Chapter 45 | Zoey

Chapter 45

Zoey

“ C an you hand me that?” I point toward my desk without turning around. I’m shoulder deep in my closet, stacking old shoes and clothes. I know I did this last summer. How have I amassed this much stuff when I only live here for a few months of the year? Behind me there’s a fumbling and then a grunt.

“What, exactly?”

I poke my head out of the closet and grin at Max. He’s being a good sport. I point at the purple Greek letters sitting atop a pile of magazines. They’re old editions of Talented and a Deafening Silence that feature articles, many of which were written by another Ardena alum, about the now-defunct Wilderness Weekend. Who knew I was such a pack rat? “The paperweight, please.”

“You need this in your dorm room?” he asks, holding it up.

“Haley gave it to me when I crossed.”

He drops it into the box at my feet with a shrug and sits back on my bed, picking up one of the old magazines. “I used to love this band.”

“Used to?”

He smiles. “Yeah, back in my emo days.”

There is no way in hell that Max was ever emo.

“Right.” I brush the dust off my pants. “Well, I guess I got rid of those shoes.”

We stopped by my house so I could change into my bathing suit before we hit the beach but quickly got distracted by each other. Once we put a pause on that —because sex in my half-packed room with no idea when my dad is coming home is not an option—I tried to find a pair of sandals in my closet. But no luck. And now, I’m not even sure we have time for the beach.

“Do you want to do something tonight?” I look up from my phone, where a text from Becca waits. Starting a new relationship a few weeks before leaving for college sucks. I’m constantly leaving someone in the lurch. Becca’s heading back to Florida soon, and though we have plenty of time scheduled before then and she’s always booked with her own boyfriend, I feel bad. It’s not like I can bring Max to Lola’s, which means until I leave, I have two separate social lives.

Max lifts his eyes from the magazine and focuses on a photo of us that I printed and stuck on my closet door with all the other photos of my friends and family this summer. “I have to go to this happy hour thing for the freshman faculty. You can come if you want?”

He tries. He really does, but the invite is forced and awkward. “Come to a bar where I can’t drink and hang out with my old teachers?”

“Basically.”

I walk over and kiss him. The urge to return to our earlier activities trills through me. “I think I’ll pass. Even Lola’s sounds better than that.” I pause and meet his gaze. “Unless you really want me to come.”

“It’s okay. I barely want to go.” He laughs. “Do you want to come over after?”

I freeze halfway to standing. The statement isn’t anything out of the ordinary. But it’s the way he said it, and it hangs between us as more than a simple invitation. We haven’t had the sex talk, but we also haven’t gone very far either. Today being the exception, and even then, we were still mostly clothed. But still this sounds like the invite.

“Like to stay the night?” I ask, hating the squeak in my voice and the bout of terror that straightens my spine.

The mattress screeches as he stands, and then his arms are around me from behind. His heartbeat is steady while mine pounds.

“To finish watching season three and spend some extra time together before you go back to school.” He turns me in his arms and kisses me lightly at first and then deeply. His lips part mine, and I lean into him, bringing my arms around his neck. I don’t want the moment to end, but it does. His breathing is husky, but his eyes steady. “You are, of course, welcome to stay the night. If you’re ready.”

That’s the question. If it were a matter of my body, then hell, yes. Every time he touches me, my body lights up. Sometimes I look down and expect my skin to be glowing. But it’s not only about the physical. I’ve only ever slept with one person. And somehow making the choice a second time seems harder and much more complicated.

“If,” he adds quietly, “that’s something you want with me.”

What does that mean? My pulse quickens for an entirely different reason. “Why wouldn’t I want that with you ?”

“You’re leaving in less than two weeks, and Bellewood isn’t exactly close. I—”

“And our relationship will be ending?” Anger seeps into every word. Of all the things I considered about my final weeks in Ardena, ending things with Max wasn’t one of them. Never. We are just starting. “If that’s the case, then yeah, why not? Let’s end our summer fling with a bang. Literally.”

