Float, page 14
Blake’s smirk dropped instantaneously.
His blue eyes went wide as he lunged forward, leaning over the board and lifting both my tiles to check that I had, indeed, just kicked his ass at Scrabble. I grinned triumphantly as I waited for him to look up at me and say the magic words. Finally, after making sure I had actually scored more points than he had, Blake pushed himself up from his armchair reluctantly, folding his arms across his chest and refusing to look me in the face for a moment.
The corner of his eye twitched when he finally saw the idiotic smile on my face.
“Fine.” He sighed. “You win, Alaska.”
“What’s that?” I asked, cupping my hand to my ear. I knew I was being an asshole. I knew it. But I couldn’t stop from leaning over the coffee table a bit and saying, “I don’t think I heard you right. Could you repeat that?”
Blake muttered something under his breath.
“I said you won. You beat me.”
“Damn straight!”
And then, with absolutely no shame or conscience, I did a little victory dance. It wasn’t much of a dance, really, so much as me jerking my limbs around as I spun in a little circle and made myself a beat of little whoop-whoops. When I finally stopped spinning, I noticed that Blake, still with his arms across his chest, was fighting back a grin.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“You’re so weird.” He shook his head at me.
“But you love it,” I teased.
I hadn’t meant anything by that. It had been an almost knee-jerk response, the type you use when a best friend points out how awkward or embarrassing you are. But Blake’s blue eyes flashed with something I didn’t recognize and darkened a shade. For a moment I was worried I had offended him by suggesting that we were friends, or at least knew each other well enough to exchange a bit of friendly banter.
And then, all at once, I felt like he was getting closer.
Or maybe I was getting closer. Or maybe we were both getting closer at the same time. It was hard to tell, because all I could focus on was Blake’s face. Those eyes, the scattering of light freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, the little white scar above his eyebrow, and, finally, his mouth. All of it coming steadily closer.
It didn’t feel real. What I thought was happening couldn’t possibly be happening.
Are we about to kiss?
The thought brought on a burst of panic. Which way was I supposed to tilt my head? I hadn’t brushed my teeth since breakfast that morning—would Blake be able to tell? Was I actually reading him right, or was this another one of those situations where he was just leaning in to take the tag off my bathing suit or comment on my dripping wet hair?
The riot of worries in my head manifested physically: I flinched.
Blake noticed—because of course he did—and went still, his eyes flaring with concern.
But before I could course-correct and lean in again, to make it clear that I definitely wanted to kiss him before the moment slipped through my fingers, I heard two pairs of footsteps coming up the front porch, one distinctly high-heeled. Blake heard them at the same moment I did, because his eyes went wide and he immediately stepped back from me, dropping his arm. I hadn’t even noticed he’d brought his hand up. My God—had he been planning to grab my chin? Cup my cheek? Run his fingers over my hair?
I didn’t have time to process it all.
The Hamiltons’ front door swung open, and Chloe and George stepped into the living room, smiling a little and laughing at some joke Blake and I hadn’t heard. They were still smiling when they saw the Scrabble board on the coffee table. Their smiles dropped just a bit when they saw I was awkwardly leaning halfway over the table. And then their smiles vanished altogether when they took in my bruised eye and Blake’s battered face.
“What the hell happened to you two?” Chloe cried in horror.
“Uh . . .” Blake trailed off, glancing around the room for any sort of inspiration.
I glanced down at the coffee table. “Scrabble!”
Chloe and George looked at me in disbelief. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake bring a hand up to his face and clap it over his eyes.
“Scrabble?” George repeated, raising one eyebrow and folding his arms over his chest.
I glanced at the dark bruises and scrape on the side of Blake’s face, then turned back to George and gave him one short nod, fully committing to my terrible bluff.
“It got really competitive.”
Chapter 12
The next afternoon, there was a knock on the door.
Rachel and I were seated on opposite ends of the living room, both of us still dressed in our pajamas and neither of us showered. We had done a good job of ignoring each other all morning, except for the occasional heavy sighs and worried glances Rachel sent my way, but the silence in the house was starting to eat away at me. To be completely honest, I was considering breaking out into song—just to fill the void—before we heard the knock.
“I’ll get it,” I said, making a move to get up from the armchair I was seated in.
“No,” Rachel snapped. “I’ll get it. You stay there.”
She leaped up from the couch and shuffled across the living room, soles of her fuzzy blue slippers slapping against the hardwood floor. Sinking back into the armchair, I buried my miserable face in my hands. Whatever trust Rachel had given me, I had managed to lose it in one evening of bad decisions. I’d followed Blake Hamilton to a party. I’d kidnapped a toddler. I’d technically stolen my aunt’s car. I’d gotten one tiny whiff of freedom—one solid chance to be one of those kids who didn’t spend every single night in their bedroom surrounded by a swath of homework—and I’d turned into a monster.
Rachel pulled the front door open. I listened, a little curious to know who would be dropping by Rachel’s house.
“Lena,” Rachel said.
