Page 28 of The Publicity Stunt
“The party at Tyler’s house.”
I shake my head and look away. “I’m really not in the mood to attend a party. But you have fun.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being mad at me,” she says.
“I’m not mad at you.” What an outrageous lie. Of course, I’m mad. But not at her. Just her actions.
“Every time you see Tyler you make that face.”
“You don’t like my face?”
She frowns. “You know what I mean. He apologized ten times, Parker. And he bought me flowers on my birthday.”
As though that’s supposed to be enough.
“I think that’s fair grounds for a second chance,” she says.
A week before her birthday, the jerk came up to me, asking what I was getting April. Suppressing the urge to punch him straight in the face, I told him: a bouquet of super-expensive roses that last a year.
They’re her favorite flower.
But surprise, surprise—and yes, that’s sarcasm—Tyler got her roses too. His bouquet was store bought and looked like it had been sat on. Obviously, I couldn’t give her my gift after that. It would look like I was trying to show him up.
So fuck, no. I don’t think that scumbag deserves a second chance.
“So will you come?” she repeats.
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “Fine.”
She smiles, brushing a couple of strands away from her face.
“Although,” I add, “you should know if Tyler Hockman does so much as spill a drink on you, I’m gonna do way more than make a face at him.”
“Sure.” She snickers and takes off her oversized Rolling Stones T-shirt, revealing a bright blue swimsuit underneath.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’ve been working out. You don’t think I can punch him?”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” she sings and I flip her off.
April deserves so much more than someone like Tyler Hockman. I just wish she could see that.
“Okay, let’s do this. You ready?”
There’s not much April can’t convince me to do—but this? I should probably draw the line at cannonballing down the edge of a fifty-foot cliff. I wrap my arms around my waist, thinking about all the things waiting in the deeper water—broken glass to cut my feet, rocks and slimy algae to slip on. What if a fish touches my leg in the dark? And alligators …
“Parker, you good?”
“No, I’m not good. I’m not ready. This is fucked.” I try to take a couple of deep breaths. “Can we at least jump together?”
She stuffs her crumpled T-shirt into her backpack and walks over to my side, slipping her hand into mine. “Hey,” April says.
I tighten my grip around her hand. “Yeah?”
“Do you really not want to do this?”