He holds his hands up in supplication. “You’re not a summer fling. Or rather, I don’t want you to be one, Zee. But I also remember you saying you could never do long distance, and having sex will only complicate things.”

I did say that, sort of. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I said I couldn’t do long distance with Andrew , which was naive and needy and co-dependent. I’m not that person anymore.”

There’s a steadiness to the statement, and confidence thrums through me. This summer changed me in so many ways.

He reaches for me, ringing his hands around my waist. “No, you’re not.”

“I don’t want you to be a summer fling either,” I say and melt into his embrace.

“Good.” He lifts my chin, and the tension in the air is thick and electric. If we kiss now, there might be no going back. There definitely won’t be a happy hour.

“I do think,” I say, resting my head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart, “that I’d like to be in love before I—before we—do that.”

His arms tighten around me. “Then come over tonight, finish this ridiculous show you got me hooked on, tease me to death with that kiss of yours, and then go home. Or bring your pajamas, and we’ll sleep. We have plenty of time to get to everything else.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m more than sure, Zee. There’s no rush.”

I meet his gaze, hoping that everything I feel in this moment is written across my face. The face he’s become so good at reading. I hope he sees the gratitude and trust, the almost love. Because it’s there but not quite, and I’m thankful that he doesn’t try to rush it. “Then I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

T he party is a mistake. I knew it from the moment Becca suggested we go but could hardly say no to my best friend’s pout, considering it’s at her boyfriend’s house. But after the disaster that was Wildwood and the run-in at Mack’s, I’ve successfully avoided my two nemeses. And I feel it in my bones that tonight won’t end well. Something about being back home makes the triangle worse. It’s not the scene of the crime, but it’s the backstory, the history I can’t escape. At Bellewood, at least there’s a chance to make new memories and erase that one moment. But here, I feel defined by it. When you love as hard as Andrew and I did, people notice. And when it burns down, they shake their heads and bite their lips. They should’ve known better. High-school-to-college relationships never last. What a mistake to trust Claire with her boyfriend. I heard it all this summer in whispers and shouts. But somehow I rose above. I moved past Andrew and Claire and who I used to be.

Still, I don’t want to be at this party. But I’ll do it for my best friend. Becca didn’t come home a blubbering mess. She returned to Ardena on the arm of one of its most popular athletes. She’s reveling in her change, and there’s no fault in that. If I came home hardened instead of broken, maybe I could’ve done the same thing. But I didn’t, and it’s time to face the firing squad one last time.

“Thank you for doing this,” Becca says, wrapping her hand around mine. “It’s the easiest way to say goodbye to everyone, and this way, Ben and I can spend our last days together instead of hanging out with the guys.”

I refrain from asking if there’s actual best friend time mixed into these last Ben-filled days. There will be. It might be an up-all-night slumber party before we get into our respective cars to drive back to school, but it’ll happen.

“No problem.” I glance around at the people crammed into the backyard.

Beer pong and flip cup tables are set up on one side, a makeshift dance floor on the other. In between, everyone else loiters, drinks in hand. It’s a smaller party than most I attended this summer, but Ben has a smaller house. Maybe the selective invite list will make this party bearable. I doubt Andrew would dare come to Ben’s, knowing he’s Becca’s boyfriend. I spot my former teammates huddled together by the back door. Claire’s among them. I never went out of my way to alienate my teammates. There simply wasn’t time between Max and Liz and Becca and Haley. But somewhere in the last few weeks, I noticed them texting less and the invitations dropping off. Apparently, my silence meant they could take Claire back into their fold, which is totally fine.

“I’m going to find Ben and get drinks,” Becca says. “Do you want to come?”

I’m about to say yes when Claire locks eyes with me. My former best friend nods to the side of the house, where it’s quieter. This is such a bad idea. Everything that needed to be said between us has been said. There’s no going back. There’s hardly forgiveness, not that Claire ever asked for forgiveness.

