Chapter 5

chapter

five

OWEN

My throat constricts from the way Addie looks at me—as if she's seeing me for the first time. It hits me in the chest differently than when we fight.

This is… intimate, in a weird, unsettling way.

Without another word from either of us, she joins Caroline on the other side of the room, while I stand frozen, my tongue in a knot. It's alarming when she's nice to me, which has happened a total of once.

This was it. This was the one and only time she's been decent, and she stumbled over the phrase thank-you like a baby first learning to talk.

Instead of any pleasantries, Addie Lockhart usually gives me a specific kind of lip twitch that reaches all the way up to her eyes like a smile might. It's an inherent, instinctive response of unadulterated irritation.

It's one she seems to reserve just for me.

I definitely don't catch this particular bounce in the corner of her mouth when Paul, the music teacher, practices his clarinet in the teacher's lounge, or when Justine, the librarian, drinks a glass of diluted apple cider vinegar every other afternoon. Both should warrant a twitch from Ms. Better Than Everyone, but according to her, I'm worse than Music McGee and Smelly Cider.

I check to ensure the students are diligently working, then make my way toward the rest of the chaperones. It's like I'm back in high school with my old classmates, although I remember much less stench. Part of the smell could be coming from me, though. I didn't have time to shower before I got here after basketball practice, since I was already late, and I'm pretty sure my sister all the way in Savannah can smell me.

"Threatening them with a ban from the dance is as sinister as it is genius," I tell Addie. "Is it even a real possibility?"

"All that matters is that they think it is." She shrugs, and her stone-cold poker face is positively bone-chilling.

"You should coach basketball with us," I say as we huddle off to the side and away from the students grumbling over how badly this "blows." At least they're working, though. "If you could get them in line like you do these kids, we'd undoubtedly make it to state this year."

She still doesn't look at me as she clips, "I'm not surprised such a concept is difficult for you."

"And why is that?"

"Discipline is usually learned with age, and you have yet to graduate from the juvenile stage." Addie finally cuts her eyes at me, and they are lethal.

There's a chance she might actually combust. She's been due for an explosion for weeks, likely from the second I stepped back inside the city limits over the summer.

I give her a once-over and arch a brow. "It's hard to take you seriously as a mature adult when you're dressed like this."

"It's spirit week. Of course, I dressed up. It's part of the job, which I take seriously, unlike you." She waves a dismissive finger over my boring clothes.

"I painted my chest. Want to take my shirt off so you can see for yourself?"

Something flashes across Addie's eyes, and while I can't make sense of it, I'm going to go out on a limb and bet it's not good.

Austin steps between us. "What exactly did you need us here for? I never went to our own float shifts, and I certainly don't want to be here for theirs."

Addie shifts her angry attention toward him. "Just think of this as your second chance to right that wrong."

"I made my peace with it around my twentieth birthday." The smartass gives her a sarcastic tight-lipped smile, but the woman of steel doesn't flinch, nor does her frown loosen.

"All I ask is that you two keep an eye on these kids," Addie says quietly and checks left and right like she's crossing the street, presumably to confirm no students are within earshot. They're still preoccupied on their side of the old factory. "At their last shift, Maple led a few of them out back to try her father's moonshine. Not only is that illegal, but this is a school event. We will abide by the law and keep things professional ." She punctuates the last word with a jerk of her laser focus onto me.

"You're the one keeping candy away from babies." I hold my arms out.

"We'll watch them," Caroline interjects and pats Addie's shoulder in comfort, even though I'm the one who could use the latter. "Hey, remember the time we jumped into the river in October of our junior year? The water was freezing."

"But it was a dare, and we never back down from a dare," Addie adds, her head held high, and I respect the sentiment.

"We sure don't. And we showed those guys what we were made of."

"Damn right. They were too chicken to jump in themselves. Suckers ." The corners of Addie's thin lips tilt, like she's treading along the cusp of a smile, but she pauses before it blossoms. "Where did that come from?"

"You seem tense." Caroline shrugs. "Thought putting a nice memory in your head would help."

"It does. Thanks. You are as beautiful as you are creative and helpful."

