Page 76 of Woke Up Like This
“It’s not just tonight. You’re not reliable. You ditch me. All. The. Time. For Ollie, ninety-nine percent of the time. We’re going to be in different cities in two months and we haven’t done a single Senior Week activity together—like we were supposed to. You’re going to live with Ollie next year. Why do you need to spend every waking moment together?”
She blinks, shaking her head in disgust. “Char, you just don’t get what it’s like to have a boyfriend.”
“Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to be a good friend. I can’t say the same for you.” I regret my words the moment they come out. In front of the entire student body. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and it’s dead silent. I feel a wave of nausea mounting. I think I’m gonna pass out. I spin on my heels and do the only logical thing. Flee.
It’s dark in the stairwell. Cooler, much cooler than the stuffy gym. I place my hands on my knees and bend over, letting my breath pass slowly, in through my nose and out through my mouth. When I finally manage to get my heart rate back in check, the stairwell door creaks open behind me.
I expect to see Kassie or Nori. But no, it’s Renner. My face is inches from his neck.
“You scared me. I thought you were someone else,” I say, my cheeks reddening when I meet his eye. I stiffen and look away to conceal my face—which I’m sure says it all.
One time I had a hard-core dream about making out with Clay. And the next day in Model UN, I could barely look in his direction without wanting to keel over and die. This feels infinitely worse.
“That was ... a lot,” he says. “You good?”
“Yeah. I’m just ... tired. Senior Week is stressful.” I still don’t feel like my body has caught up from the exhaustion of yesterday.
“Want to get some air?” He tilts his head up toward the stairwell.
“It’s off bounds. We’re not supposed to leave the gym,” I remind him.
“We already have, technically. Come on. Live a little,” he says, tugging my pinkie finger.
I let him guide me, grateful for the opportunity to delay facing Kassie and everyone else who witnessed my epic meltdown. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you’ve definitely never been.”
I’m not sure how that’s possible. After four years on the student council, I’ve seen nearly every nook and cranny of this school. We reach the next floor and he leads me through a darkened hallway near the English department, then through a door I always thought was a janitorial closet. It opens to a narrow set of cement stairs.
“What is this?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
Turns out, the super-secret stairs lead to a super-super-super-secret rooftop. It boasts a sweeping view of the parking lot and part of the football field. I stare out at the field wistfully, reminiscing about all those brisk fall evenings Kassie and I spent watching Ollie’s games from the bleachers. She always made me paint my face in school colors, though her paint would magically stay on all night while mine would smudge in a matter of minutes.
“How did you know about this? I had no idea you could get up here,” I say, rubbing the gooseflesh that’s emerged on my bare arms.
“That’s what happens when you live dangerously,” he teases. “Some of the guys on the football team used to come up here to work out when the weight room was too full. Run drills and stuff. Everyone liked itbecause the coach didn’t come to check on us much here. I used to hate it, though.” He peers over the edge, gripping the wall for support.
A bubble of laughter rises in my throat. I’m not used to vulnerable Renner. “Still haven’t conquered your fear of heights, huh?”
“Not quite.”
“Remember when you had to be rescued from the zip line on Ollie’s birthday?” I clutch my chest at the memory. Renner climbed the very first tree, froze, and needed the skinny instructor to rappel him down. He was first in line, so everyone saw.
“Yes. Thanks for the reminder.” He nudges me and sits on the gravel.
I plunk down next to him, pulling my knees to my chest.
“So ... that was interesting back there,” he says.
“Everyone heard, didn’t they?”
The corner of his mouth slants upward, ever so slightly. “I mean, not everyone. Only about seventy percent of the seniors.”
I turn to him. “Look, before you say anything, I know what I said to Kassie was wrong. It was mean. I’m going to apologize to her.”
“No. You were right. You may need to work on your delivery ... but what you said was true. She isn’t a good friend to you, Char.” He says it with such conviction. It reminds me of when Adult Renner said exactly the same thing about her.
