Page 39 of Heart Check
Ryan groans, but he’s already chugging the rest of his glass. “No rest for the beautiful,” he says with a heavy sigh, and I do my best to laugh at the joke.
I might not have control over Dan’s calls, but the least I can do is keep myself in fighting shape. And maybe throwingsome heavy things around will help me figure out how Harper got under my skin and what to do about it.
I spend an hour in the gym with the guys before going home to watch film of our last game. Somehow that turns into watching old tapes of my dad’s breakaways and scoping out our rivals’ social media. Northview just had a fucking great game, of course.
Even as I’m trying to distract myself, I can’t help thinking about Harper and her determination, the way she never gives up, the way she pours everything into her work. It makes me lift an extra set at the gym and draw up an even more intense schedule than usual for the week ahead.
I help my mom make dinner and do two loads of laundry. I drag Lindsey for her toxic relationship with Sara and evade her questions about how closing the restaurant went without her.
I stay busy. But it’s no use: even teasing Lindsey reminds me of Harper’s questions, and doing laundry makes me think about how Harper commented on how Ismell, and I want to laugh and groan and rip my hair out at the way this girl has absolutely fucked with my mind in just a few days.
My head is still full of her words. I can feel the phantom warmth of her tucked under my arm. And no matter what I’m doing, I’m aware of the weight of my phone in my back pocket. But every time I swipe it open, my stomach sinks a little further.
I don’t hear from Harper all day.
15.HARPER
The streets are empty onmy way home Saturday morning, the sky gray, my breath fogging on the windshield. The drive is too short for the heater of my ancient Toyota to kick on before I make it home, so I just shiver in the chilly air. The first snow’s not far away.
My house seems especially quiet and small after the friendly bustle of Ryan’s party, his open arms and finished basement and bedrooms to crash in. I’ve never had a party here, and I wouldn’t know how to do it if I wanted to. Instead of a basement, we have a cold, damp crawl space.
My skin is too tight over my bones. All I want is to hole up alone in my room until I feel like myself again. I slip in the front door as quietly as I can, but it’s no use.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mom calls from the kitchen table, where she’s grading math tests. Dad’s across from her, absentmindedly eating leftover pumpkin pie from the tin. He’s wearing his same old tattered robe; one arm is barely hanging on by a thread. If I somehow manage to make enough of a profit this holiday season, I’m buying him a new one for Christmas. “How was Marissa’s?”
“Marissa?” I blink. Then I remember I told them I was sleeping over. “Oh. Fine. She’s working on her application for editor-in-chief, so we, um, mostly just worked together.”
I take another step toward the stairs, unable to hold her gaze. I hate lying to my parents, and Mom’s especially good at sniffing it out.
But before I can escape, she says, “You two always have your eye on the ball. Maybe I take back what I said about wishing you had more time to goof off—itisnice not worrying about you.” She smiles, as if to remind me she’s joking, but there’s a bittersweet tinge to it. “Frankly, you don’t even seem interested in so much of the nonsense that kept me busy at that age.”
“Thank goodness,” Dad says, flipping over his newspaper. “Your parents are going to be pretty happy when you don’t get hit with a full college price tag thanks to all that hard work.” He looks up to sell his bad half joke with a wink, but I can’t bring myself to laugh.
My shame deepens. Why did I have to choose a lie that made me lookgood? That’s a surefire way to feel evenworse.
“Or if not, there’s Hamilton Community!” Mom says, shooting him a look. “No shame in that! Better than going into debt for a degree, that’s what I’ve always thought.”
I nod, smile tight. I know she’s right. But the community college doesn’t have the kind of business program I’ve been dreaming of for years. If I’m going to get into one as good as Michigan’s, Mom’s right. I need to be careful not to lose focus.
“Yeah. Um, speaking of the future. I told Marissa I’d get her a draft of my Young Entrepreneurs essay. So… I’m gonna go work on that.”
Mom blows me a kiss and returns to her grading; Dad passes me a cup of coffee behind her back, and I grip it gratefully as I retreat upstairs. When I close my bedroom door behind me, it’s with a sigh of relief.
But being alone in my sanctuary, cocooned by midnight-blue walls and bathed in soft lighting, just sets loose all the thoughts I’ve been trying to repress.
I spent the night with Luke Dawson. And I really, really liked it.
Really liked… him?
I shake my head and grab my phone as I settle into my desk chair. There are a few spookily timed texts from Marissa (are you gonna send me that essay or what?), but I can’t handle talking to her right now. We were supposed to hang out this weekend for real, not just as an excuse. How do I spend time with her without telling her where I was Friday night? Our whole friendship is based off rolling our eyes at the hockey team!
Dawson totally embarrassed her freshman year. I know it’s been a while, but she is not one to forget a grudge. And neither am I!
My phone buzzes in my hand.
INCOMING CALL: LUKE DAWSON.
I almost drop it. Why is hecalling? No one calls instead of texting.
