Page 7 of Come Break My Heart Again

“They’re not offering it as an elective any longer. It’s an after-school activity now.”

My father frowns. “Won’t that conflict with cheerleading?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll call Principal Walker on my way to the office.”

I don’t protest. If anyone can get the Fernwood High School schedule changed, it’s Michael Clarke. My father controls every situation he’s a part of, running his life with the same efficiency as a judge in a courtroom.

My mother breezes into the dining room a few seconds later, carrying a platter of freshly cut fruit. I quickly swallow the final clump of yogurt-coated granola and wash it down with some orange juice.

“Is that dress new?” she asks after taking the high-backed chair across from my dad.

“Yes. I got it with Keira and Juliet last weekend.”

Her hum is disapproving.

I glance at the grandfather clock next to the fireplace, then drain the rest of my juice. “I’d better get going. Archer will be here any minute.”

That announcement distracts my mom from my outfit, just like I knew it would. “Archer is driving you to school? How considerate. He’s such a sweet boy.”

I resist the strong urge to roll my eyes, knowing all it will earn me is a lecture.

Sweetisn’t an adjective I’d use to describe Archer Hathaway. My sole interest in him is that he’s hot and … well, his appearance is his main selling point. And that dating him gets my mom off my back about dating him. She’s best friends with Archer’s mother. I’m pretty sure they’ve been planning our wedding since kindergarten. Resisting it became … exhausting.

“Uh-huh,” I say, standing and then pushing my chair in at the table. “See you tonight.”

“Have a good day, honey,” my dad says.

From my mom, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I respond as I walk into the soaring entryway. I grab my backpack out of the front closet, where it’s been sitting with the winter coats since June.

It still feels like summer when I step outside, no sign of fall’s crisp chill in the late August air. I pass my car—a cherry-red convertible I’m still shocked my parents agreed to buy me. A convertible is one of the most impractical vehicles you could have in New England, which is my favorite thing about it. It’s something different, something unexpected.

There’s no sign of Archer. He’ll probably be late.

I take a seat on the edge of the stone fountain that sits in the center of the circular driveway, tipping my head back so the sun warms my face. I sit like that, basking in the sun’s rays like a lizard, until I hear gravel crunch and open my eyes.

Archer isn’t alone in his Mercedes, which I’m not surprised by. We spend most of our time together as part of a larger group. We don’t have much to say to each other when we’re alone.

The SUV slows to a stop, and Archer rolls down the window to flash me a broad grin. He looks good, his tan skin and blond hair emphasized by the blue T-shirt he has on. “Hey, babe. We match.”

I glance down at the dress I’m wearing. The one my mom raised her eyebrows at. It’s shorter than the ones she buys for me, but that wasn’t why I chose it. The color was what I loved, and Archer is right. It’s very similar to the shade of his shirt. That makes me like it less, not more.

“Yeah, we kinda do,” I say, glancing past Archer at his best friend, Perry Welch, who’s sitting in the passenger seat, scrolling on his phone. “Hey, Perry.”

He glances up, smirking as his gaze dips from my eyes to the low neckline of the dress. “Hey, Elle.”

We fooled around a few times before Archer and I officially started dating in the spring. Mostly because I was hoping my showing interest in his best buddy might cause Archer to lose interest in me. No such luck. My feelings for Perry were no stronger than any I have for Archer, but at least he has a more entertaining personality to be around. Archer’s attention has already shifted to the screen in the dashboard, four words all he could come up with to say to me.

“I’m not riding in the back,” I tell Perry, crossing my arms.

No matter how many times Archer takes his car to get detailed, the faint odor of sweat lingers from his football equipment.

Perry rolls his eyes but opens the passenger door and climbs out of the car. He holds it open as I round the front fender, taking a mocking bow before shutting it. “Your Highness.”

Archer snorts, then revs the engine.

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