Limerence: Chapter 19

Despite the tenuous arrangement to keep each other’s skeletons firmly in the closet, I don’t see Adrian for the rest of fall break weekend. I don’t show up at his door; he doesn’t show up at mine. We seem to have a strange, unspoken agreement to give each other some much-needed space.

Because something has changed.

I can’t put a name or face to it, but since I’ve learned his secrets and spilled mine, it’s as if we’ve blown the hinges off a cracked door.

We may never speak again, but when I pass him in the hallway or spot him on some magazine cover in twenty years, I’ll still know exactly what shaped him into a killer.

Just as he’ll forever know I’m not as good of a person as I pretend to be.

By the time Monday rolls around, I’m more than ready to reprise my role as Lionswood’s very own invisible girl. God knows I certainly have a newfound appreciation for it because if the events of senior year have taught me anything, it’s that invisibility isn’t the curse I thought it to be.

It’s a shield.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

I’m halfway to my locker when I hear the first round of squeals.

The noises belong to Tori Gonzalez, who’s still shrieking as she throws her arms around her boyfriend, Emmett, a red rose in one hand. “Of course! Of course I’ll go to St. Benedict’s with you!” The sentence is punctuated with a searing kiss.

Realization dawns on me.

How could I forget?

Well, I know why I forgot – I’ve had much bigger fish to fry than a looming school dance that I won’t be attending.

A few lockers down, Jesse, from second period, opens his locker and uncovers his own red rose tucked beneath a stack of textbooks. It’s covered in glitter that sprays everywhere when he takes it out. He blows a kiss to his boyfriend, a guy on the Lacrosse team whose name evades me.

There’s some cheering and clapping, excitement charging the air as the third proposal of the morning takes place: Millie Rogers and some barely recognizable Chess team kid.

Jealousy burns a hole through my stomach.

I’d like to think, after all that’s happened lately, that I’d be above this sort of thing…but I’m also human. A part of me mourns for the Poppy that’ll never have a high school sweetheart. Or a big, poofy dress worthy of pictures and dancing and stuffing in the back of a closet for the next ten years.

“So romantic, isn’t it?” A familiar voice drawls.

I nearly jump out of my skin, the final remnants of my good mood wilting as I find Adrian propped against the locker closest to mine.

“What are you doing here?” It comes out a little harsher than intended, but the last time we were face-to-face like this, he had his hand wrapped around my throat.

And since it’s been radio silence ever since, I have no real idea where his head’s at. For all I know, he could’ve changed his mind since Friday and used the remainder of fall break to plot my murder.

My stomach sinks.

It is a possibility.

The lazy smile on his face betrays nothing. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Eyes narrowed, I pitch my voice low. “Are we? I’m not sure friends try to kill each other.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, for the record, I didn’t try to kill you. I only considered it. And, since you’re so interested in semantics, I’m not sure friends root through their friend’s private belongings either.”

I swallow. Fine. A good point.

“You don’t need to be nervous. I’m over it,” he shrugs. “We’ve come to an agreement that works for both of us, haven’t we? You know my secrets. I know yours. Nobody has to get hurt in the process.”

I’m not sure “friendship with Adrian” and “nobody has to get hurt in the process” are two things that go together – but I’m not going to trample over our carefully constructed peace if I don’t have a reason to.

“Besides,” he continues, smile widening, “As your friend, I think you’re going to want to see this.” He juts his chin toward the redhead approaching her locker.

As always, Sophie’s flanked by friends on both sides, a smug grin splitting her face. Some of the crowd quiets.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to take her.”

“I’m not,” he replies quietly, “I told her I had no plans to go to the dance. Multiple times…but I’m pretty sure she thinks it’s a ploy so that I can surprise her.”

Her naked ears only confirm the theory.

She starts working on her combination, her gaze catching Adrian’s.

I cringe. “I’m not sure I want to watch this.”

Well, maybe just a little.

Sophie’s locker opens to at least a dozen roses pouring out and onto the floor, but she doesn’t give them a second glance, instead rummaging through the contents of her locker.

Her face grows more tight, more frustrated by the second – and when it becomes apparent there’s not a pair of thousand-dollar diamond earrings lodged in the mess, she turns her attention to the roses on the floor.

I can’t make out any of the names attached to the long stems from here, but it’s clear the one she’s looking for is not among them.

For a moment, she looks devastasted, rejection crinkling the corners of her mouth.

Oh, this is painful.