Caroline curtsies.

"You know what else helps ease some tension?" I wiggle my eyebrows, and over the girls' heads, Austin shakes his in warning. "Some sweaty?—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Addie bites out.

"Running," I finish. "Why? What did you think I was going to say?"

For the rest of the night, Addie keeps her distance from me and channels her inner drill sergeant onto the students, instead. I almost feel bad for them until I realize almost two hours have passed, and they're actually nearly finished. Her methods might not be warm and fuzzy, but Addie Lockhart gets results.

Which works for me because I need to get the hell out of here and shower.

Not to mention, I haven't slept for shit this week. In between answering Addie's distress signals for homecoming and the reunion, my parents needed me to set up their Roku. Plus, I had to fix Lottie's toilet at her studio because hiring a professional plumber was "not in the budget," as she told me with unmistakable panic in her eyes. As the person who does the books for her, I couldn't argue.

As with any new business like hers, being tight with the budget is a necessary evil, which means I'm the guy she calls when things need fixing.

And I'm happy to be that guy. It's often better than "the funny guy." Not that Addie sees me as anything other than the "flaky guy."

She and I have been at each other's throats since dinosaurs roamed the earth. She starts it and almost dares me to finish it. I fall for it every time too.

Because, like her, I don't back down from a dare.

As the group begins cleaning up, I follow Austin outside, welcoming the fresh air in place of the moldy conglomeration of smells inside the old factory. Out here, faint giggles from the kids drift over us. Their moods have done a one-eighty since they realized they don't have to be "float scientists" to get shit done in there.

Austin nods in the direction of the door. "You're real smooth with Addie," he deadpans.

"Aren't I? If you need any tips, you can check out my YouTube channel called ‘How to Make Girls Who Already Hate You Hate You Even More.'"

"She doesn't hate you."

This catches me off guard. The urge to ask him to repeat this statement—and confirm it with hard, undeniable evidence of a recording or a video—dies on my tongue as I simply accept what he says. Austin is one of her closest friends. He knows her well, and I've come to know him over the last few months. The one thing I learned early on is that he doesn't say things just to say them.

I'd never admit it out loud to him or anyone else, but it means a lot to know Addie might not completely despise me.

"Of course, you'd deserve it if she hated you, but…" He rubs his bearded jaw. "Let's just say, there's more to Addie than you might think."

"Kind of like Caroline?" I cock a brow. Those two have been gawking at each other all night. Clearly, there's something going on between them.

"There's more to her than heels and fixed-up hair, sure." He crosses his arms over his chest, retreating into a metaphorical defensive shell.

"You don't have to toy with me. I have eyes, and they see everything."

"What about your nose? Does it smell you? Because the inside of my fish cooler smells better."

I imagine this is what Austin and I might've been like in high school, had we been friends then. To be honest, I barely remember being in the same graduating class as him, and I've since learned why he was so withdrawn.

There's definitely more to people than meets the eye, which is a good thing for humanity where Addie Lockhart is concerned. If she were nothing more than glares and sneers, we'd all be in a world of hurt.

Instead, it's just me who bears the brunt of her sharp tongue and menacing stares.

Two cars pull into the parking lot as the girls waltz toward us.

Austin stares at Caroline in similar fashion to the way my dad looks at my mom, even after all their years of being married. "She's going back to the city after our reunion," he mumbles, but his defeat reaches my ears like a foghorn.

"So?" I counter.

Austin shoots me a warning glare, but it's going to take a lot more to fool, or scare, me.

"Distance is just a number," I sing.

"That's what they say about age."

"It still applies here," I press as I step away to greet the parents arriving for their children.

I pass Addie on the way and inhale a whiff of her sweet perfume, a welcome change to my own stench.

If Austin's right, she doesn't want to push me into oncoming traffic, in which case, things would be very different for us.

The streetlight above us flickers on and off as the sun slowly sets, literally casting Addie in a different light, and I furrow my brows like I do when making the difficult decision between my favorite muffins at Bready or Knot.

Is there a chance for Addie and me to actually be friends?