Page 26 of Best Friends for Never

And why do I want to march back in there and fight with her some more, even after all that?

We’ve always bickered, even when we were younger. She’s stubborn when she wants to be and always has something to say. As much as those things have always exasperated me to no end, I might have missed them the most.

Hell, I think I might have missedhermore than I’ve let myself believe.

I can’t believe she’s in business with Axel Cooke.

He wasmyfriend first. We did everything together until we were eight. Then one day, Parker came to town, and the next, Axel and I were nothing. He turned into a bully, slinging insults almost constantly. I could handle his snide remarks about how I was a nerd for liking theateror how I’d rather spend my time watching movies than playing football. It was when he turned his ire toward Parker that I started to hate him.

So why, out of all the people, would she partner with him? And after all the shit he put her through? All the times he picked on her? Did that much really change in the last ten years?

I walk down Borgen Avenue, keeping my head low to avoid unwanted conversations, which meansallconversations. I’ve never walked through a minefield before, but I imagine it’s similar to navigating the main strip of Emerald Grove with everyone wanting to stop and chat or take selfies. And trust me, they’ll talk about anything. I don’t know the number of times I’ve been stopped so someone can ask after my gran, then suddenly the conversation takes a left turn and I’m being educated on the importance of ensuring my bowel movements are frequent but not too frequent and to add fiber to my diet to stay regular.

It’s more than twice, which is two times far too many.

If they aren’t stopping me for life advice or pictures and autographs, they’re stopping to ask why I’ve been gone for so long, which is a whole other conversation I don’t want to have. It’s awkward, and people who were once friendly toward me are now cold and distant.

“Noel!”

I lift my head, unsurprised to find Leonard Figgins waving his arm eagerly as he darts across the street, struggling to juggle whatever’s in his hands and that same messenger bag he used to carry around in high school smacking against his legs.

“Noel!” he calls again like he’s worried I’m going to run away, though I don’t know why. I’ve come to a complete stop and am staring right at him.

He screeches to a halt in front of me, running his hands over his hair and then shoving his glasses—also the same style he’s been wearing since we were kids—up his nose.

“Noel!” he repeats, and I’m beginning to wonder if he thinks I don’t know my name or something. “It’s so great to see you. How’s Gran doing?”

I’m unsure why he’s asking me how my grandmother is doing. He lives here and sees her more than I do.

“Hey, Figs,” I say, using the nickname he’s had since he was seven.

His lips pinch together with displeasure. “Leonard, please.”

“Right. Sorry. How are you, Leonard?”

“Oh, you know. I’m doing well. I’m the lead reporter at theGazettenow.” He grins proudly. “It’s so great to have you back in town. You’re here for the Noel Carter Theater ceremony, right?”

I barely repress my groan at the mention of why I returned. Why does this damn theater have to be named after me? I want to find whoever this anonymous donor is and give them a piece of my mind.

“Yes, I’m just in town through the weekend.”

“Only the weekend? Hmm. That’s too bad. Doesn’t feel the same around here without you.”

Oh, I highly doubtLeonardhere feels that way at all. He’s hated me since ninth grade, when I beat him out for the lead inThe Importance of Being Earnestat the Goodman Theater. Everyone in town knew acting was his passion—well, anything that gave him the spotlight was, really—so when he didn’t get cast as the lead, he was livid and had his father, a prominent figure in this town who has his hand in multiple businesses, write the board to get him a spot on the school newspaper. He then went on to trash my performance and the play entirely. And the following year when I beat him again. He didn’t even try out the third year—he just stuck to dissing me in his review, which is something he’s kept up over the years. Gran’s ranted several times about the articles he’s done on my movies since I left.

It’s safe to say the guy really has it in for me, so I’m surprised he’s here talking to me, acting as if we’re old buds.

“Anyway, how are you feeling about the new theater?” he asks, shoving his glasses up once more. “Excited? Eager? Maybe wanting something else to go in that beautiful and expansive space? Maybe something a little more economically positive for the community?”

He’s smiling up at me, but there’s a motive behind it, and I’d bet the Rolex on my wrist that he’s searching for information, trying to get the latest headline out of me.

I should have known. TheEmerald Grove Gazettehas been a thorn in this town’s side for as long as I can remember, always cooking up gossip, twisting whatever the townspeople say to stir up drama. It’s fitting for him he’d end up working there. And if his thinly veiled questions are any indication, I’m sure an “accidental” meeting between us is nothing more than him following me around to get me to confess to hating the theater so he can derail the ceremony. It would make the most sense.

The only thing worse than a small town is aboredsmall town, and Emerald Grove is undoubtedly almost always bored.

But Leonard isn’t about to get an attention-grabbing headline from me. As much as I hate this building being named after me, I fully support whoever wants to resurrect the old theater. I have far too many memories tied up in that place to see it go to waste. Besides, that stage is where I got my start. I wouldn’t have my career if it weren’t for it.

“Excitedandeagerare understatements,” I tell him. “I’m positivelythrilledfor this town to have a new theater. We’ve been without one for far too long.”

---