Page 8 of Come Break My Heart Again

Once Perry is slouched in the back, Archer takes off in a spray of gravel that will piss off both my father and the gardeners. Unlike my mother, my dad isn’t part of the Archer Hathaway fan club. He’d rather I wait to date until I’m in law school—or even better, a first-year associate at one of Boston’s top firms. He only agreed to let me go out with Archer because he’s a Hathaway.

Loud rap music pours out of the car speakers, making conversation impossible, which I’m fine with. I tune out the racket as best as I can and focus on the streets of Fernwood flashing by instead.

Fernwood is a small town, about forty-five minutes outside of central Boston. It provides all the allure of small-town living—sprawling lots, fresh air, and plenty of square footage—while also allowing for a reasonable commute to the downtown offices, where most of its adult residents work.

The three-story colonial I grew up in is located in Fernwood’s most exclusive cul-de-sac, obnoxious stone facades marking the entrance to almost every driveway. Several blocks later, we pass the small downtown section with a few restaurants, a movie theater, a general store, and a couple of gift shops. The post office and the library.

I look wistfully at Brewed Awakenings, the local coffee shop, as Archer speeds by. If I’d driven myself, I could have stopped for a latte and a doughnut. My mom considers coffee a gateway drug and only serves tea at breakfast. I’m positive my dad cheats and gets his caffeine when he arrives at the office, but Fernwood High’s cafeteria lacks a barista.

Five minutes later, Archer parks—crooked—in a spot in the front row. The silence is deafening when he turns the car off and the music stops. Perry pops his door open, allowing shouts and exclamations from the lot to enter the car. I climb out next, slinging my backpack over one shoulder.

A crowd is already forming around Archer’s car. Mostly football players. A few girls, who offer me sweet, fake smiles as they gush over my dress.

I possess a popularity I didn’t lobby for and don’t really understand but is a combination of every cliché you could think of. I’m the captain of the cheerleading team, dating the varsity quarterback. Student council president. Head of the Honor Club. The college applications my parents insisted I spend the summer working on are all for the most prestigious universities in the country. Perfect is an objective, impossible standard. But I know it’s how most people describe me. It’s probably how I’d view my own life if I wasn’t living it.

“See you later, babe.” Archer presses a wet kiss against my mouth, prompting plenty of hooting and hollering from his football buddies.

I nod and manage a smile, no part of me surprised he’s not walking in with me. Unless it’s an opportunity to badger me about sex, Archer avoids spending alone time with me. It’s like dating me is all he wanted, and now that we’re officially together, his work is done. I should probably care, but I don’t.

“Have a great day,babe,” I reply, fighting the urge to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

I’m sure Archer has told anyone who will listen that we go at it like rabbits every chance we get. But honestly, if his kissing technique is any indication of his bedroom skills, I have no desire to change my mind about sleeping with him.

Archer doesn’t catch the subtle sarcasm, but Perry does. He reaches up to tug the brim of his hat lower, half covering his smile.

I hate being called babe, and Archer acts like it’s my legal name.

I turn and head toward Juliet’s car, parked right next to the brick entrance of Fernwood High. There’s no sign of Keira yet, predictably. She’s as late as I’m punctual.

Juliet’s leaning against the bumper of her sedan, eating a muffin. I eye the iced coffee beside her elbow enviously.

“Hey!” she says as soon as she spots me.

“Hey,” I reply, stopping a couple of feet away.

Juliet scans my appearance, then nods approvingly. “I was totally right. That dress looks amazing on you.”

I smile before stepping forward and taking the spot beside her, surveying the filling parking lot as I rest most of my weight against her car. “Bonus: Frances hated it.”

“They’re her genes. I would kill for boobs and legs like yours. She can’t blame you for showing them off.”

“I’m sure she’ll manage to.”

Juliet laughs and takes another bite of her muffin. “How was last night?” she asks after swallowing.

“As bad as I had expected.”

“Did you and Archer … you know?”

I shake my head. “He got wasted during pool pong. Took him an hour to realize I’d left.”

Juliet rolls her eyes. “Boys.”

“Boys,” I agree.

“I got you a coffee, by the way. It’s in the center console.”

“Bless you.” I stand and walk over to the passenger door, salivating over the sight of the iced coffee in the cupholder. The plastic is damp with condensation, the cool water refreshing against my palm.

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