Page 18 of Top Scorer
Something suspiciously likemoved.
I’m touched by the effort and the apology at the core of this ridiculous costume. Tristan’s “bad decision” was hurting me all those years ago by ruining the wings I made with my sister.
We were clueless teenagers who went out of our way to magnify the ordinary cruelties of life. But somehow, Tristan converts those unpleasant memories into something sweet and private and profound. I have no idea what to do with that.
Kai pokes a wing. “Youmadethese? How?”
“Not from scratch, but I added the glitter and lights,” Tristan answers. “What do you think of the glitter, Ligaya?”
I think it’s the exact same shade of pink as my old wings.
Before I can question him further, the room erupts with avid introductions. Tristan is subjected to Quinn’s disastrous encounter with an IKEA shelf and Sydney’s tirade about the harms of tanning beds.
“So? Why the wings? Wait, let me guess,” Toby says, swirling his glass before taking a dainty sip. “You lost a bet with a fairy drag queen.”
“I wish,” Tristan says with a chuckle. “I’m not that cool.”
“You wanted to be the tooth fairy as a kid but went into hockey instead,” Anna guesses.
“Guys, leave him alone,” I interject. “We are not required to elaborate on our mistakes, remember?”
“I don’t mind answering.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
“I clipped a person’s wings once,” he states.
“Oh my god, you mean it’s ametaphor?” Toby exclaims with his hand on his heart.
I’m drawn to Tristan’s steady gaze as he observes my reaction. My pulse quickens and my heart knocks unevenly in my chest. Heat flushes my skin from my chest to the roots of my hair. I’m the first to look away, flustered.
After a beat, Tristan clears his throat and rasps, “Yeah. Something like that.”
CHAPTER 10
TRISTAN
An hour and a half into the party, I have yet to get Ligaya to myself. I’ve kept her in the corner of my eye, but she’s never alone, and neither am I. When a guy named Kai asks if he can try the wings on just as Ligaya takes a tray to the kitchen, I use the excuse to follow her.
“Need help?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. Her wavy dark hair grazes her back, drawing my eye to the creamy expanse of her skin. And lower.
The tattoo has to be a joke, right? Seas instead ofseizethe day? I mean, she’s a freaking English teacher.
As if she can mind read, Ligaya explains, “The writing isn’t permanent. The seashell is.”
“Thank god.” I exhale in relief.
We both chuckle.
“What’s a trip with girlfriends without a tramp stamp, after all.”
The term irks me. “It’s not a tramp stamp. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes widen. “That was a softball pitch to make fun of me, Tristan. I’m surprised you didn’t swing.”
“I’m serious. I think it’s beautiful. In fact, I’d like to check it out a little more. The design is rather . . . interesting.”
