Page 44 of Things I Wish I Said
“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been to a high school party before?”
Well, shit.
I would believe it, actually. You don’t win the Gatorade Player of the Year award by partying every weekend. Before my father died, the only time of year I had a social life that didn’t revolve around baseball was in the winter.
“Technically, now that we’ve graduated, it’s no longer a high school party,” I point out.
Ryleigh glares at me. “Come on. You can even come pick me up and chat with my mother again since it went so well the first time. It’ll be great.”
“You met her mother?” Cameron’s eyes widen. “Shit, De Leon. This is the first I’ve seen of this girl, and you’re meeting her fucking mother already?” He blinks over at me, his expression gutted.
I sigh, a long-suffering sound because I’m losing the battle on both ends tonight.
I stare at Ryleigh, looking for a clue as to what to say. We haven’t talked about how to explain our situation to others, and I have no idea what to tell him.
“It’s not how it sounds,” I defend.
Cameron huffs and turns to her. “Is it how it sounds?”
I hold my breath, waiting to see how she’ll respond.
“Depends on who you ask, apparently,” she says, then laughs at the misery carved in my face.
“So, you two are. . .” Cameron motions between us.
“We’re—She’s . . .” I drag a hand down my face.
Meeting my friends. Going to fucking parties. This is a hell of a lot more than I bargained for. Worse yet, I don’t entirely dread Ryleigh’s company, but I’m also hyperaware of how much this wish seems to be bleeding into my personal life and what that will mean weeks from now when the wish is over, and we go our separate ways.
“So, what about Hannah?” Cameron asks, a furrow in his brow.
“Who, blondie?” Ryleigh asks with a flick of the hand. “Oh, don’t worry about her. He had my permission to go there.”
Cameron gapes at her while I repress a groan.
Ryleigh just keeps digging my hole deeper and deeper, and something tells me she knows it, is enjoying it even.
“Wait. He had permission to . . .” Cameron motions with his hand then turns back to me with a sly grin and a jerk of his head toward Ry. “I want one.”
“She’s not something you can order from a fucking catalog,” I snap, while Ryleigh beams.
Why is she so intent on torturing me?
“And this thing with us,” I say, waving between us, “it’s also complicated.”
I shoot Sinclair a look that saysStop pissing around and be real.
Cameron scratches his jaw while he stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me anymore, and it makes me feel like a piece of shit. There was a time when I told him everything. He’d already know exactly who Ryleigh was and why she was here, but these days I prefer to rely only on myself, keeping everything locked up tight and everyone out.
A familiar itch crawls under my skin.
I need a smoke.
Reaching into the front pocket of my bag, I settle on a cigarette. With the flick of my lighter, I bring it to my lips and light up, dragging the smoke into my lungs as I catch Ry staring at it like it’s a hand grenade.
Oh shit.
I exhale, turning away from her and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction before I hold it behind my back like that makes it any fucking better.