But then she straightens up, plasters on a strained smile, and snags one rose from the rest. “Tristan Bell,” she purrs, and shoots the Lacrosse player a demure smile. “I was hoping you’d ask. I’d love to go with you.”

Ava and Penelope, who likely spent most of fall break hearing about the expensive earrings she’d find from Adrian this morning, exchange confused glances.

Tristan Bell, however, doesn’t seem to have any idea he’s the consolation prize – not as several of his teammates slap him on the back, and Sophie struts over to thank him personally, rose in hand.

She doesn’t spare Adrian a glance.

“Well, I think you succeeded in pissing her off.”

“Good,” he says, “An angry Sophie is far more tolerable than a happy one. This version will leave me alone.”

I can’t argue with that logic.

And now that the dramatics are over, I spin the combination on my own locker. The metal creaks open as I go to grab a textbook, but that is not what my fingers close around.

I blink.

What the hell?

There’s a rose.

In my locker.

Sitting on top of my Biology textbook.

I pull the flower out, careful not to damage the petals. I’m half-expecting it to be some kind of joke, a cruel prank orchestrated by Sophie, but I stop short when I see the sender’s name scrawled onto the white sticker.

“What is that?” Adrian asks but I ignore him, whipping around to search the crowd for –

Oh.

He’s already staring at me.

Across the hall, laughing with all his Lacrosse friends, cobalt blue eyes pinned to mine.

And it doesn’t seem like he’s joking.

Freddy Rook shoots me a breathtaking, wide smile that leaves red blossoming over my cheeks. From the corner of my eye, I register Adrian following my gaze, but Freddy is the only thing that has my attention right now. He gestures to the rose and mouths: Think about it.

I nod, still dazed, as he winks and turns back to his friends.

Well, this is…

I stare down at the rose – my rose – with wide eyes.

…an interesting development.

Besides a few passing acknowledgements in the hall, I’ve had zero interaction with Freddy since our trade, and as gorgeous as he is, I had no idea he was interested like this.

Think about it, indeed.

“Can you believe –” I go to confer with Adrian about the rose, only to find that he’s already begun stalking away, the crowd melting into the corners of the hall to make room for him.

I frown.

So much for a friendly chat.

***

“You know what we should do Saturday night?”

I’m not expecting to see Adrian before the College Preparations class we share fourth period, and yet, here is, sidling up to me on the way to English. He says nothing about his rude exit earlier this morning.

“I thought you had Calculus second period,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be in Browne Hall?” There’s more than one lingering glance being sent our way right now.

“Statistics, you mean. I took Calculus last year,” he replies, which still doesn’t answer my question. “There’s an art exhibit Saturday night. In Hartford. One of the museums has a few Dalí pieces on loan.”

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “Dalí? Like Salvador Dalí?”

“If it was another Dalí, I wouldn’t be bringing it to your attention.”

“In Hartford…” My brain does a few quick calculations. “That’s –”

“Two hours away,” he finishes, “My driver can take us.”

I pointedly ignore the comment about his driver because, of course Adrian would have a driver, and instead ask, “And you’d want to go? To an art exhibit?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He tilts his head to the side, a stray curl falling into his eyes. I have the embarrassing urge to reach out and brush it back into place. “My mother is a patron of the arts. It’ll be good press for me to go and make a donation…and I’m guessing you’ve never seen a Dalí in person.”

I shake my head.

I’d snuck into the Mobile Museum of Art on occasion, but never managed to see anything of this caliber.

He gives me a triumphant smile. “It’s perfect then.”

I open my mouth to agree – and stop. “Wait.”

Adrian pauses alongside me. “What is it?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, it’s this Saturday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure,” I admit. “The dance is also Saturday and –”

It’s like I’ve suddenly lit a stick of dynamite and thrown it into this conversation, his expression darkening into a scowl. “You’re not serious about that, are you?”

I blink, surprised by the hostility. “I mean, it’s not for sure. Freddy made it seem like I could think about it, and I am. There are some things to work out, namely a dress but –”

“And you’d give up the chance to see the work of one of the most renowned artists to ever live for a silly school dance?” He cuts in.

Annoyance swells my chest, but I manage to retain my cool. “Well, I don’t see why I can’t attend a ‘silly’ school dance and see the art with you. Saturday’s not the only day they’ve got them up, right? We could go next weekend.”

His eyes only narrow. “I don’t want to go next weekend. I want to go this weekend.”

I stare up at him, waiting for an explanation or reason to follow.

None does.

Why is he being so difficult?

I chalk it up to Adrian’s specific brand of entitlement: someone who’s used to having whatever they want whenever they want it.

