The Boy I Hate(20)

Tristan sat directly in front of her now, though she hadn’t looked up once. She felt bad ignoring him, because in spite of how upset she was about Renee, last night had been one of the best of her life. She was just afraid. Afraid that if she met his eyes again, even for a second, everyone in the house would know he’d taken a piece of her heart last night. They’d see the confusion whirling in her brain. Because last night she’d gone out with a boy, knowing he was the one she hated, but in just a few hours he’d made her question everything she’d believed for years.

It was like finding out Santa wasn’t real, and then playing each moment you’d sat in his lap over and over, wondering how you could’ve not known. The fake beard, the constant change in appearance, the fact he would wear such a warm suit in the middle of summer at the fourth of July parade. Being with Tristan had shattered her sense of self, her trust in her own judgment and everything she thought she knew about everyone. She found herself piecing memories of Tristan together, trying to make sense of it all, but then pulling them apart again because it never did. Because he wasn’t a dumb jock that hurt everyone like she’d always thought. That was a lie, and if anything, those lies had hurt him.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Montgomery’s voice called from the other side of the table.

Samantha startled from her thoughts, uncrossed her feet from under the table, and glanced down the row of chairs to her best friend’s mother. Mrs. Montgomery’s gold hair was tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head, her long neck poised elegantly as she sipped from a large mug of coffee.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Samantha forced a small smile and shoved the piece of waffle into her mouth. “Just tired.”

Mrs. Montgomery grinned, but only half-heartedly. “I hope Renee didn’t keep you up all night with her coughing. I’m afraid this trip hasn’t been much fun for you, has it?”

Samantha shook her head. “Oh no, it’s been great.” She swallowed her food. “And it wasn’t Renee. I was up late…” She cleared her throat. “Reading.”

Tristan made a small sound from across the table, but Samantha ignored him, not daring to look up for fear everyone would see her blushing.

Mrs. Montgomery turned to say something to Mr. Montgomery, never seeming to notice her discomfort, and eventually went back to reading her newspaper.

The plan had been to leave right after breakfast, and Samantha couldn’t wait for it. She was anxious for the departure, anxious to be back at the Montgomerys’ so she could talk to Renee privately. She needed to tell her what happened. To confess—and clear her dirty conscience of the kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about. But she couldn’t do it here, not knowing they’d be stuck in a car for five hours back to LA. She’d tell her when they got home, as soon as she got her alone, no matter how difficult it was.

A creak sounded from the other side of the room and Samantha turned around. Renee stood on the very top of the staircase, her hair a tangled and unbrushed mess, held high by a yellow scrunchy on top of her head.

“Well if it isn’t my little ball of sunshine!” Mr. Montgomery shouted. “It’s good to see you out of bed and alive.”

Renee croaked out a word that sounded something like “morning,” then came down the steps, and crossed the distance to pull out a chair next to Samantha.

“How do you feel, honey?” Mrs. Montgomery asked, as Renee sat beside her.

“Better,” she answered, reaching across the table for the platter of waffles. “Do we have any orange juice?”

Everyone began passing plates and pitchers. Chatting about everything and nothing, as Samantha stuffed her face with maple-covered waffles and bacon. She hoped that if she kept her mouth full for long enough, everyone would forget she was there and not ask questions.

The plan almost worked. Until she excused herself to the kitchen. She entered the tiny room, placed her plate into the sink, then braced her hands on either side of the counter, her eyes fixed on the dark, ominous sky that had rolled in overnight. It was like a message from God, punishing her for all her wrongdoings. “I see you, God. I know what you’re up to, and I don’t like it!”

“What was that?”

Samantha whipped around, finding Tristan standing in the doorway with an empty plate. He moved toward her, deposited his dish in the full sink, then rested his hip on the counter beside her. Although he said nothing, there was heaviness between them that told her there was much on his mind. He looked at her, his mouth still, but his eyes full of questions. Questions that both scared and excited her. Questions she wasn’t sure she could answer.