Playing with Fire

I laughed, throwing the pillow in her face. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re just friends.”

“Riiiiiight. And denial is just a river in Egypt.”

“I’m not in denial.”

“Not even a teeny-tiny bit?” Karl dropped her textbook in her lap, pinching her fingers together, looking at me through the gap between them with an impish grin. There was no point telling her about a kiss that hadn’t happened and was promptly branded as a mistake by West before he backed out of it.

“I swear, it’s totally platonic. He is a commitment-phobe who loves variety. I’d be an idiot to fall for a guy like that.”

I am the idiot who is halfway there.

“You don’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“Maybe, but you do choose how to act on things,” I countered.

Karlie rearranged her limbs, sitting crisscrossed on her white duvet, leaning against her poster-filled wall. Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and Green Day. Her room was a nineties shrine, including a Discman on her nightstand, Beanie Babies on her bed, and an old-school see-through phone.

Karlie was born at the end of 1999. The last day of the year to be exact. December thirty-first, at eleven fifty-eight at night. That made her obsessed with the era, and whatever Karlie liked—I loved. It was the natural, courteous thing for me to do to join her obsession for moral support.

“Look, I’m studying how to become a reporter, and call it an investigative knack, but I ain’t buying what you’re selling, Shaw. The reality is you’re both single, and hot, and you spend a lot of time together.” She popped her watermelon gum in my face.

“He also spends a lot of time inside other girls, like Melanie and Tess,” I murmured.

“True, but I’ve never seen him hanging out with them one-on-one.” Karlie grabbed her textbook, placing it back in her lap and highlighting the bejesus out of it, her eyes glued to the page. “And it’s been a while since Tess. Just remember what I said, Shaw. He might be nice, but he’s trouble.”

“Actually …” I sat up straight, feeling bizarrely protective toward West. “He’s not trouble at all. He’s really nice. The other day, he noticed Marla went home before I had a chance to take a shower and watched over Grams for me for a few minutes.”

“That’s why I’m reopening the invitation to go to his fight on Friday.” She flipped another page in her textbook.

“Because he is nice to me?” I blinked, confused.

“No, because he is putting up a front. He is on his best behavior at the food truck because it’s a different environment, but he is still a beast.”

She rolled her eyes when I didn’t respond.

“Look, aren’t you curious to see if your friendship is just a food truck thing or goes beyond it?”

Curious? I was rabid to find out. My communication with West at school was nonexistent. He’d taken my request not to draw any attention for me extra far and didn’t even acknowledge me when we passed each other.

It was like I didn’t exist to him.

A part of me didn’t want to find out what we were outside of our bubble, but a bigger part of me realized I had to find out whether I was a convenient friend he kept in secret and was ashamed of or a person he considered his equal.

“Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll go to the fight.”

“Yes!” Karlie pumped her fist in the air. “That’s my girl. Now let’s get slutty clothes to distract him.”

“Wait, didn’t you say dating him is a terrible idea?”

“Dating? Yes. Teasing? No. It is high time you realize you’re hot shit, Shaw. And if West St. Claire is the guy to make you realize it, I’m all for it.”

I grabbed one of her pillows, pressing it over my face and yelling into it in a mix of horror and excitement.

“Quick. If you could bring one thing back from the nineties, what would it be—Blockbuster or hot Keanu Reeves?” Karlie tapped my knee.

I dumped the pillow on the floor, my eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. “Excuse you! Keanu Reeves is still bangin’.”

Karlie threw her head back, laughing. “Ding, ding, ding. That was a test. And you just passed with flying colors.”

I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to stop myself from grinning like a loon.

Ten tons of foundation?—check.

Catlike eyeliner?—check.

Blow-dried hair?—check.

Sparkly pink lip gloss and a matching ball cap?—check.

Tiny, long-sleeved, black mini dress that showed off my legs?—triple check.

Karlie’s honks blasted through my bedroom window, signaling her arrival. I bolted downstairs, my heart flipping desperately like wings. Grams was sitting in the living room, knitting and listening to a Johnny Cash record. She was having a good day, thank the Lord, but I still asked our neighbor, Harold, to check in on her a few times tonight.

“Church’s out, Grams!” I hollered as I picked up my small clutch. I was dressed for a fancy club or a restaurant, not a fighting ring, but I couldn’t help myself. It was the first night I’d gone out since I’d given up on having a social life, and it was a big deal for me.