Page 41 of The First Love Myth

Growing up with only a dad, I’ve become pretty resourceful in the kitchen. I can usually scavenge enough from the apartment to make something edible without having to go to the store unless it involves cheese. We’re always lacking cheese.

“Brownies,” he says immediately. “No one ever makes them. I’ve been surviving on those prepackaged cosmic things, but they aren’t really brownies. There are no edges or center pieces that are all gooey.”

I giggle at his simple request. “Do you have a preferred brand?”

Chapter 34

Zoey

Haley and I stand in front of the door to Max’s apartment with a plate of brownies, courtesy of the Dough Boy. He lives in a complex off the main road. We’re too far from the beach to see the water, but the ocean still salts the air, and the scent lingers. I pause, my hand poised to knock. Anxiety ripples through me as it has all afternoon at the idea that we’re crossing some line that our easy bantering at work never does. Max is a teacher at Ardena, and though I was never taught by him and am no longer a student and no one at camp seems to think anything of the two of us always attached at the hip, this moment gives me pause.

But then Haley knocks, and Max answers, his smile as big and bright as ever. His eyes linger on me for a long moment, and I’m glad I decided to throw on a V-neck tee instead of my usual tank top.

“We brought brownies as requested,” I say, holding them up.

He takes the plate, his fingers brushing against mine. Our eyes meet, and something unspoken that I can’t identify passes between us. Maybe it’s an acknowledgement of this step we’re taking. I don’t know. It’s not intense but hesitant, almost questioning. Does he regret the invite? Does he feel like we’re teetering on a line too?

“Nice.” He steps back to let us in. “You totally weren’t getting in without them.”

The apartment is small. From where I stand, I can see most of it. It’s exactly how I imagined—running shoes by the door, a bike hanging on the wall, secondhand furniture mixed with newer pieces. Hints of his life are everywhere, from concerts tickets to Greek letters. There’s no obvious pictures of his ex but a few of his family. After only seconds in his space, I feel like I know him better.

“Everyone, this is Zoey and Haley.” He turns toward us. “This is everyone.”

I survey the group, spread out amongst every spare seat of the living room. There’s no one I know. My anxiety dissipates a little more. Haley, per usual, jumps right in, shaking hands, getting names. She sinks onto a pillow Max has sitting on the floor and falls right into a conversation with a blond guy in board shorts and a polo and a woman with a pixie cut and a maxi dress.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

Max stands close enough to me that I can smell his cologne. He doesn’t wear cologne on the track, and I’ve grown used to his scent of sweat and soap and what I know to be Head and Shoulders from living with my dad. Tonight, though, he smells clean and musky, more his age. His hair is carefully coiffed, and the sleeves of his button-down are evenly rolled to his elbows. This isn’t Coach Evans or his teacher persona. This is him with his friends, which I am now, apparently, counted among.

“Umm.” We brought beer, but it was handed off with the brownies and is nowhere in sight. Max holds an IPA, and there are wineglasses in the living room, but alcohol right now seems highly unappealing. “Water for now.”

“Hey, man, do you have any salsa?”

I freeze at the familiar voice and slowly turn to face one of Ardena’s freshman English teachers and the advisor of the yearbook that I helped put together since sophomore year. Mystomach drops. This is what all my anxiety’s been about, though I’m just realizing it.

“Joe,” Max says in an easy tone. “You remember Zoey.”

“Mr. Turner.” I swallow, cringing at how awkward his teacher moniker sounds from my mouth as I stand in the middle of Max’s apartment. “Nice to see you again.”

Recognition registers on Mr. Turner’s—Joe’s—face immediately. He leans back on his heels, his eyes traveling from Max to me and back again, most likely taking in the lack of distance between us. His lips press into a thin line before he nods at me. “I think you’d better call me Joe.”

Max’s hands clamp down on my shoulders, and he squeezes lightly before releasing me. “Okay, water, salsa. Got it.”

And then he’s gone, and I’ve never wished so hard for a beer. Joe stands with me, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his beer. His gaze travels around the room before returning to me.

“So,” he says finally, discomfort evident in his voice, “Max said you work at the camp together.”

I start, but nothing comes out. I’m too lost in the fact that Max has mentioned me to his friends. His invite seemed off the cuff this afternoon, but maybe not? While uncomfortable, Joe doesn’t seem surprised by my presence.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket before I can formulate an answer. I glance down at the screen, expecting it to be Haley from across the room. My roommate has saved me from situations like this numerous times. Well, maybe not exactly like this. But it’s Cecilia’s name on the screen. I didn’t even know she had my new number. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Joe nods and retreats back to the kitchen. I shuffle forward and glance around for a quiet spot. There’s not a lot of options, but I move to the far side of the room, which holds a small dining set with a laptop set up.

“Cecilia?”

“Are you with Liz?”

“No,” I say, spotting two doors off the room. One is the bathroom. The other has to be his bedroom, but my options are slim, and I don’t want to have a conversation with my sister in the middle of the party. I shut the door behind me and sit down on the edge of Max’s neatly tucked bed. “I’m in Ardena for the night. Is everything okay?”

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