But since he’s not willing to compromise, I won’t either. “Well, if you’re only willing to go this weekend, I’m going to have to say no. I’d rather –”

“Spend the night with less desirable company,” he interjects. Again. “I hope you like Freddy’s pretty smile. It could be the last thing you see before he bores you to death.”

Outside the scope of my limited interaction with him, there are only three things I know about Freddy Rook (courtesy of the Lionswood gossip mill): he’s slightly above-average at Lacrosse, drinks a little too much at post-game celebrations, and (allegedly) his smile isn’t the only pretty thing about him.

And, as far as I know, he’s never bored anyone to death, which is what I tell Adrian.

“Is that so?” He retorts. “Because I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of speaking with him at parties. He’s got a list of Lacrosse facts on rotation, and when he gets more than one drink in, he’ll start giving you a play-by-play of every goal he’s ever made.”

A trickle of doubt seeps in because surely, he’s not that bad – and turns swiftly to annoyance. “Alright. What the fuck is your problem? Why are you pushing so hard for me to ditch Freddy?”

He stalks closer, his mouth curling into a sneer. “My problem is that I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get what?” I’m careful to keep my volume down, because a quick glance around the hallway tells me that we’re starting to attract attention.

“I don’t get the appeal.” His eyes flash. “Of him. There is absolutely nothing special about Freddy Rook, and yet, you’re choosing to spend time with him over me. I thought we agreed to be friends.”

“We are, but I want to go the dance,” I hiss quietly. “It’s not about you. It’s not about him. It’s about me wanting to go to a silly high school dance with a cute boy and take pictures and embarrass myself on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with you.” I don’t even realize I’ve taken a step forward till I’m face-to-face with his collarbones and have to tip my chin upwards.

The anger vanishes from his face. “Then go with me.”

The world skitters to a stop.

“What?”

“Go with me,” he repeats. “I’ll take you to the dance.”

For a brief moment, my brain short-circuits with one thought running on a loop: Adrian Ellis just asked me to the dance. Adrian Ellis, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen in my life, just asked me to the dance. Adrian Ellis, the most popular boy in school, just asked me to the dance.

And then reality resumes, and I realize that the person actually asking me is Adrian Ellis, murderer and reluctant friend, and he’s not asking in the way you’d want someone to ask. He’s asking in the same way you’d propose soup over salads for lunch: casually and without too much investment in the answer.

“Why?” Is the first word out of my mouth.

There’s a brief pause where Adrian looks slightly stupefied – as if he might not even know why himself – but then he shrugs and says, “Consider it a favor. I’m sparing you from an evening of monotony.”

“A favor?” My cheeks begin to flush red with something that feels eerily like embarrassment. “You want to take me to the dance as a favor.”

He gives me a smug smile. “Well, that’s what friends do for each other, don’t they?”

Take them on pity dates? Sure.

For all intents and purposes, he’s right. Adrian Ellis taking me to the dance would be a favor. A charitable act to bolster his social standing and reinforce mine. He’d be the Good Samaritan who sacrificed a better date for the sad, pathetic-looking scholarship girl.

I can already picture Sophie’s satisfied sneer as the warning bell rings, and the last of the students scatter into their classrooms.

“No,” I say. “That’s okay. I think I’ll take my chances with Freddy.”

I go to walk away, but Adrian’s hand latches onto my arm with a vice grip. “No?” His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips pulled into a deep frown. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I’m going to be late for class.”

He ignores me, his frown transforming into a full-blown scowl. “Why not?”

“I’d rather go with Freddy.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You have to be lying.”

“I’m not. I think I’ll have a great time with him.”

A disbelieving scoff escapes him. “This is insulting. I’m trying to do you a favor, and you’re still picking him over me. You should be grateful I’m even offering.”

Anger pulses through me. “Well, I think I may be fresh out of gratitude this morning.” Sarcasm coats every word. “And I’m going to be late. Let go.” I try shaking him off, but he doesn’t budge.

“Tell me why,” he orders. “I need to know why.” There’s an edge of desperation to his voice that’s almost unsettling.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word.

I sigh softly. “You know, for someone so perceptive, I’m not sure you see me very clearly.” I tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “I’m choosing to go with Freddy because he’s not trying to do me a favor.”

His grip loosens, and I yank my arm from his. “I need to get to class. I’ll see you fourth period.”

I leave him stewing in the middle of an empty hallway, and though I don’t look back, his gaze prickles the back of my neck all the way to English.