure he knew I was there. They both stared at me.
“This is Luke. My boyfriend,” Harper said, almost experimentally, like she was trying the reality of it on for size. But then she looked at me with so much love it radiated from her. I pulled her in a little closer. I never wanted to let this girl go. Justin’s smile dimmed.
“How do you two know each other?” I asked, still basking in the glow of Harper’s green eyes.
Harper cleared her throat. “He’s the one who took that picture of me finishing the 400m. Justin’s a really good pole vaulter from Meridian.”
Ah, flirty text guy. I liked him even less.
Harper told them she hoped they had a good time, and we left to find a bunch of our friends. I couldn’t help but notice that Cal and Jasmine weren’t together, which was only weird because they always were. They raised clingy to a new level. Cal was off talking to Miller and Logan—or maybe they were talking to him—Cal didn’t look happy. Jasmine flitted from group to group, her face lit with animation.
Harper took this all in. “You got Cal?” She tugged on my shirt. I nodded. “I’ll go find out what’s going on with the snake,” she said, rolling out her shoulders. “Cross your fingers they had a fight.”
Miller looked relieved when he saw me coming. “Hey,” I said. He glanced at Cal and then back at me. I nodded. I got this. He and Logan took off. I stood silently at Cal’s side, waiting for him to say something.
“You came.” Finally.
“Bad day?” I guessed.
He remained quiet for some time. His eyes were on Jasmine, who was draped all over Justin. Flirty text guy seemed to be trying to show Harper what she was missing out on—he cozied up to Jasmine but couldn’t stop looking at Harp. “I got to get out of here,” Cal said, shaking his head, looking disgusted.
I texted Harper that I’d meet her at home. Cal said nothing in the car. I began to get worried he’d take his dark mood to his bedroom and let it fester. As we pulled into the driveway, I said, “You want to shoot some hoops?”
Cal blinked and then slowly nodded. We had a basketball stashed on a shelf in their garage. He picked it up, and we walked to the standalone hoop Dr. Adams installed back when we were nine. We’d spent endless hours out here over the years. Cal perfected his three-point shot on it. I’d worked out a lot of anger banging down slam dunks. Whenever things got bad at Doug’s—sometimes daily—Cal pushed me out here. It was cheap therapy. I hoped it would be again.
We played a brisk game of one-on-one. He went hard. I let him push me around a little more than normal. We started over.
Sweat started to pour. It was unseasonably hot, and we were going all out. My T-shirt stuck to my body in damp patches. Cal had worn long sleeves. Usually, by now, he would’ve peeled his shirt off. He hated being sweaty; whenever we played a pick-up game, he immediately claimed skins for his team. I knew the heat was bothering him—he hadn’t stopped plucking at his shirt since we began playing, but he left it on.
After several games, we sank, panting, onto the lawn. “I moved into the pool house,” I said, picking at the grass.
That shook Cal out of his stupor. “What? Why?”
“Doug kicked me out,” I shrugged. “Your parents offered it to me.”
“I hate him,” Cal said. “He’s such a jerk.”
I got to my feet. “You want some water? I need a drink.” He followed me into my new home. I filled a glass for him from the fridge. “Is this weird?”
Cal shook his head. “They probably would’ve let you live in the house, but you’re going out with Harper. That would’ve been weird.” He took a swig and then considered me, his troubles seemingly forgotten. “You okay?”
I nodded. Cal Adams was back. “It stung. Not Doug, but Mom. I thought she might stick up for me, just this once. I was wrong.” I shrugged and downed the rest of my water just to have something to do to get me through the rawness. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you and Jasmine?”
He sat down at the kitchen table and fisted his hair as he sighed heavily. “I’m an idiot.”
There was a knock at the door. I looked at Cal and then went to open it. “Can I come in?” Harper asked. Her eyes were on her brother. “Cal?”
He hesitated for a moment and then nodded.
Immediately she hurried over and gave him a back hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders from where he sat in his chair. “Love you. So much.” Then, puzzled, she felt his right shoulder, her fingers exploring the surface of his sleeve. “What’s this?” She looked at him for answers. “Are you hurt?”
Cal eyed her. “Promise you won’t tell Mom and Dad?”
“Of course.”
“This stays in this room.”
Harper glanced nervously at me. “Cal, we’re not going to say anything,” she promised.
Cal pulled off his shirt. He’d tattooed Jasmine on his right shoulder in a bold script. The ink was still red around the edges and inflamed under the clear tape. Harper’s sharp intake of breath pretty much said it all. We sat there with the enormity of it. She dropped to her knees, still shaking her head. “Oh, Cal. Why?”
“She wanted me to.” He’d never sounded more bitter. “She’d been bugging me for weeks to do it. I got it done a couple of days ago. She said it would show the world she was mine.” Again, he fisted his hair. “Whatever. We stopped to pick up some more ice on our way to her party, and I overheard her flirting with a couple of guys while I went back into the store to get my card—she didn’t know I was there. They came to her house. You saw her.”
Harper laid her head on his lap. “I’m so sorry.” She gave his legs a squeeze. “She never deserved you. You know that, right?”
“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Cal ground out, his heart breaking.
