Page 58 of As You Walk On

I don’t have a response. It seems Makayla doesn’t either.

“I’m not hating,” says Lexi, smirking in a way that confirms she most certainly is. “When you’re done swiping right on bigmouth track boy, find me, ’kay?”

“Lexi,” Makayla says gently.

They whisper to each other. The current rotation of dance-pop drowns out their words. From their body language, I gather there’s a lot of pleading and apologies on Makayla’s part while Lexi blinks disinterestedly. It ends with a short, compulsory hug before Makayla drags me away.

I glance over my shoulder as Lexi disappears into a congregation of cheerleaders and basketball players. At the heart of the chatter is Jay. He’s never had a problem fitting in with them. The Jayla factor. She’s currently under his arm. He’s a dedicated boyfriend, jumping through hoops to attend every event the cheer squad performs at despite track commitments.

Anyone who’s ever been to a Brook-Oak sport that ends in “ball” has seen Christian low-key flirting with KD...

Makayla’s words rebound around my head, taunting me.

I stop at the top of the stairs. My stomach churns. I fight against the need to vomit. Everything is hitting me too quickly. The dare. Jay’s insistence it happen at Chloe’s party. Texting me that photo of Christian to show they were in the same place, at the same time.

“Theo?” Makayla calls.

I gasp out, “Holy shit.”

12

LIKE A NINETIES THROWBACK

He knew.

HE KNEW.

Hefuckingknew.

Jay, my best friend, has been to multiple Brook-Oak games to support Jayla. Games where Christian’s performed with the band. Where he’s no doubt been seen with KD.

He’s known they were a Thing.

It’s all I can focus on. Not being rejected in front of an audience. Nor the ways I’m certain hisboyfriendis planning to hide my corpse if we ever cross paths again.

Why would Jay set me up with a dare I could never win?

It makes zero sense.

Maddie’s bathroom is relatively spacious. At least for a kid who has a step stool to reach the sink. The width of her counterspace is nearly the size of my entire bathroom. I’m sitting on it now. Theback of my head is pressed against the mirror. A calm, consistent drip from the faucet echoes in my ears. I try to match it with my breaths.

Autopilot took over the second Makayla and I walked back into the bedroom. I made a beeline for the bathroom once I unloaded all our supplies. No greetings. No snappy retorts for all the questions tossed our way. No eye contact.

Everything in my brain was suffocating enough.

I needed a break.

Jay’s key fob digs into my thigh. It might’ve been more practical to leave the party. Drive around the city alone. Clear my head. Then again, someone could’ve said I “stole” Jay’s SUV. The last thing I need is an alert going out about an underage Black boy cruising through one of the wealthiest communities in Kentucky at night.

Ding.

An Instagram notification lights up my phone. I’ve been tagged in a new post.

I sigh before hesitantly checking the tag only to be hit by a low-quality video of Christian turning me down by the pool. The two-second glimpse of KD’s exasperated face is enough for me to hit pause. I block @BOHSFails12345—unquestionably a burner account—then click on Jay’s grid.

He hasn’t been active in hours.

The bathroom’s lighting is selfie-worthy. Sky-blue walls. Heavy scents of vanilla and bubblegum shampoo. What it lacks are the kind of acoustics that prevent anyone on the other side of the door from hearing you whimpering like a toddler in need of a nap.

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