B00B9FX0MA EBOK (10 page)

“So, what’s it like?” Matt asked, draining his glass and gazing at me expectantly.

“What is what like?” I took a sip of the soda. It was flat and tasteless. I pushed it toward him.

“Being Hayley Westin. Being the brilliant scholar in the making? Being perfect?” He took a sip from my glass.

“I’m not perfect,” I scoffed. He had no idea. I was a nervous-breakdown-suffering weirdo with enough enemies — not to mention personalities — to fill a volleyball team. “Remember, I resigned from Yearbook?”

“That’s not exactly a criminal offense, you know. I’ve quit a lot of stuff. Piano lessons, lifeguard training, Spanish, Halo 3, spelling bees …”

Spelling bees?
Matt could barely put together five words. Was he a secret genius? And did everyone have hidden personalities?

“You’re kidding, right?”

Matt shook his head. “Nope. First in the state, nationals, everything.”

“So what happened?”

Matt smiled. “I turned eight. And we moved here. I wanted to be someone different. I didn’t want to be stressed about whether
obsequious
had an
i
in it or whatever. I just wanted to chill, you know?”

“Wow. All that potential, wasted.”

Matt’s mouth became a tight line. “That’s what my parents always say, too.”

“I didn’t mean to …”

“No, it’s cool. But what I mean, is … quitting is awesome. Quitting is
the best
. Without quitting, you never really know
what you want to do. You just get stuck with a schedule full of
stuff
.”

“But what’s the alternative?” Even though this was my house, and my kitchen, I felt like Matt was running the show. Like we were two actors playing high school students, only he knew the script and I didn’t, so it was in my best interest to follow his lead.

“I mean, we’re young. We’re supposed to be driving fast cars and playing Never Have I Ever in barns and stumbling around on weekends, making stupid decisions. And then, you’re all like little Ms. Serious. Why, Westin?”

A full-body shiver started in my scalp and ran down my back when he said my last name. It was so weird. I always called myself Westin when I was doing my stupid debate-mandated self pep talks. But hearing the name come from Matt’s lips, especially when it was just the two of us in my kitchen, felt really, really good — like he might even have the potential to know me as well as I knew myself.

“I don’t really have a choice,” I said finally.

“Can I ask another question?” he asked.

“Fine.” I was disappointed. I wanted him to dig farther, so I could talk about the pressure, the endless expectation to always be the best, everything I’d been keeping inside for so long.

“So, if you’re all serious and stuff, then what’s the deal with Will?”

“There is no deal,” I said angrily. Clearly, he didn’t know me very well after all. “I don’t even know … I mean, there’s nothing.”

“Good. Because I’m only saying, as a friend … Will’s not right for you. He’s not going to make you happy.”

“Like Erin makes you happy?” I asked before I even knew what I was saying. It wasn’t something I’d have ever said if I weren’t desperate to change the subject.

“A lot of people could make me happy,” he said noncommittally. “Erin’s a nice girl. But all I meant was that you don’t need to date a random guy just because Keely says you should. Or whatever.” His eyes flicked from me to the refrigerator. “Do you have any food?”

“Um …” The conversation was jumping around too quickly, and I couldn’t latch on. Did Keely spread the Will rumor? Did Keely tell sleepwalking me to make out with Will and did I do it because of some weird subconscious thing? Did Matt like Erin? I didn’t even know which question to focus on, so I decided to start with the easiest: food. “I think there’s, like, eggs and stuff. But, seriously, the Will thing is just … it’s nothing.”
At least nothing I can explain.

Without prompting, Matt opened the fridge. “I need pancakes,” he announced.

“Um, okay …”
Pancakes?
What was
that
teen code for?

But Matt had already reached toward the cabinet with the broken hinge and pulled out sugar, flour, and the carob chips Mom insisted tasted just the same as chocolate.

“This is fine,” he murmured as he spread the ingredients along the cracked laminate counter. “Just a warning. I make shapes, but I don’t take requests. Just respect my vision.”

“Wait, you’re making pancakes? Like, for real?”

Matt turned and gave me a crooked smile. “Isn’t that what I said I was going to do?”

“Yeah … it’s just … Nothing. Cool.” All right. So this was how normal teens spent normal Saturday nights. Or, at least,
how a secret child spelling champ and a valedictorian wannabe spent a Saturday night. I kind of wished I’d known that earlier. As Matt got to work, I pulled open my laptop. I went to my e-mail inbox. There was one lone e-mail.

I eagerly clicked on the message.

A picture of a smiling girl leaning against a tree was attached to the e-mail. I instantly knew who it was. It was the blonde from the parking lot who’d wanted us to have lunch together.

The image swam to my memory. Her hair blowing around her face, the way she’d caught her lip with her front teeth. I quickly Googled her, recoiling when the autofill added
car crash
after her name.

Car crash.
I thought of the way she’d asked me to lunch and I’d brushed her off. If I’d agreed, would she still be alive? Or would we both be dead?

Plane crash theory.
The term floated into my head. It was the idea that, for something horrible to go wrong, a million tiny things — the exact amount of rainfall, the time you left the house — had to click into place. I wondered if I’d been one of the links in the chain that had led to Leah’s death — if I hadn’t looked upset, she wouldn’t have talked to me, and would have
made her way to her car two minutes earlier. And those two minutes could have meant the difference between life and death for her.

A shiver crept up my spine, causing my entire body to shake uncontrollably.

“You okay?” Matt turned away from the stove and faced me, spatula in hand.

“Yeah.” I sat heavily down at the wooden table, cradling my head in my hands. “I’m fine. It’s just … this girl. I met her at the scholarship competition. And she died.”

