Page 51 of As You Walk On

He blinks.

“That’s why you...” I wave a hand around, hoping it says everything I can’t. Correction: everything Ishouldn’tsay. He and Devya are none of my concern. Whether he gets over her or sits like a hopeful puppy, waiting for her to finally acknowledge his existence, has nothing to do with me.

Yet, once again, my brain and mouth are operating on separate servers.

“It’s why you’re doing the fake—” I stop when Makayla startles before she glares at Luca. I smile nervously, stammering, “You’re doing the ‘best thing you never had’ thing, right? Maybe it worked. Queen Bey doesn’t miss.”

My weak chuckle isn’t as loud as the alarms ringing in my head.

Luca’s not amused. His jaw tenses. The sharpness nearly punctures his skin.

I count the seconds until he finally says, “Is that the only reason you think I stayed up here?”

“N-no.”

Part of me hopes he stuck around because we were having fun. Because he likes River. Because of... me.

“You think I’m only up here biding my time? Playing Monopoly and hoping Dev will magically dump Peter for me?” His words are pointed. “Have I really sounded like a pathetic, whiny dude praying his ex will see his potential?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“What yousaidand what youmeantare two different things,” he notes stiffly.

“Luca, enough,” says Makayla, stepping between us, blocking my view of him. “I need your help grabbing drinks.”

They bicker for a minute. I look away. Exhaling out the frustration is easy. Trying to get my heartbeat to slow down—not so much.

What’s wrong with me? I wasn’t supposed to end up in a bedroom with any of them, let alone Aleah tonight. I wasn’t supposed to feel so raw about her friendship with Makayla. Or Luca’s situation with his ex.

I need fresh air. I need my boys.

As if on cue, my phonebzzts in my palm.

A new message from Jay. It’s a direct one; not from our WhatsApp chat. My shoulders tense. One-on-one texts are rare. Anything we say to one of us, we should be able to say to the group.

A photo uploads in his gray bubble. It’s partially grainy from the pool’s artificial lighting and dark skies outside, but I instantly know who it is:Christian. He has an orange Solo cup in his left hand. Even slightly out of focus, he’s beautiful. Perfection in a five-foot-eight body. The fuzzy faces in the background resemble band geeks.

My heart catches. He’s still at the party.

The next text reads:

WYA?? looks like he wants some company. How are u BLOCKING urself?! lmao

I ignore the burning urge to reply with a string of middle finger emojis to scroll back to Christian’s face.

He’s caught mid-laugh. White teeth and crinkled nose. Mildly wrinkled yellow shirt still looking great on him. He’s the sun and all I want is to be close to him. To absorb that energy.

All I want is this same Christian at prom as we dance to songs we’ve heard exhaustively all year. His laugh when I whisper bad jokes in his ear during photos. Our first kiss that I’ll inevitably fuck up. I always do. But it’s what first kisses are for—to mess up and try again.

Again andagain.

I close out Jay’s message. My eyes catch on the text underneath. The unanswered one from Dad. My thumb hovers over it. He’ll be passed out on the sofa now. I imagine him snoring away in a Duke T-shirt. Because he’s so certain of where I’m going to land after graduation.

He knows The Plan is bulletproof.

Sorry, Dad, I agreed to a foolish—but necessary—dare with the potential to screw with our entire endgame. Just a teeny bit.

I ignore the tightness in my chest. Failure isn’t on tonight’s agenda. Jay’s photo means he’s nearby. Greedy as it is, I’m determined to have the boy and promandconvince my marginally intoxicated best friend to persuade his dickish father to write me a recommendation letter.

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