“Hi, Ms. Lyons.” Lena’s voice sounded cheerful, but there was a hint of calculation in it. I dropped my hands back into my lap only to see Lena standing in the front doorway, her curls pulled up into a bun and her dark eyes bright and well rested. At least one of us had gotten some sleep last night.
“What brings you here so early?” Rachel asked her on a yawn.
“It’s almost three o’clock?”
“Oh.” Rachel blinked at Lena as if she’d just told her that the earth was square.
But I couldn’t exactly blame Rachel. She’d had a long night, and it had been mostly my fault.
Rachel had taken Margie Kim’s brother’s van to the art supply store and then to Marlin Bay, where she’d painted for over eleven consecutive hours. When she’d finally trudged into the house, covered in paint splatters and looking like it was all she could do not to fall to the floor and pass out, I’m sure the last thing she wanted to see was her niece with a black eye.
The next three hours had been dedicated to figuring out what the hell had happened and what we needed to do before I could fall asleep. Rachel went on her computer and searched the word concussion on one of those medical websites, but after five minutes of reading, she was convinced that I had some form of tetanus infection—which, might I point out, could only be acquired in the waters off the port of Acapulco— and was going to die a slow, painful death. I made her shut down the computer and call the hospital down in Marlin Bay so a very kind nurse could explain that I was definitely going to survive the night.
I’d made it halfway upstairs before I realized I hadn’t apologized for making Rachel’s night so long. But by the time I had spun around at the top of the stairs, a weak I’m sorry hovering on the tip of my tongue, Rachel was already fast asleep on the couch, decorative pillows strewed across the floor.
I had sighed and then trudged off to bed.
But even in the cocoon of soft blankets and lush down pillows, I’d had trouble nodding off. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was Blake Hamilton’s face coming closer and closer, ever so slowly, but never touching mine. Jesse’s words from earlier that night echoed in my head.
Blake likes you too.
The thought had left an odd feeling in my chest. It was wonderful and uplifting, almost like the kind of feeling I got when I saw any kind of sign advertising free food.
Blake Hamilton had wanted to kiss me.
Needless to say, I hadn’t slept very much last night.
“What brings you here, then?” Rachel asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I wanted to stop by and make sure Waverly’s alive,” Lena explained. I shot her my best I need to talk to you right now look, and she nodded.
“She’s all right,” Rachel said, jabbing a thumb in my direction. “Just concussed.”
“I suspected as much.” Lena sighed. “Would you mind if I came in? It’s a little muggy out today, and my hair—”
Rachel had a brief internal debate that played out entirely on her face. Obviously, she had never had to ground a child before, so she had no idea what the proper protocol was for visits from friends. And I had never actually been grounded before, so I wasn’t much help aside from pointing out that I had a shift at the bookstore I probably shouldn’t miss.
It seemed like everyone else my age had stories to tell about wild shenanigans and the resulting period of house arrest, but I’d disappointed my parents in much subtler ways. It was always a steady drip of mediocrity rather than a flash flood of poor decision making. I’d been benched every game of my volleyball season. I’d been passed over for a speaking role in middle school musical theater. I’d brought home report cards that weren’t so bad as to warrant a parent-teacher conference, but certainly never got pinned on the fridge.
When Rachel had told me—with her best I’m stern and parental and refuse to put up with your shit look—that I was grounded, I did something I don’t think either of us was expecting: I’d thanked her.
“Here are the rules,” Rachel finally announced. “Waverly doesn’t leave the house. You two can talk in the living room or the kitchen, but no going upstairs. I don’t want anyone trying to sneak out through the second-story windows. Given her”—she jabbed a finger at me—“track record, she’ll break both her arms. And today’s my day off, so I really don’t want to have to drive down to Marlin Bay to take her to the hospital. Got it?”
“Got it.” Lena and I nodded in unison.
Rachel eyed us warily before stepping aside and letting Lena into the house.
“Thanks, Ms. Lyons,” Lena said, the epitome of polite until she shot me a wicked wink behind my aunt’s back.
I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from giggling.
“Can I get you anything to drink, Lena?” Rachel asked as she padded back into the living room, the rubber soles of her fuzzy slippers scuffing against the hardwood floor.
“Water would be great,” Lena said.
Rachel nodded and started across the room. Lena and I both held our breath as we watched her walk past the sofa. The second she disappeared into the kitchen, Lena lunged at me and grabbed me by my shoulders.
“Look at your eye, Waverly,” she cried, turning me back and forth to examine the purplish bruise. “Holy shit, you look like you were in an action movie.”
“I’m glad one of us is getting some enjoyment out of this.”
“Sorry,” Lena mumbled, releasing my shoulders and falling back onto the couch. “It just looks so badass. Anyway, did Jesse get you home okay last night? He didn’t run over any stop signs again, did he?”
Again? How bad of a driver was he?
“No, he didn’t run over anything. We had to drive slow, because of Isabel.”
“How long are you grounded for?”
“Two days,” Rachel answered before I could.
