Page 39 of Faking Summer
"Because," I said, pulling back an arm and tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You looked like you needed one."
She froze, her breath hitching as she kept her eyes locked on mine.
"Listen to me. Your mom... she's jealous. You're everything she wanted to be. And instead of dealing with that, she's taking it out on you."
Her expression flickered—sadness twisting into something uncertain, like she was turning my words over in her head. Then, finally, she nodded. And damn, if it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut.
"I never thought about it that way," she murmured. "Even if it’s not true… thank you for saying it."
Then, just like that, she let go. Stepped back. The walls snapped back into place like she’d realized I’d seen too much. And I hated that she thought she had to do that.
"Caroline," I began, the words coming out softer than I expected, "are you okay with us going to the ball together?"
For a moment, she paused, her hand lingering on the door handle before she finally opened it. "You and I..." she repeated slowly like she was processing the thought. "Go together?"
A chuckle escaped me as I leaned against her car, my arm casually resting on the edge of the open door as she slid into the driver's seat.
"Yeah, that's normally how it works," I said, trying to hide my confusion in humor. Why was she acting so strange about this? Why was she so hesitant? It was just a dance.
She hesitated, not looking me in the eye. "You don’t already have a date?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly. "I figured you'd have a lineup of women."
She looked like some adorable creature in the woods, caught in the glare of headlights, ready to bolt but carefully staying put. And there was something about the way she framed the question, like she was searching for an excuse, any reason to not go with me.
"Nah," I said, pushing back. "The girl I wanna take is right in front of me."
The silence stretched taut between us before she smiled, but it held no joy. Her fingers rested lightly on the ignition, hesitating just long enough to make my chest tighten. "How about I meet you there?"
Something wasn’t right about the way she said that, and it sent a prickle down my spine. I caught the sadness lurking behind those lashes. What was she hiding?
“Why wouldn’t I come pick you up?”
She dragged her teeth across her lower lip. “I have committee stuff to do,” she murmured, dragging her seatbelt slowly across her body. “I have to give out the awards, set up some things, so… I’ll just meet you there.”
It was a good excuse—practical, believable. But it still didn’t sit right.
Her voice was too soft, her words too carefully chosen, like she planned them.
I leaned in slightly, studying her, watching as her fingers gripped the steering wheel again just a little too tightly. "You sure about that?"
Her shoulders stiffened, but she forced a quick nod, keeping her eyes on the dashboard like looking at me would somehow give something away.
My jaw twitched, the unease growing. “Did I do something?”I asked, softer this time. “Because it kind of feels like I did.”
She shook her head too quickly.“No. Nothing at all.”
She was a terrible liar. But I knew her well enough to know that she didn’t want me to push further. And when her mind was set on something, she didn’t seem like the type to let anyone change it. But not knowing what I’d done to make her pull away? That was the worst part.
“Alright, I'll see you there," I finally said, playing along, and gently pushed her car door until it clicked shut.
seventeen
Caroline
Clutching my tiny purse, my fingers instinctively found my favorite lipstick—a soft pink shade I always reached for in moments like this. I needed the familiarity, the comfort. Slipping past the heavy curtain that separated me from the ballroom, I exhaled, stepping into the quiet sanctuary beyond. A stolen moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts, to brace myself for the speech and the ceremony waiting on the other side. I sorted through the envelopes, each holding inside them the names of each winner.
For other women, going to this ball with Reese might have sent them spiraling into a highlight reel of heart eyes and swoon-worthy daydreams, but not me. What he’d put me through in the past hovered over me like a dark cloud, threatening to burst open and drench me in the pain I couldn’t get away from. He had the power once, to crush a more vulnerable version of me, but I was smarter now. I knew exactly what I could expect from him.
I was tuned in to the voices on the other side of the curtain as guests arrived—laughter, the clinking of dishes, the subtle shifting of feet. Most of the voices I recognized, players or Bayside locals. Butnone of them belonged to Reese. Each second that ticked by without the sound of his voice was a silent confirmation of my fears.
