Page 107 of Jaded

“Really?”

“I mean, look what you’ve managed to do already.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Her eyes slip down towards her plate. “I’m worried my teachers won’t like it because of the Ice Out.”

I nod. I get it, girl. More than she’ll ever realize. Which is why I know what I’m talking about when I say, “History is written by the victors, right?”

Her brows furrow. “Right?”

“So, if you’re the one in charge of the publicity,youwrite the story. Spin it as a charity fundraiser. A town-unifying event. A marriage of two broken things to make a beautiful new whole.”

“Oh, I like that.” Syd twirls her fingers through the end of her ponytail. “Very fancy.”

“I write a lot of really emo poetry.” I toss her a cheesy wink. “So if you need help with verbiage . . .”

“Really?” A smile blooms across her face, wide and full of hope. And so very much like her father’s rare smiles, it makes something inside me feel like it’s burning.

“Of course,” I say, and then I take it one step further. “And heck. I could talk to Coach if you want. You get his approval, I don’t think your teachers can say crap.”

“Well, they could still try,” she says, but the smile nearly tears her face in two. “But maybe we could spin it in a way they wouldn’t mind as much?”

“Hell yeah.” I grin back. “You’re the spin doctor here, Syd. You get to decide what you are. I’ll help you with the words.”

“That would be . . .” Without warning, Syd leans in to give me a hug. “That’s amazing. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, but am I blushing? Flustered? I’m definitely something, especially when Nat looks over, his brow furrowed deep in question.

“We’re having girl talk,” I explain as Syd pulls away, still smiling. “You know, boys and hair and stuff.”

“Sure.” His mouth relaxes into an almost-smile, and my stomach does all these weird swoopy-doopy things.

“Fancy nails,” Syd adds, holding out her hand to display unpainted fingernails, bitten short. “With sparkles, and . . . um. French tips? Or something. What else do girls like?” She turns to me, brows furrowed again.

“Do I look like a girl?” I ask, laughing. Syd’s laughing. Even Nat looks dangerously close to cracking a smile.

Right on cue, Everton leans in, locs tumbling onto the table. “Yo, James, you’re partying with us, right?”

I turn my smile his way. “Already planning the next shindig?”

“Hell yeah.” He’s beaming with excitement. “We’re renting out the Holiday Inn. They’re giving us discounts on rooms and everything.”

“Oh, damn. You’re serious about this party.”

“Dude. We have won six games in a row. I’m gonna get shitfaced.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Tell you what. I’ll go. I’ll even rent a room. But Mr. Taylor’s coming too.”

“Course he is,” says Everton.

“Don’t think so.” Nat sobers, tucks an arm around Sydney. “Some of us have better things to do with our night.”

“Dad.” Syd rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t swipe his arm off immediately—and why is that so cute? She really loves him. “I’m seventeen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, being seventeen is exactly my concern,” he mutters.

“Dad.Go.” Syd puts a hand over her heart, holds up the other. “I will go to Brenda’s. She keeps wanting me to do some kind of spa-night thing.”

Aw, she reallyreallyloves him, ’cause “spa-night thing” does not seem like a Syd Taylor fav.

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