Lena and I both looked over to see her trudging back out of the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She passed the glass to Lena, who muttered a timid thank you. “And before you tell me that two days is nothing, consider the fact that Waverly is only here for twenty-eight days. If that two months was eighteen years, I’d be grounding her for more than a year. Now, I don’t know about you, but that’s what I call stern parenting.”
Lena laughed.
“I’m loving the logic, Ms. Lyons,” she said.
Rachel nodded and, although I could tell she was trying to keep a straight face, the corners of her lips twitched upward. It was probably the first time she’d ever had anyone compliment her on her parenting skills. Rachel must’ve realized that Lena and I had noticed her smile, because she cleared her throat and hurried back into the kitchen.
When I was sure Rachel was out of earshot, I turned to Lena.
“Nice,” I whispered appreciatively.
Lena grinned.
“I try.” She shrugged. “But this is good news, you know. You’ll miss Jesse’s volleyball tournament tomorrow, but at least you can come to the beach with us later this week.”
“The beach? Is Blake coming too?”
The question tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“I knew it.” She grinned.
“Knew what?”
My cheeks were on fire. How could she know? How could she tell from one little question that I was falling in love with Blake Hamilton? Was I really that obvious? Ugh. Cross professional actress off my list of potential future jobs.
“I should’ve guessed before,” Lena said casually.
“Oh God,” I moaned, leaning forward in my chair to rest my elbows on my knees and hide my face in my hands. “Please don’t tell Alissa.”
“Why shouldn’t I tell Alissa?” Lena’s eyebrows furrowed.
I gaped at her.
For someone who seemed so smart, Lena sure was acting like an idiot.
“Because she’d probably claw my eyes out!” I cried. “Can you imagine? ‘Hey, Alissa, I know I’m new to town and it’s only been, like, two weeks since we met, but I think I’m in love with your ex-boyfriend!’ She’d eat me alive if—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish that thought.
“You’re in love with Blake?” Lena demanded, her hazel eyes as wide as golf balls.
It took me two full seconds to realize what a giant mistake I’d just made.
“No,” I choked out. “I mean, obviously, that’s an exaggeration, but I—I do like him. Which you knew already. Right? I thought you said you knew.”
“I meant I knew you weren’t going to be upset about missing Jesse’s volleyball tournament after what happened on the beach, the whole riptide thing! Because you didn’t even try to sound disappointed . . . that’s not important. Don’t try to change the subject. Are you serious?” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned toward me. “You’re really in love with Blake?”
There was no way I was in love with Blake Hamilton. I’d met him less than two weeks ago. I didn’t even know the boy’s favorite color. How could I be in love with someone I knew so little about? I’d only used the word love because it was shorter than abnormally large and incredibly embarrassing crush.
“It’s just a little crush,” I croaked.
Lies. It was the size of fucking Texas.
“Wow,” Lena said, sprawling back in the chair. “I mean, I thought you hated him. I was way off.”
“Please don’t tell Alissa,” I said. “I swear I’ll leave you guys alone for the rest of the summer. I won’t go within two hundred feet of Blake. Except, you know, when we’re in our houses. But aside from that, I won’t—”
Lena’s eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I begged, digging my fingernails into the upholstery of the armchair I was sitting in. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
Oh God. I could see it. My entire summer, slipping right out from underneath me.
“Mad at you?” Lena repeated, sounding confused. She frowned for a moment before her face lit up with understanding. “I’m not mad at you, Waverly. I’m mad at myself.”
I stared at her for a moment, completely confused.
“I’m mad I didn’t see this earlier,” Lena explained.
And then, all at once, it hit me.
Lena wasn’t mad at me. She didn’t hate me, and she didn’t think I was some sort of parasite in her perfect summer, and she wasn’t going to storm out of my aunt’s house and demand that I never try to contact her again. A wave of relief crashed over me, and I had the sudden urge to launch myself onto the couch and give Lena a bone-crushing hug.
But I realized that, with my luck, I’d probably just end up injuring the both of us. So instead, I let out a little high-pitched laugh.
I sounded borderline hysterical but Lena was nice enough not to act creeped out.
“So you won’t tell Alissa?” I asked again.
“Of course I won’t tell.” She snorted. “I’m not stupid, and I don’t have a death wish.”
“Thank you!” I sighed.
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Lena said, the corner of her chapped lips pulling up into a devious smirk. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees, then rested her chin in her hands and batted her eyelashes, looking extremely suspicious.
She’s up to something.
“What’s that look for?” I demanded.
“What look?”
“The one you’re doing right now. The one that looks like you’re plotting a murder.”
“I’m not plotting a murder!” she argued.
“But you are plotting,” I insisted.
“Well, yeah,” Lena admitted, rolling her eyes. “But can you blame me? This is like that awesome moment when you realize that your two favorite characters on a television show are in love with each other! Now all you two need is a little bit of guidance and—”
“Lena.”
“—you’ll be dating and then—”
“Lena.”
