Inviting me to the pool and a party in the first hour we meet? Either Jasmine is way more of a people person than she lets on, or she’s really lonely. It doesn’t really matter. I know nobody here and have no choice but to accept the invitation.
But here’s the thing I learned about Jasmine that day: her promises are always, always for real.
Chapter Two
NOW
I’d extricated myself from my conversation with Shannon and Chase with mumbled excuses earlier, but by the time I slide into my seat behind him in my second period calculus class after fruitlessly spending first period history scouring every corner of social media for clues as to what the hell Jasmine is doing here, I’m determined to shove her out of my mind and get my shameless flirt on.
Apparently, so is he.
“Yo, you coming to my game Friday night?” His face is turned just enough for me to be sure he’s talking to me, his right dimple displayed in its full glory. I have dreams of doing weird things to those dimples.
“We’ll see.” As a rule, I limit how many football games I go to in a season. It’s a little too sad to spend all my time drooling over Chase and his magical shoulders. (Or watching him wipe his face on his jersey, revealing his lickable abs. Or making up odes to his butt.) And I certainly don’t need him to know how happily I’d give up any night to watch him play. Shannon put me on a strict limit of two games a month, and I’ve found it to be a good rule. “We might go to Kiki’s—gotta get in all the night swimming possible while the weather’s still good.”
Translation: I am not that interested in you and I’d sooner hang out with the same girls I do all day, every day, and also, I’ll be in a bikini.
“So, you’ll be in a bikini.”
I smile sweetly. “I guess that’s possible.”
“Suddenly I don’t wanna go to my game either.” That dimple appears again, and he turns and faces forward as Mr. Howard calls everyone to attention.
Okay, what the fuck is happening? I’ve spent three years of high school trying to get Chase’s attention, and that’s after God knows how many years of middle school when I never even bothered to try. And now he’s just … giving it up.
I really should’ve given a bigger tip for this haircut.
While Mr. Howard introduces himself for those who don’t know him (he taught me in freshman algebra), I slide my phone under my desk and open my ever-running group text with Shannon, Kiki Takayama, and Gia Peretti. Pool @ Kiki’s Fri night? Just us?
Shannon writes back almost immediately. Are you seriously pretending you don’t wanna go to Chase’s game on Fri?
Then, Good girl.
I have to go, Gia reminds us, followed by a megaphone emoji which, fair, seeing as she’s head cheerleader. When we were on the JV squad together freshman and sophomore year, we got reamed out if we missed games for anything short of an emergency. (Aaaand that’s why only one of us continued on to varsity.) Not that Gia would’ve skipped for anything short of landing in a full-body cast. The only thing that girl loves more than cheerleading is being a girlfriend. What about Hunter’s?
Missing Hunter Ferris’s annual First Party does seem like Stratford sacrilege, but come to think of it, I haven’t heard a word about it all day. His stupid posts about cabinets full of booze and the majesty of his hot tub usually take up my entire feed.
He’s not doing it this year, says Shannon, and I can feel her smugness through my phone screen at already having the dirt. Of course she withheld it. Of course she did. And then she drops another bomb. Some new girl is.
Jasmine. I know it in my bones. It’s such a Her thing to do, to swoop in and fuck things up a little just because she can. She wants to give the impression that nothing fazes her. And admittedly, very little does, as far as I can tell. Which is annoyingly compelling.
Almost as annoyingly compelling as being allowed to see what does get to her.
Stop, I order my quickening pulse as Gia responds with a shocked-face emoji.
I hate lying to my friends, especially after years of them holding my hands through my Chase obsession, but there’s no way I can tell them about Jasmine. What would I even say? How do you tell people who’ve listened to you babble about your crush on a guy for a thousand years that whoops, you spent the summer fooling around with a girl? Especially if you have no idea what it meant to either of you? Especially if she’s so clearly over it that she came to your school and didn’t give you a heads-up?
The only thing I can do is feign complete ignorance and try to keep her far, far away from them.
We’re not going to some rando’s house, are we? I type, knowing I have no shot at winning this.
Are you joking? Recon 101. There’s nothing Kiki loves more than high school espionage. She wants to be either a PI or an investigative journalist, depending on the day. We’re going.
Even knowing it was coming, my pulse races at the thought of all of us walking into this party together. Immediately, I try to imagine what my friends will think of her.
Ever the detective, Kiki will dig into what possibly could have brought her here for senior year, and I can’t blame her—I’m dying to know the same. We spent the entire summer together and she never once said a word about anything other than going home to her mom’s in Asheville. How could she not have told me she was moving in with her dad? How could she not tell me that the last
