Page 20 of The Crafting Con

“Um, no.” I shake my head, chuckling at the memory. “We never really moved past the video game playing portion of the band practices. Turns out they are as addicting as everyone says.”

“That’s too bad. I bet you guys could have put on a good show.”

I snort. “For who? Trust me, no one wants to see our nerdy asses up on stage.”

She clicks the belt free, and pushes open the passenger door, face turning so I can’t see it. “I’d have gone, if…”

If she hadn’t been busy ignoring my very existence? Coldly severing ties with anything that had even a remote chance of bringing our paths together? It was all done so fast, so clinically efficient. She didn’t even shed a tear as she stood in that pool of streetlight, sneakers sinking into the park’s wood chip floor. Her voice practically robotic. We can’t be friends anymore. Years of friendship ended with a handful of words.

My chest squeezes painfully, bitterness coating my tongue. I push my own door open without looking at her. “Yeah, well, some things just aren’t meant to be.”

She hops down from my truck to the pavement outside. Back to me, voice small. “I don’t know about that. It could still happen.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to read too much into her words. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

I walk around the truck bed to meet her, and she falls into step by my side while we silently make our way through the parking lot. My arms swing loosely at my sides, the one closest to hers prickling with awareness. If I moved just a few inches to the left, our hands would brush in passing. The fact that I’m tempted to do just that has me shifting in the opposite direction.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for watching you play at the games,” Ava says, and I give myself a mental slap as I attempt to make sense of her words. When I don’t answer right away, she glances up at me, her head tilting to the side. “You know, at halftime? With the marching band?”

“Oh, right.” I let out a shaky laugh, even as a mortified flush heats the back of my neck. I hadn’t even considered the fact that Ava would have seen me playing in the marching band. Wearing that god-awful uniform, and—kill me now—that ridiculous hat with the purple plume sticking out the front. It’s literally the dorkiest thing someone could wear, and the one person I thought wasn’t looking hard enough to notice apparently was.

I’m both flattered and appalled.

“We do drop some pretty sick beats in drum corp.” The automatic doors slide open, and I lead Ava toward the back of the store where the craft foam is kept.

“Not nearly as often as the lacrosse team drops the ball.” Ava chuckles. “Although if you tell Stasia I said that, I will deny until I die.”

This time my laugh is genuine. “They certainly wouldn’t suffer from a little more practice.” I cut a sideways glance at Ava. “Although Tyler Denning’s not half bad. One might even say he’s good.” Like, really good. The only reason our school’s team has a winning record-level good.

Ava suddenly becomes extremely interested in the clearance display we’re passing. “True.” She grabs an industrial-sized bag of glitter off the rack and holds it up. “We’re definitely going to need this.”

I raise an eyebrow. “For Sally’s daggers?”

She shrugs. “What? It’s good to have options in case anyone wants to get creative with it.”

“Yeah, but I usually prefer options that don’t involve finding sparkles on random parts of my body for the next ten years.” I pluck the bag from her hand and return it to its place. “No glitter.”

Her bottom lip juts out in a pout that has my fingers twitching with the desire to tug on it. Either that or find out firsthand what flavor her lip gloss is. I tear my gaze away and clear my throat, legs propelling me down the aisle through sheer will alone. “Speaking of Tyler…”

“Is Tyler code for glitter? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what we were talking about.” Ava’s voice is light, but a ripple of tension plays across her profile. It’s obvious that, for whatever reason, she doesn’t want to talk about him, but I can’t seem to help myself. Some part of me needs to know if they’re together. Not that it changes anything—the idea of being friends with Ava is scary enough. There’s no way I’m letting myself slip into anything deeper. Not again.

Still. For sanity’s sake. “Before the glitter, smartypants.”

“Oh, right. That.” As if she only just remembered. Ha. “What about him?”

Crap. What do I want to ask her about him? Are you two dating? Do you like him? I can’t ask that without looking jealous. Are you going to prom together? Prom—yes! That’s it.

I shrug. “I heard he was planning to ask you to prom, and seeing as it’s the same day as the workshop, I just wanted to make sure you were good to do both. I know what a big deal it can be and all.”

Ava lets out a wry chuckle. “Have you been talking to my mother?”

I raise an eyebrow, thoroughly confused.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. To answer your question, yes.”

“Yes, you’re…?”

“Good to do both.”