Top Ten(22)

“Three,” Ryan answered dutifully. His head throbbed.

“See? You’re fine.” His dad reached for another sparerib. “Eat up.”





RYAN


Ryan knew from the moment they picked Gabby up that night that she was in a foul mood, though he had no idea exactly why. “Whose house is this, even?” she asked as they headed up the front walk, like the party was something he was dragging her to and not an invite she’d specifically requested.

“Jordan Highsmith’s,” he said, touching the side of his head gingerly. He had a bump the size of a fist from where he’d connected with the ice earlier. He thought he might need to get a new helmet.

“And who is Jordan Highsmith?”

“You know who he is,” Ryan chided, glancing around as they made their way through the scrum of people in the hallway. It was a new-construction farmhouse designed to look old, with wide-plank floors and big picture windows. Ryan always noticed where people lived. “He wears a lot of, like, fake-vintage T-shirts.”

“I hate those T-shirts,” Gabby muttered, sticking close beside him as they went into the kitchen to scrounge up some beers. She looked especially pretty, Ryan noticed, a little bit of lip gloss and a slightly fancier shirt than she usually wore, with tiny buttons along one shoulder. Ryan kind of wanted to reach out and touch one with his index finger. The idea of her getting dressed up to go to this party with him, even a little bit dressed up, reached into his chest and squeezed tight.

Gabby frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, taking the slightly-warm can of Coors he was holding out. “Are you okay?”

Ryan blinked. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you have a weird look on your face. And you keep doing this.” She touched her own head. “Do you have a headache?”

“Nah,” Ryan lied. “It’s fine.” He’d swallowed four Advil when he got home from dinner with his dad and fallen asleep really hard for an hour, waking up in a puddle of his own drool fifteen minutes past the time he’d told Gabby to be ready. He still felt kind of groggy now, actually, like he was trying to have this conversation while someone smothered him gently with a pillow. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Gabby bit her lip; she was opening her mouth to answer when Brayden James bumped into Ryan hard from behind, slinging a beefy arm around his neck. “Hey, McCullough,” he said, grabbing the back of Ryan’s head and shaking it a little. “How’s the dome?”

Ryan tried not to wince. “Still attached,” he said cheerfully, shoving Brayden off him and turning back to Gabby, who was scowling now.

“Seriously,” she said, “what happened to your head?”

“Nothing,” Ryan said. His dad was right; it was nothing. There was no point in worrying her for no reason. “Seriously.”

“Why are you lying to me right now?”

“I’m not.”

“Fine,” Gabby said, sounding irritated. “I just don’t see what’s so fun about this to you,” she said, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation. “Like, do you honestly like all these people?”

“I like most of them,” Ryan said, following her gaze around the kitchen. It was a big party, people spilling out the back door onto the deck and Zac Brown Band blaring from a speaker. He could see his friends Joey and Anil engrossed in a game of beer pong in the living room, plus some girls from the swim team and a weed dealer from his gym class with a horsey laugh. He did like most people here, was the truth.

“I will never understand that part of you,” Gabby said, shaking her head.

Abruptly, Ryan was kind of annoyed—at his headache, at the whole situation, but mainly at Gabby herself. “Why did you come, then?” he asked.

That stopped her; her cheeks got faintly pink. “Because—” she started, then broke off. “Forget it,” she said. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just saying I didn’t come here to trail after you all night like I’m your pet.”

“So don’t trail after me,” Ryan said automatically, realizing one second too late that that was absolutely the wrong way to reply. “Not that I mind you trailing after me or anything, I just—”

Gabby’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think I do?” she asked, her voice quiet and brittle. A freshman behind her spilled a cup of something red and sticky, and she scooted out of the way. “Trail around after you?”

“No, not at all, I just—” Ryan was trying to figure out how to backpedal most effectively when Gabby caught sight of something behind him; she frowned, and he glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze. Felicity Trainor was staring back at them, eyes narrowed and lips twisted. Even her braid crown somehow managed to look pissed. They made eye contact for a fraction of a moment, and Felicity shook her head. She was too far away for Ryan to hear what she was saying, but he saw her mouth move in the precise shape of the word perfect. Then she turned on her heels and stalked away.