Page 1 of New Year

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“Crush”–Dave Matthews Band

I’m sick with nerves about going back to school. The night we get home, I stand in front of my open closet chewing my nails to the quick, agonizing over what to wear the first week of school. My anxiety is sucking me into a whirlpool of terror. Lindsey has only texted me twice over break. Could Elaine exile me from the group by telling Lindsey it’s too awkward to have Todd’s ex around? Or did Chase finally confess that there’s feelings between us, and now Lindsey’s shutting me out? Did he tell her about the other things that happened?

No, he couldn’t have. If he had, she wouldn’t have texted me at all, or she’d have confronted me. Why is she freezing me out? Did she finally realize I’m not cool and decide to ditch me? Maybe I was just her first semester pity project, and she’s gotten bored of me, and she’ll find some other hopeless loser to makeover next semester. I try to tell myself it’s fine, that I’ll be fine. I’m not sure I can stomach Elaine’s smug smiles anyway. And if she’s back with Todd for real this time, I’ll have to see them being all cute together. It’s torture enough seeing Chase with Lindsey.

The only bright spot is that the adults are even more hungover than me, so Mom didn’t even notice that I drank last night. After we got home, I holed up in my bed and binged an entire season ofBridgerton, which for some reason made me obsess about Oliver, even though he doesn’t even have the same accent. Better than obsessing about Chase, though.

My phone chimes from the bed, and I race over, my heart in my throat. I choke on my own breath when I see the message.

ChaseLondonSuperstar: Call me?

I sit on my pullout bed, holding my phone and staring at the screen. My heart is all tilted sideways and I can’t think straight. Why am I such a freak when it comes to him?

Disgusted with myself, I toss the phone back on my bed and return to the closet. I swore him off, and calling him is not going to make that happen.

I pick out a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans that Lindsey said make me look like a model, trying to remember what top I wore with them when she gave me that compliment. All I can remember is floating on air the rest of that day, though. I never used to care that much about what I wore, but Lindsey has changed all that, especially now that I think she might be mad at me. I have one chance to impress her on our first day back, to show her I belong in her elite group of gorgeous girls.

I usually pick my clothes for the week, sending a picture of each outfit for approval. Sometimes she’ll veto one, and I’m not allowed to wear blue, since that’s her color, but she’ll tell me when our group is coordinating outfits. When that happens, I’m always ridiculously giddy to be included. If I’m part of the outfit, it’s like being part of a team. I’m wearing the uniform. I belong.

Choosing my own clothes suddenly feels like a life-or-death situation, and I’m out here without my lifeline. She’s no longer my council. She’s the judge and executioner. What if they all show up in jeans and heels and white tees on the first day, and I’m in a skirt? Everyone will know I’ve fallen from grace. The worst part is, I don’t even know why.

I decide I’m being paranoid and it’s all in my head, just my anxiety making me crazy. I snap a pic of the jeans with a pairof slip-ons and a new sweater I got for Christmas, then text it to her before I lose my nerve.

No response.

I’m still sitting there five minutes later, in a spiral of anxiety, when Mom calls up the stairs that I have a visitor. Adrenaline explodes through me, and I think I’ll be sick. I sneak out and peek down over the banister. Chase is standing in the kitchen, elbows leaning casually on the detached bar, talking to my mother. My heart skips about five beats, and I dash back to my room. I am not at all prepared for company, let alone being seen by the hottest thing since man invented fire. I haven’t even showered.

In a panic, I throw on a cloth headband, some gloss and mascara, and survey myself in the mirror. I notice the dopey grin on my face, and try to subdue it, but it keeps coming back. I do a tiny happy dance that he came to see me, then feel guilty when I see my clothes laid out for Lindsey’s approval.

I’m dabbing on some blush when Lily dashes in and flings herself onto my bed. “That boy is here, and he wants to see you,” she chants, jumping up and down on my bed. The springs screech in protest at each bounce.

“I know, I’m going down. And quit jumping on my bed.”

“You’re gonna wear that?” she asks, dropping onto her knees and scrutinizing my Soundgarden tee and boyfriend cut jeans with ragged holes in the knees. “You should wear a princess dress. Girls always wear pretty dresses when they go downstairs to meet boys. It’s in all the movies.”

“You watch too many movies,” I say, ruffling her hair. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, and my makeup is already fresh, even though I’m wearing less than I have in front of him since before Homecoming, when I found out how long it takes to look as flawless as Lindsey and her friends. I’m not even wearing concealer, and I have at least two pimples. MaybeI do need a princess dress. That will distract him from my bare, uncontoured face.

Before I lose my mind entirely and take fashion advice from a girl who thinks Barbie is the pinnacle of style, Mom calls up again. I take a deep breath, wipe my damp palms on my jeans, and head downstairs. The moment Chase turns to me with that megawatt smile that takes my breath and my brainwaves and my balance away all at once, I know I completely failed at falling out of love with him over break.

Oliver who? I’ve already forgotten what he looked like.

All I can see are Chase’s stunning, crystal blue eyes that get all squinty and sparkly when he smiles, and the way his lips twitch when he’s trying to get it under control, and his perfect bone structure and strong arms, and god, when did it become legal to look that hot in a beanie?

He strides over to me in three quick steps, picks me up, and spins me around. “I missed you,” he says.

I start laughing, my nervousness melting away, and push at his chest.

He sets me down but keeps his hands on my waist, which makes my brain short circuit. “Well?” he asks. “Did you miss me?”

“Uh, sure?”

A flicker of disappointment crosses his face, but it’s gone in an instant, erased by the smile he uses like a weapon to keep anyone from getting close enough to touch. It stings that he does that with me, like everyone else. When did I stop being the girl he could be real with?

He turns it from me to Mom, who’s hovering like she thinks he might corrupt me the moment she turns her back. “Your gracious mother has agreed to let me steal you away for a couple hours,” Chase says. “Get your coat.”

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