She sat up, her head tilted as her green eyes searched his. “No. You loved her. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for someone you love—it’s one of the things I love most about you.” She reached up and touched his face tenderly and then smiled at him. “On the bright side, you’ve just significantly narrowed down your future dating pool.”
He snorted. “I’m getting rid of this as soon as I can.”
Harper stood up with her battle face on. “Good. I’ll . . . ” She looked at me. “We’ll help you.”
17
Harper
Monday rolled around and Cal—trying his best to look like he hadn’t spent the weekend nursing a broken heart—bravely found a smile. Luke and I had gone to great lengths to provide a much-needed distraction.
Sunday, when we’d exhausted all other options, I begged Cal to run mock interview questions with me because I knew he couldn’t say no. And selfishly, I wanted nothing more now than to steal the Miss Sweet Mountain title from Jasmine.
“You realize that might mean you’d have to wear this kind of stuff again. Maybe even often?” Luke noted when I told him my plan earlier in the laundry room. I’d changed into my evening gown so I could practice in front of the family. He was switching a load over to the dryer.
I made a face. “Tell me about it. Still. Trust me. It’s worth it.” The horrified look on her face would be enough for me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cal dragging up the stairs to his room, most likely to brood. I sprinted after him—not easy—I was in heels. “Where are you going? I need you.” Shoving the paper with a bunch of questions I might be asked by a panel of judges at him, I steered him into the living room. “Don’t let me off easy. Be brutal. Come on, I need all the help I can get here.”
Luke drove with him to school. We ag
reed not to leave Cal alone any more than we had to for the first few days. We also thought it best to take off our infinity bracelets since they were a painful reminder of her—I think Luke secretly felt sad about that. He kept looking wistfully at his bare wrist. He reserved time at Randall’s every day in the evening for batting practice. Rallying to keep Cal occupied was almost as exhausting as playing keep away from Jasmine, but having him back and her gone felt like its own reward.
I worked tirelessly on the pageant’s opening dance routine while the boys were out hitting balls. Mom, who always had an eye for technique, scrutinized the video I’d taken and corrected me over and over again.
Every chance they got, the family threw random interview questions at me. “Be genuine,” Dad advised. “I hate canned answers. What do you really think about gun control? Take some time thinking it through. It’s a hot topic with a lot of emotion behind it.” I watched videos of Greta Thunberg and a lot of TED talks. I spent time composing my thoughts. I got better at expressing myself. And every time I saw Jasmine at school, wrapped around her next victim, my determination to win only grew.
Saturday finally came. It’s just like a race, I told myself, shaking away my nerves as I packed my garment bag once again. Cal and Luke helped me haul everything to the car. “Wow. I had no idea it took this much stuff to look pretty,” Cal said, closing the trunk.
“Yeah? Well, it’s me. We’re building from the bottom.” I hugged them both. “Wish me luck.”
Luke held me just a little longer. “All out,” he whispered in my ear and, thumbing my jawline, kissed my cheek.
This time I wasn’t the last one to arrive. I sat with Chloe, the hairdresser, and Tessa and Annie, the juniors. Bree and Grace stared at me, puzzled as they walked in, but Jasmine called out to them, so they joined her table. Again, Ms. Fisk—looking particularly chic in a navy dress, her blonde bob immaculately styled—began by gently laying her fingertips on top of each other serenely in front of her. The room immediately quieted.
She laid out the schedule. A panel of judges would interview us one at a time in a separate room while the rest of us worked on the opening number and timing for the event later that evening. These same judges would decide the winner tonight. She wished us well.
I was called in fourth. The judges all introduced themselves: Mayor Sorensen, a man I recognized from his campaign ads; Ms. McNiff, Sweet Mountain High’s cheerleading coach—which felt like a conflict of interest to me—Bree, Grace, and Tessa were all on her squad; and Mr. Noonan, a lawyer who looked to be in his late sixties. They asked me to share a little bit about myself with them. I did.
“You’re quite an accomplished runner,” Mr. Noonan said, looking up from my bio sheet. “Tell us about that. What do you do to prepare for a race? What got you into it? Where do you see yourself going with it?”
Oof. Right for the jugular. I doubted anyone wanted to crown a quitter. I took a deep breath. “I began running competitively because of my mother. She went to Duke on a track scholarship and did well for them. She even set some records. She’s also the track coach at Sweet Mountain High. She’s pretty amazing—and she’s really good at what she does.” I paused for a moment. “I was fast, but she made me faster. She knew how to push me to push myself.” I smiled at them. “And I hate to lose. Once that gun goes off, it almost feels like I become a different person.”
“What do you do when you don’t win?” Ms. McNiff asked, leaning forward in her chair.
I colored. It had been a while, but I still remembered. “I congratulate whoever did, and I carry that gut-punch into my next training session. It’s very motivating.”
Mayor Sorensen peered at me from behind his glasses. “It looks like you’re going to Duke this fall. First of all, congratulations on that,” he smiled benevolently. “I assume you’ll be on the track team there? It doesn’t say.” He held up my bio.
