The Boy I Hate(25)

She closed her eyes and turned away. She recognized them. Barely. They were cheerleaders from West Valley high. People she barely knew, and she liked it that way. But a sinking feeling grew in the bottom of her stomach, bubbling up until it began climbing her bitter throat.

Is this jealousy? Whatever it was, it was a feeling she’d never felt before, and one she was sure she shouldn’t be feeling right now. This was Tristan, she reminded herself. He wasn’t just a guy she got to know at the lake, but the lead quarterback of his varsity football team. The guy who had a friend named Beef, and who had more attention from women than she wanted to know about.

The realization left her questioning everything. Could she like a boy who had more friends than he knew what to do with? A guy who was never alone, not even for ten minutes?

She continued pulling sleeping bags and pillows from the back of the van, anxious to be done with the task so she could go inside, but it was difficult when the other side of her was hanging on every word they said.

The Tristan she’d met alone in the woods wasn’t like this. He was honest and open, and so much deeper than the guy leaning against the van. She didn’t know if she could take it. If she could stand by and watch girls wrap themselves in his arms. Because right now she felt insecure and vulnerable, and that wasn’t a feeling she liked very much. She was a girl who prided herself on being reasonable, on being mature. But one kiss from Tristan Montgomery had her insides screaming “bitch” when a tall brunette stretched up on tiptoe to whisper in Tristan’s ear.

“It’s my birthday,” she said rather loudly. “My parents bought a keg. Come over later?”

Tristan only laughed, but he did something interesting. He looked over at Samantha, their eyes locking for brief time and he shook his head. “I don’t know, I’m pretty beat.”

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed it, but it was long enough for her heart to soar. For the message to be clear. He wasn’t interested in keg girl. Whatever happened in the woods had meant as much to him as it had to her.

She took the last piece of luggage from the van feeling comforted, but very much needing to get away.

Mr. Montgomery was her saving grace. He came to stand by the van, and pulled down the back to slam it shut. He rested his hand on Samantha’s head and ruffled her hair. “I got this kiddo. Why don’t you run inside and find Renee?”

She only nodded, still too shaken by the shared glance to trust her voice. Without looking back, she turned toward the house and walked up to the steps, leaving Tristan and his party crowd reluctantly alone.





9





Chapter Nine





Six years earlier



As promised, Mr. Montgomery ordered pizza as soon as everyone was finished unloading the van—enough to feed a small army—or half of West Valley’s senior class. But that was how it was at the Montgomery home. Sometimes it was over half the football team, more than twenty-five jocks and their girlfriends, filling the great-room and lounging on the sectional in the corner. Today, however, there were only ten, which filled the home with rowdy laughter that sounded like twice that.

Renee sat at the bar with Samantha and Steven, wrapped in a purple blanket she’d taken from the cabin. It was far too noisy for any of them to hold a conversation, so they sat in silence, trying to ignore Tristan, and his friends who seemed to monopolize the entire room.

Samantha didn’t mind—because it took the attention away from her. Away from the guilt, the jealousy, and the desire she was sure could be seen on her face. Because her mind was preoccupied with something else. Two somethings, actually. One: she needed to figure out what to tell Renee. Because “I let your brother stick his tongue in my throat” didn’t have the right ring to it. And two: she needed to apologize to Steven. Because that’s what it would be. An apology.

She couldn’t be the girl he wanted her to be. She couldn’t like him the way he wanted her to, and she knew that fact would hurt him. She would say it as gently as she could, hoping with all hope they’d still have a friendship when it was over, but she was worried. It was all too much for a girl to take. Too much responsibility, too much stress. So much so that she thought she might have a nervous breakdown, right there in Mrs. Montgomery’s kitchen.

She picked up another slice of pizza, hoping to dull her emotions with carbohydrates, but Steven’s phone buzzed on the counter at that moment. He slid open the call, and held one finger to his ear as he excused himself to the front porch. Everyone was distracted, watching TV or playing pool, and Samantha knew it was the perfect opportunity to talk. She picked up her plate from the counter, then tossed it into the trashcan, intending to follow.