Page 21 of Check You Out

“Fine. Friendship necklaces?” She tilts her head.

“I don’t like things around my neck.”

“Matching T-shirts?”

“Only if I can wear a hoodie over top.”

9

Charlotte

39 Days until the Council Meeting

The lobby of Stephen Gott’s office smells like one of those candles that’s supposed to mimic the ocean, but it really just smells like jasmine and salt. Of all the times I’ve been to the beach, I’ve never seen or smelled jasmine flowers. Salt, yes. But never jasmine.

The secretary eyes me warily from behind his desk, tapping away at his computer. He took my name with a sneer and gestured to the vinyl seat with a limp hand. I check my watch, double-checking that I am in fact early to this meeting. My knee bounces, and I try to calm myself with deep breathing.

I texted Gott yesterday using the number that I had from high school. I wasn’t expecting to hear back. But then his secretary called almost immediately offering an appointment for the following day.

Now here I am, waiting for a meeting that could make a difference in our fight for the library, or be a complete waste of time.

No pressure.

My knee bounces on the gray carpet. I wish Aidan could be here. He wanted to be come with me, but this meeting is in the middle of a parent-teacher conference that he can’t get out of.

My phone vibrates wildly and I pull it out to find multiple texts in the Committee Group Chat, who all know about the meeting because I told them yesterday.

Aidan: Good luck!

Nicole: Steal something from his office!

Xander: If he mentions the dog shit, you don’t know us.

Johnny: Remind him that he owes me $100 for the marinara.

Lisa W: You’ve got this lol!

Nicole: uh what do you think lol means?

Lisa W: Lots of love?

I chuckle and reply with the face palm gift of Captain Picard.

Charlotte: Thanks guys!

A door behind me opens, and I turn to find Stephen Gott. He’s dressed in a clean, sleek navy suit with not a wrinkle in sight. His red hair is combed back. He smiles at me, and I get flashbacks of our relationship. Me reading and writing while he poured over history books, broken up by making out in his parents’ basement. Or should I call them nightmares?

I swallow bile. I used to date this guy.

“Charlotte,” he sings out. His voice is cool, and there’s a drawl to his voice. “How are you?”

I rise from the pleather bench and hold out a hand. “Mr. Gott, thank you for meeting with me on short notice.”

“Of course, anything for an old friend.” He emphasizes the word friend, studies me for a second, and flinches somewhat.

Is he afraid of me? Why?

“You look great. What’s it been? Fifteen years? Damn, you don’t look at day over eighteen.” He says quickly and gestures toward the office behind him. “Come on in.”