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“You seem completely distracted.” Iris emerges from the bathroom and I turn to face her. “Sometimes I don’t even think you’re paying attention to what I’m saying.”
Busted. I’m not. She’s been keeping up nonstop chatter since she took her shower and opened the door to let the steam escape once she was finished. I told her all about Alana and Silas’s fight that I overheard, and how Silas chased after me. How Rhett told him to back off. That earned major points in Iris’s eyes.
“Please tell me you’re not considering trying to make a go for Silas again, are you?” Clad in only her underwear, Iris goes to her closet and yanks a navy Lancaster Prep crewneck sweatshirt from a hanger and tugs it on over her head. “And don’t accuse me of sending you mixed messages. I swear I will never try reverse psychology on you again.”
“Good, because that was dumb.” I shake my head. “And no, I’m not interested in Silas. Not after I heard what Alana said.”
And what Rhett said to me, too. Not that I’ve mentioned it to Iris. I swear I’ll tell her someday, but right now, I need to savor the moment for myself. I don’t want anyone else’s opinion on Rhett interfering with my own thoughts. I need to make this decision on my own. Not with Iris’s input because I have no clue how she might respond.
“Who knew wimpy Silas had it in him to cheat?” Iris grabs a pair of jeans and settles on the edge of her bed, pulling them on. “I didn’t think he was the type.”
“I agree. He’s always been so quiet. Almost shy.”
“Those are the ones to watch, I guess. Sneaky.” Iris’s gaze drops to my feet. “Chanel, Willow? So fancy.”
“Says the girl wearing a Cartier necklace,” I throw back at her. I kick out my right foot. “My mom gave me these.”
“They’re cute. Your mom has always been a Chanel devotee.”
“It’s my dad’s fault. He sent her all of those lipsticks.” Back when they were seniors and going to this school. He knew then. I’ve heard the story countless times, noted the glow of nostalgic love in his gaze every time he tells it. When I was little, I loved that story because he played up the fact that Mom didn’t like him. I thought that was funny.
But now … I think about me and Rhett. How I didn’t like him much either at first, and how he’s worn me down.
We don’t know each other well enough that I’m expecting declarations of undying love, and I don’t want them because it’s just way too soon, but I …
I want to go on a date with him. Spend time with him just one on one. Get to know him better. I’m fairly certain he wants the same thing. So what’s holding us back from each other?
Me. And what Westscott said. I should just tell Rhett. He might get mad, but he deserves to know the truth. I should tell my parents too. I’ll have my opportunity tonight. My dad will be furious and probably want to come at the headmaster, but Mom will tell him to calm down. I’m sure once confronted, Westscott will play off our conversation as one big misunderstanding and all will be well.
A girl can dream.
“I just want to make sure that you’re not down in the dumps over Silas. He’s not worth one ounce of your thoughts. He’s nothing but wasted emotion.” Iris goes to her vanity and sits on the chair, yanking open a drawer and pulling out a bunch of makeup. Not that I have any room to talk. We both own so many products and cosmetics, we probably look like a Sephora store. “I need to look good tonight.”
“Why? Are you trying to look good for someone in particular?” I’m teasing her, but she lifts her gaze to mine in the mirror, her expression serious.
“I never did confess my little story to you.”
With the drama from Alana and Silas and then Rhett’s heartfelt confession, I sort of forgot all about her cliffhanger moment. “Oh my God, you didn’t. I need all the details. Now.”
“Well …” Her gaze drops from mine and she focuses on piling up a little mountain of cosmetics on top of the vanity counter. “I, um, hooked up with someone this summer. And then I promptly ghosted him.”
I’m frowning, my mind scrambling, but I can’t come up with a face, let alone a name. “Who?”
“You know him. Very well.” She plucks an eyebrow pencil from a cup and starts filling in her brows. They’re a golden blonde and she likes to darken them. I’ve told her time and again to just get them tinted, but I’m veering way off topic here. “He goes to this school. I sort of hate him, but not really.”
Realization dawns. “Oh my God, Iris. Is it …”
“Brooks,” she supplies for me. My jaw feels like it dropped to the floor. “He’s really good with his hands. That’s all I’m going to say.
My mind is literally blown. I settle heavily on the edge of her bed, staring at her while she goes about putting on her makeup like she didn’t just rock my world with her confession. “Brooks?” I finally ask. “Really?”
“Is it that far-fetched?”
“No.” I shake my head. It actually makes all the sense in the world. “You’ve never given me any inclination that you’re interested in him.”
“Because I never was. Brooks is always just … there, you know? We’ve gone to school with him for a long time. I always thought he was nice, but I never looked at him and thought, ‘yeah, I want him to get me off with his fingers in my panties for seven nights straight’, which is exactly what happened.” Her tone is so matter of fact, as if she’s talking about the weather.
“Seven nights straight?” I ask weakly, still trying to wrap my head around this.
