CHAPTER
“You know, it’s not too late to back out,” Alistair says. His mom’s minivan’s still running, and he’s squeezing the steering wheel like he’s prepared to peel out of Ben’s street just as soon as I give the word.
“Why would we want to back out?” My hands are shaking as I pull down the passenger-side mirror to check my lip gloss. Yup, still just as glossy as they were five minutes ago when I last checked.
“The question you should be asking is why you want to hang out with Ben Griffin in the first place,” Alistair mumbles.
“Be nice,” Marisol warns him from the back seat.
“I’m always nice,” he says.
I give him the side-eye.
“Most of the time.” He sighs heavily and turns off the van. He pulls a black beanie over his dark hair, which is shaved on the sides, long and curly on top, like an English sheepdog, and always falling into his gray eyes.
He looks hot, even if he is wearing his weird fingerless black leather gloves.
Stop it, I think, my cheeks flushing. He’s not hot. He’s Alistair.
The three of us climb out of the van and walk down the street. It’s snowing lightly, and quite a few of the surrounding houses still have their holiday lights up, even though we’re already well into January. With every step toward Ben’s house, my heart starts to race faster. Ben and his crowd are in a completely different social stratosphere from me and my friends, and maybe it’s shallow and silly, but being liked by them—and especially by Ben—matters to me. Way more than it probably should.
I still can’t believe he invited us over. Well, me. Ben invited me over. And I brought my two best friends with me, because no way was I showing up to Ben Griffin’s house alone.
“Bonus Round is still open for another hour,” Alistair says, tugging on the collar of his tattered jean jacket as we head up Ben’s snow-covered driveway. Bonus Round is the game-themed café where you can usually find us on the weekend, playing Settlers of Catan for hours on end. “Just throwing that out there.”
Marisol shakes her head. “Stop. This is going to be fun.”
Alistair snorts. “I don’t think there is any fun to be had around Ben Griffin and his idiot jock friends. Not unless you’re into beer pong or breaking people’s spirits. Which, it goes without saying, I am not.”
“Come on, Al. They’re not that bad,” she says.
He stares at her, his thick eyebrows drawing together. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by Ben Griffin.” His hand shoots high into the air. Marisol shoots me a guilty look and raises her hand, too.
“Well, middle school was a long time ago,” I say. “He’s changed.” Lab Partner Ben is a definite upgrade from Middle School Ben. He’s Ben 2.0. Sweeter and funnier, not to mention unbelievably good-looking. And, okay, I know that looks aren’t everything, but I can’t fight the pheromones.
“Guys like that don’t change,” Alistair scoffs. “They just learn how to hide their Neanderthal-ness a little better.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his jean jacket. Candy cigarettes. He shakes one of the thin white candy sticks out of the pack, taps the stick against the pack, and then puts it to his mouth, where it dangles from his lips as if it’s a real cigarette.
I narrow my eyes. I know what he’s doing—he’s planning to act as weird as possible in front of Ben and his friends, thereby ensuring that we’ll never be asked to another party, ever again. Alistair is going to blow my chance at getting to know them better.
“Quit. It.” I grab the pack from him and stuff it in the pocket of my puffy jacket before ringing the doorbell.
“I cannot believe we’re doing this,” Alistair murmurs. “We’re about to willingly walk into enemy territory.”
“They’re not our enemies—” I say, just as the door swings open.
Olivia Brandt is standing in front of us, tall and blond and basically flawless. I feel like a garden gnome whenever I’m around her.
“Um, hi. Is Ben home?” I ask.
My face burns. Stupid question. Of course he’s home. He lives here.
Olivia’s eyes narrow. I can tell she’s thinking about denying us entry, but after a long moment she smiles tightly and steps back to let us inside.
“Olympia, right?” Alistair asks her as we enter the house.
I shoot him a dirty look. He knows her name—we’ve all gone to school together since kindergarten.
“Olivia, actually,” she says. “Albert, right?”
Alistair gives her a wide smile and pretends to puff on his candy cigarette. Olivia rolls her eyes and leaves us in the hall to fend for ourselves.
“Well, we’re off to a fine start,” he says.
Marisol pokes him in the arm. “Why couldn’t you just say hello?”
He frowns. “Wait, are you taking her side?”
“There are no sides,” I say, shrugging off my coat. “We’re all friends here.”
“Are we, though?”
I ignore him.
Alistair glances around, taking in the black-and-white checkerboard floor, the vaulted ceiling, the massive crystal chandelier. “Why do good houses happen to bad people?”
I shake my head. I get that he doesn’t like Ben, and, okay, yes, Ben hasn’t been all that nice to Alistair over the years, so maybe his feelings are sort of justified—but that was years ago. We’ve all grown up since then. I wish that Alistair would just forgive and forget and give Ben a second chance.
I shrug out of my puffy jacket. Alistair gapes at me, a flush rising in his cheeks.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “It’s just that you don’t usually wear … stuff like that.”
Copyright © 2020 by Jennifer Honeybourn