I raised my chin slightly and tried out Ms. Fisk’s fingertip pose. Magically, it was oddly calming. No wonder she did it so much around me. “I have no plans to continue running beyond high school.”
Mr. Nooner seemed shocked. “Surely you got an offer? You’re obviously one of the best runners in the state.”
Maintain eye contact. I cleared my throat. “Thank you. I did. Several, actually.” I paused. Even as the words formulated in my head, I knew they were true. “But running competitively has never been my dream. I’m giving it up, so I have the time and energy to find something that is. I hope I can take all the lessons running has taught me—continuing to train even when it was no longer fun, how to focus, how to improve, how to win—into whatever that might be.”
They went quiet. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. I tried not to let it rattle me. Finally, Mayor Sorensen said, “Well, we certainly wish you the best with that, Ms. Adams. I have no doubt you’ll be successful.”
I thanked them for their time and left, slightly stunned. Who would’ve guessed? Jasmine was right. I did learn something about myself.
Making my way back to the stage and the ongoing, rotating dance rehearsal, I noticed Jasmine watching me. She’d already completed her interview with the panel. In our line-up for the event, based on our stage position for the dance number, she’d gone second. I wondered how it went, what they’d asked her—and how many times during her responses she’d scrunched up her nose and called something sweet. Taking my assigned spot again in the center of the group, Ms. Fisk counted out the timing, and we went through it again. She kept complimenting my dancing, which I had to admit, felt really good. I’d worked hard at it—it was nice she noticed—but given I was the only one without any dance experience, and with my previous attempts still fresh in her mind, I honestly think it was just the shock talking.
After the last interview ended, we took a twenty-minute break. I went to the bathroom and then stepped outside to call Luke, who was at Randall’s with Cal. With three minutes to spare, I headed back to the little conference room we’d gathered in earlier that morning, and where we’d be getting further instructions.
“Harper,” Ms. Fisk said quietly, catching me in the hall. Surprised, I stopped and turned around. “I just wanted to thank you again for all your hard work. After last week I wasn’t sure if you were taking this seriously or not. This pageant means a great deal to me. I’m glad I was wrong.”
Warm with praise, I smiled back at her.
The sound of my own voice met us at the door. I instantly paled. Jasmine had recorded me doing my impression of Ms. Fisk for my family and was playing it at full volume for the girls, who were bent over with laughter—until they saw us both standing there, stricken, but for entirely different reasons. Jasmine looked smug as she quickly turned it off.
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed to apologize. For the briefest moment, I’d seen the hurt I’d caused. “I . . . I didn’t mean . . . ” I couldn’t even finish. What didn’t I mean? I’d meant every word of it. I was a horrible person. The look on Ms. Fisk’s face only confirmed it.
She briskly passed me by and started delivering our final instructions as I slunk into a chair. Jam donuts!
Not only had I just blown it with the pageant director, I knew I’d both embarrassed her and caused her pain. That made me feel very small and ugly. Finally, after squirming with my conscience for what seemed like ages, I could take it no longer. I raised my hand. Ms. Fisk did her best to ignore me, but I wouldn’t put it down.
“Yes, Ms. Adams?” Disdain dripped from every word. No one could’ve ever accused her of having anything less than perfect posture, but she now held herself rigidly militant.
I swallowed hard, already intimidated. Forcing myself to stand, even though my legs were trembling so bad I wasn’t sure they’d hold me, I cleared my throat. I almost mimicked her calming hand trick again but blushing, thought better of it. “Please. I would like to sincerely apologize for what you heard earlier, Ms. Fisk. There’s no excuse for it. And you didn’t deserve it. I can only tell you how sorry I am
and how much I’ve appreciated this opportunity to learn from you. You’ve taught me a lot.”
“Thank you. Please be seated,” she said stiffly. “We still have a lot of ground to go over.”
I returned to my chair, heartsick, but the swirling in my stomach quieted some. It wouldn’t erase the damage I’d done—nothing could—but it felt better than staying silent.
Jasmine sat at the other table, self-satisfied and basking. I waited until we broke for dinner—with strict instructions to return back to the Victoria by six—to confront her. “Why would you do that?” I immediately demanded once we were finally alone. “Did you see her face?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who made fun of her,” Jasmine said, crossing her arms.
That bullet hit home. I really was learning a lot about myself. “Yeah, well, it looks like we both have a lot of growing up to do,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Stay away from me. And stay away from my brother. You’re poison.”
I drove home and went straight to the pool house and Luke.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” He opened his arms just as soon as he opened the door. I threw myself into them, dropping my purse on the floor. “Harp?”
“Jasmine recorded the impression I did of Ms. Fisk, and she played it for all the girls. I walked into the room with Ms. Fisk while everyone was still listening to it and laughing.” I buried my head in his chest. “You should’ve seen the look on her face, Luke. I’m the worst.”
“She recorded you?” His voice was tight with anger. “Why would she do that?”
I sighed. “I think she really wants to win.”
Leaning back, he pushed his hand through his hair. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She is a snake. What are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t know.”
For the first time in a long time, I was running in a race I had no control over. I didn’t even know how I’d done on my interview. I could lose. And the only thing I hated more than losing was the thought of losing to Jasmine Amis.