“No way.” Matt walked behind me and draped his arms around my shoulders.

I quickly shrugged off his arms and turned the computer to face him, so he could read the e-mail. He read quickly, his eyes darting across the screen.

“How did it happen?” Matt asked.

I shrugged. “It didn’t say. It’s fine. It was a car accident, I guess. Those things happen. I didn’t know her at all. It’s just sad.” I slammed the laptop shut and scraped my chair back under the pretense of examining the pancakes. “How’s it going over there?”

“Don’t look!” Matt raced me toward the stove, outstretching his arms to barricade my view.

“Hey!” I squealed a little too loudly. But the noise seemed to break the mood, and Matt turned to me with a wide grin on his face.

“What did I tell you about my vision? You can’t peek!” Matt poked me in the center of the chest with the spatula, the touch feeling like lightning running up my spine. For the second time in fewer than five minutes, I gave in to a full-body shiver.

“Now, sit back down and let me do my work.”

I perched on the counter, swinging my legs back and forth, trying to push any thoughts of Leah out of my mind. Outside, the wind was howling, and condensation on the windows made the glass steam up, but the stove was warm, and for the first time in a while, despite everything, I felt safe. I wanted to stay here, with him, forever. I picked up his iPod from the counter, clicking through until I found his Bob Marley playlist. I plugged it into the dock on the counter and reggae music filled the air.

“Nice.” He bopped his head to the beat, but didn’t look back at me. I watched him work, ultra-aware of the sinewy muscles moving between the thin fabric of his still-damp Bainbridge Soccer T-shirt.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said.

“It’s cool. I like getting my Anthony Bourdain on.” Matt walked to the table, holding the still-steaming pan in front of him. “All right, dinner is served.”

“I’ll get plates.” Hastily, I grabbed two chipped red dinner plates and put them down on the table.

“Cool.” Matt put three misshapen pancakes on my plate, then four on his. After dumping the pan in the sink, he sat opposite me. He wordlessly picked up a pancake and held it up in a mock toast.

“Here’s to … carpe diem. Or whatever we should toast to. The girl who died. Your scholarship. The fact that we’re finally hanging out. Whatever you want.”

“Nice. You know, I do have forks. If you want one.” I hastily went to the silverware drawer and grabbed two.

“Unnecessary.” He took a large bite of his pancake.

“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.

“Sorry.” Matt grinned. “So, what are you thinking?”

“That I’m going to use a fork,” I shot back, avoiding the question.

“What else?” he prompted. “You know what I’m thinking?” Matt asked, not waiting for an answer. “What it’d be like if I died today. You know? Like, that Leah chick had no idea what was coming.”

“None of us do, really,” I said. “Anyway, isn’t this kind of heavy stuff to talk about over breakfast? Or … whatever this is?” I asked when I realized the time blinking above the stove read two a.m.

Matt picked up another pancake and ripped it apart with his fingers. “Nah, you
need
to talk about heavy stuff over breakfast. Carbs make everything go down easier. And it’s heady stuff. I feel like if I died, I’d be all right. I mean, I’d be dead, but I’d have lived a pretty sweet life. No complaints. Listened to some good tunes, had some fun, made friends. I don’t think I’d regret anything.”

“Then you’re lucky,” I murmured. Would I be happy with myself or proud of my life if I’d died today? No. No one would remember me, not really. I’d be an
almost
. She
almost
won the Ainsworth. She
almost
was valedictorian. She
almost
was starting to have friends. She
almost
learned to lighten up.
Almost
wasn’t enough. Ever.
Almost
was a sign I was slipping. Once I was valedictorian, once I was an Ainsworth scholar …
that
was when I’d let myself be happy.

“Anyway …” I trailed off, unsure how to change the subject from life and death to something even a tiny bit more typical. “So, have you started your college apps yet?”
Ugh.

“Not really.” Matt shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’ll just go to the U, if I get in. Does it really matter?”

“Does it really matter?” I repeated. “Um,
yeah
it does.”

“Why? It’s still college. Harvard or wherever doesn’t own knowledge. You get whatever you put into it. And I feel like they’ll be plenty of good people and good times at the U. And in the end, isn’t that all that really matters?”

“Not really. College isn’t like high school. It’s not about good times. It’s about … finding yourself.” I sounded like a lame college brochure and I knew it. “I mean, it’s about challenging yourself and pushing yourself and becoming better.”

“Becoming better?” Matt raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What does that mean? The way I see it, I’m me no matter what, and as long as I’m chilling and having a good time and not hurting anyone, then what’s the big deal? I don’t think getting, like, an A makes me a better person. Do you really think that it does?”

I shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing, either.”

“Right. But there’s so much other stuff, is all I’m saying. And if you don’t take the opportunities when they present themselves, then you miss out. And I don’t want to miss out on anything. Especially the important things.”

“So what’s an example of an important thing?”

But Matt didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned toward me and pressed his thumb against my chin. I tilted my head as my heart started thumping against my chest so loudly that I was sure Matt could hear it.

Our lips touched, then he slowly pulled away.

“That,” he said, smiling.

I touched my mouth, then self-consciously dropped my hand to my lap.

I leaned toward him. “Carpe diem,” I whispered. Our lips met, and already I felt like his mouth was familiar. I tilted my head, feeling his breath on the side of my neck.

I wasn’t sure if it was the ticklish sensation of his breath or just the entire situation, but suddenly, I had the uncontrollable urge to giggle. I pulled away.

“What?” Matt asked.

“It’s just funny. You and me here. It’s weird.”

“I’ll take weird.” Matt leaned toward me again, this time weaving his fingers through my hair.

We kissed again. I wanted the moment to last forever, but I also knew how dangerous that would be.