“No.” I give Claire a nod of her own. If Becca notices, she doesn’t comment. “I’ll hang here. Meet you at the flip cup table?”

“Ugh, you know I suck at that game.”

“Exactly.”

“What if tonight we dance?”

I shrug. “Sure, but no twerking.”

Becca crosses her heart and dissolves into giggles. “Do we even know how to twerk?”

“Probably not.”

“All right. See you in ten on the dance floor!”

I watch her disappear into the crowd before I turn and walk in the direction Claire went. A few steps off the main yard, she leans against the side of the house. A floodlight illuminates a small firewood nook.

“What do you want?” I cross my arms impatiently.

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” Claire asks, her voice surprisingly contrite.

“What do you want?” I repeat, more harshly than intended.

“I want my friend back.”

This can’t be reality. Claire can’t really think we can go back. This isn’t some teen soap where the main female characters have to stay friends for ratings so they somehow forgive each other for constant betrayals.

“We’re never going to be friends again, Claire. You slept with my boyfriend. More than once. You didn’t even apologize for it, and now you’re dating him.”

Something flickers behind her eyes, but she only shakes her head. “I am sorry I hurt you.”

“But not that you slept with him? Or destroyed our friendship?”

“Andrew came on to me.”

“Yeah,” I say forcing the memories from Wildwood away. “But you let him instead of pushing him away and telling me my boyfriend tried to sleep with you. You slept with him. Repeatedly. You’re sleeping with him still.”

“You forgave him.”

“You’re an idiot if you think me sleeping with Andrew means I forgive him.” How can she believe that? I don’t even know where to begin to forgive either of them. I barely accepted, and I’ll never forget. “But if I was with him, he wasn’t with you. Those were the rules, plain and simple.”

I fix Claire with such a look that she’s pinned to the wall. I dare her to refute the statement. To say that Andrew was screwing her all summer. It wouldn’t be a shock. Why would he keep his word? But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stares back at me with all the sadness of the last few months in her expression. She’s not hiding anymore. “You hate me that much that you would keep him from me? I loved him.”

“No,” I hiss. “ I loved him. You were his way to get out of a relationship, and now you’re his way to try to piss me off. But guess what? I’m not pissed off. I’m happy.”

“Then I’m glad.”

I shake my head, done with this conversation and this summer and this triangle. “If you want him, take him, Claire. I don’t care at this point.”

I turn on my heels and start to walk away, but Claire’s broken voice stops me in my tracks. “Will you ever forgive me?”

My heart races, and I turn back to her, arms crossed. “Yes, I’m sure one day I’ll forgive you. But”—I pause and meet her gaze—“we are never going to be friends again. Never.”

With that, I walk back to the party, praying I don’t look as frazzled as I feel. I don’t want to talk about this or remember it or anything. But one thing keeps playing over in my mind. Claire said she loved Andrew, past tense. Are they not together? Was she trying to say she fell in love with Andrew during the affair? Questions for another night. Or maybe never. The answers don’t matter. Whether she loved Andrew or not, Claire betrayed me. Our friendship is unfixable.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my back pocket to see a text from Max. My heart skitters and then calms. Max. One of the bright spots from this summer. Miss you, Zee. Meet you in an hour on my living room couch? (Think all the dirty thoughts you want.)

I laugh. It’s the cleanest dirty text ever. I breathe in the summer air, scented with beer and sweat and cigarettes. None of this high school drama matters. I’ve moved on. I’m past it. I survived.

Becca skips, literally, up to me and hooks her arm through mine. “Where’d you go?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “You ready to dance?”

Becca grins and shoves a cup into my hand. “Hell yeah, I am!”

My bubbly and happy and forever friend. God, I love her. I take in the night, the crowd, and my life as I knew it. There’s no use looking back. Not when everything ahead of me looks so promising.

I tug Becca onto the dance floor. “Then let’s dance.”