Page 18 of The Devil Wears Tartan

As I scan through the first few questions, I realize there is something wrong with Kenzie’s questions.

There’s a lot wrong.

I reach the end of the page and purse my lips.

“So,” Kenzie prompts, “you good with those? Do you want to take any out?”

“It’s just, uh...” I tap my finger on the page, right over a cute and tidy little rendition of the word why. “It’s just that they’re kind of...like...unoriginal?”

That earns me a glare I can only describe as withering. I raise my hand like a white flag.

“Look, I want to win this thing, which means we both need to contribute our best to this interview, so I want to be honest. These questions are just a little...impersonal. Candice said these should be, like, fun and creative.”

Kenzie’s glare doesn’t budge. “Forgive me, but I don’t think spending a Saturday night working on a peer interview with each other is what either of us would describe as fun.”

Whether or not this is the kind of fun I’d actually choose, I don’t want her to know this is the only non-school or job-related thing I’ve done in weeks.

I really don’t want her to know I kind of am having fun. I’m never sure what’s going to come out of her mouth next. I’m never sure what’s going to come out of my mouth when I’m around her. It’s the same kind of fun as poking at a fire, waiting for the inevitable adrenaline hit when the flames flare up out of control.

“Okay, agreed, but we still have to at least fake it. We have some sweet, fresh-faced seventeen-year-olds to compete with who are going to spend their whole interviews getting all starry-eyed about their college dreams and what their grand, post high-school futures hold. We can’t seem like the crotchety old people just doing this for the cash.”

“We are the crotchety old people just doing this for the cash.”

She folds her arms over her chest and lifts her chin, waiting for my argument, but after a momentary stare-down, the tension shifts.

I chuckle.

The corners of her mouth lift.

Then we’re laughing together, both of us howling and hunching forward as the truly bizarre nature of our current situation hits us.

We are old now. We’re adults who’ve gone their own ways in the world, who’ve lived and maybe learned a few things, but here we are, back in this town, back to battling it out with each other even though we were supposed to leave the competitions behind.

I know it’s not just about the cash. It’s about that constant pull between us, like life has circled us in the same rubber band, and every step we take away from each other just builds and builds the tension as we wait to see who’ll be the first to snap right back into place.

I thought maybe that band would break for good at the highland games in Scotland, at the final competition we decided would be our ‘once and for all’ moment, but we never got to find out.

The little fireworks of frustration and fury she sets off inside me are so familiar, familiar enough to have me wondering if maybe part of me is glad we never got the chance to snuff them out, because when I’m with Kenzie, it’s way easier to believe everything my dumb ex-girlfriend said about me wasn’t true.

When I’m with Kenzie, I don’t feel boring. The way we circle each other, the way we keep our eyes trained on every move and jump at every opportunity—it all makes me feel like a slinky predator creeping around the jungle, power and purpose radiating out from every step I take.

It makes me feel interesting as fuck.

Maybe that’s why I want to win so bad: chasing this scholarship is the first thing that’s made me feel interesting in a long, long time.

As the thought crosses my mind, I realize neither of us is laughing anymore. Kenzie isn’t smiling, but her lips are still parted, and her deep brown eyes are watching me like my face is a calculation she hasn’t quite finished working out.

My shoulders have the sudden urge to lean forward and bring me closer to her chair.

Closer to her body.

Closer to her mouth.

I lunge for my cup instead, shoving the green straw between my lips and sucking up the coffee-tinged melted ice that’s collected at the bottom.

Kenzie might be gorgeous, but it’s a brutal kind of beauty. She’s a deadly viper, and as exhilarating as it feels to dance around our words like this, I can’t get too close. I can’t give her a chance to strike.

“Let’s see your questions, then,” she says.

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