Page 89 of Bad For A Weekend

“I want to be a journalist,” I say proudly.

He laughs. “Like for a newspaper? Do people even read those anymore?”

“Actual newspapers aren’t as predominant, but online articles are. People still need to know what’s going on in the world. And there’s the news on TV.”

“Oh, you want to be a reporter? That makes more sense. You’ve got the face for TV.”

Irritation spikes with his dismissive and borderline insulting comment. “No, I want to write the stories they read on the news. Or maybe write articles online. I’m a good writer, and I’ve discovered that I like to investigate and expose things people don’t even know are happening around them.”

“That’s cool too but is there money in that?”

“Not a lot, but I’m okay with that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your dad has made enough to keep you, your kids, and your grandkids comfortable.”

Ziggy sighs and stuffs his mouth with a bite of sandwich, preparing to listen to the verbal lashing I’m about to deliver.

“Believe it or not, some people don’t make money a top priority. They’d rather have a career that fulfills them and gives them a sense of pride. I don’t want a big mansion or for the world to know who I am, like my dad. I just want a comfortable existence.”

Trent backs down. “That actually sounds nice. I’m sure with everything going on, disappearing sounds like safety. I don’t blame you at all. And I think it’s admirable to chase a dream instead of money.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe I should rethink my goals.” He smiles genuinely. Either this guy is performative, or he really gets it. I can’t decide.

“No one asked, but I want to go into music,” Ziggy says.

“That’s not surprising.” Ian rests his hand on Ziggy’s, and I swear to God, Ziggy preens in response. “You have music in your blood. Do you want to be a musician?”

“No, I don’t have thatItfactor like my parents. I’m better at hearing a track and knowing if it’ll hit, so being a producer or maybe an executive someday is a better fit.” Ziggy weaves his fingers with Ian’s, and it’s the cutest thing ever. I’m glad my friend has found someone who makes him happy.

We spend the next hour picking at our food and talking. I’m surprised to find Trent charismatic and charming. He’s not like a lot of other guys at our school who are smug bastards, but the spark I have with Owen isn’t there. I don’t have a burning desire to touch him all the time, I don’t want to spend hours at The Grove talking about life, and I don’t trust him enough to tell him my deepest and darkest.

Being with him is nice, and I’ve had a good time, but that’s all it is.

“Can I show you something real quick before we go?” Trent asks as we gather our trash.

“Um, sure.” I glance behind me where Hudson has stationed himself. “Where?”

“Just around the corner. My dad wanted me to get a picture of this plaque with his name on it for being a donor.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay.” I tell Hudson where I’ll be and return to Trent, who takes my hand again. He leads me to a hallway where the bathrooms are. The walls are black with neon pink lightning bolts splitting them in half. But there are no plaques.

“I lied,” he says, stopping outside the bathroom.

“What? Why?” Uneasiness settles in my gut.

“If I got back in that car, I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to do this.” He boxes me against the wall with his hands and dips down to kiss me.

I know I should let him. He’s a nice guy, and I had a good time. But it’s not a good enough reason to give him something that belongs to someone else. Owen claimed every part of me in Tulum, and until he tells me he doesn’t want me anymore, my kisses are not mine to give.

I turn my head in time for his lips to miss their mark.

“Um, wow.” He pulls away. “I really misjudged the situation, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I just feel kind of stupid. I thought you were into me.”

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