She peers into the bowl. “Yep. Now for the part you’ve been waiting for. Stir that into this.”
Twenty minutes, nine eggs, and five dirty bowls later, we’re all sitting around the island, waiting for it to bake. Vandy’s scrolling through her phone, sending me these little glances that have my leg bouncing impatiently. Emory’s running the recipe card over a spot of wayward flour, sweeping it into a line like it’s cocaine.
It’s not like we hadn’t already planned for this situation to be void of kissing or touching, but having Emory sitting here like a supervisor is kind of grating on my nerves.
“You hear about that Pierce fucker?” he suddenly asks, tapping the card. He looks up at me, quick and casual, but I see it for what it is.
He’s trying to move past our little spat.
Vandy sighs. “Let it go.”
I nod, jaw clenching. “Prick.” The way everyone talked, you’d think he’d body slammed her in the hallway. She swore up and down it wasn’t that bad, but I could see the redness in her eyes, knew it’d been bad enough.
“Bass scared the shit out of him, though.” Emory smirks, kicking back on his stool. “Saw him in fifth period. He looked like he was crapping his pants.”
I rest my chin on my fists. “I broke into his locker.”
Vandy’s head whips back. “Reyn!”
I roll my eyes. “Relax, I just transferred everything into his gym locker. He’ll spend most of the day tomorrow freaking out, but he’ll find it. If anything, I did him a favor. That shit was a pig sty.”
Emory laughs. “This is awesome. It’s like V’s got five more big brothers now.”
Inwardly, I cringe. Does that mean I’m going to have to deal with four other angry jocks if this gets out? As if Emory isn’t bad enough.
“Great,” Vandy mutters, echoing my thoughts. “Just what I need.”
“Aw, come on.” Emory reaches out to pat her wrist. “Look at it like this; more people to haul you around, right?” His expression turns pensive. “Not that I’d trust Carlton to drive you around. Or Ben. Or Tyson. Probably not Sebastian, either.”
“Or,” I suggest as the hottest take yet, “she could just get her own car and drive herself.”
Emory shakes his head. “V doesn’t know how to drive. She can’t learn.”
I push back in my seat, suddenly feeling ill. “Because of…?” I drop my gaze to her leg. Jesus. Had I really taken that away from her, too?
She must see the dread on my face because she gives a sharp shake of her head. “No, I probably can.” She looks away, cheeks blooming a warm pink. “I’m just not allowed to.”
I cut my eyes to Emory, voice full of disbelief. “She’s not allowed to learn to drive?”
I’ve learned a lot about Vandy over these last few weeks, and one of the subtler wisdoms I’ve gained is that she’s terrified of not being able to move. Of being unable to get away fast, if she needs to. Of being trapped. Of needing other people to save her. They have no idea what they’re taking away from her with that.
Emory shrugs, hapless, and I’d push it—I really would—but look what that little Stairway to Hell disagreement had caused.
Just then, the timer dings for the cornbread. Vandy looks grateful when she hops off her stool and goes to the oven to get it out. She’s embarrassed. I can tell in the redness of her cheeks and the way she won’t meet my eyes. I think back to my dad’s words—give you time to become an eighteen-year-old—and wish that Vandy could have that, too.
While Vandy’s prodding the cornbread, Emory leans in to say, “Look, my truck’s too big, anyway.” I watch as he thumps his knuckles onto the counter, three soft raps. “We’ll have to use the Jeep.”
My eyes snap up to his, dubious. He can’t really be saying…
Emory smirks back at me. “Yo, V. Wrap some of that up, then we’re AIS.”
I let Emory take the passenger seat.
Vandy’s looking at the dashboard like it’s something out of a NASA control center as she jerkily pulls the seat belt around her torso.
I’m in the backseat, pitched forward between them. I spin my cap around backward, watching her face. “Move the seat up if you need to,” I instruct, watching as she follows. “And adjust the mirrors.”
She fiddles with the rearview mirror, eyes meeting mine in the reflection. There’s fear there, but also something else.