I WALKED into the house and dropped my backpack on the bench by the front door. I could hear noise coming from the kitchen—Mom cooking— and started up the stairs.
Two voices came through the open doorway to Aiden’s room. His girlfriend had been a fixture at our place for the last two years, and as much as I hated going to someone younger for help, I needed their advice.
I peeked my head through the open door and caught them lying on top of the blankets, their heads together as music played softly through the speakers.
They did that sometimes. Just sat quietly together like there weren’t any words that needed to pass between them. They’d all been spoken.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi,” Casey replied, sitting up.
Aiden propped himself up too, leaning against the gray headboard. “What’s up, sis?”
I picked at my nails. “I need some…advice. About relationships.” His smirk earned him a glare, which he ignored.
“Step into my office,” he said, pointing to the giant beanbag chair near his desk.
“Uh huh.” I pulled out the rolling desk chair, sitting there instead.
Mischief still glinted in his eyes, but Casey had a kind smile on her face. Even though she went to the public high school in Seaton, I knew her better than most of my classmates. But she was Aiden’s girlfriend before she was my friend.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“There’s this guy, and I don’t know how to get his attention,” I grinded out the words, hating every minute of this. I was the older sister. Shouldn’t I have been imparting sisterly wisdom on him?
“Easy,” Aiden said. “Don’t.”
My brows came together. “What?”
“If he’s not already interested, he’s not worth your time.” He gave me an actual smile, not one of the teasing ones I usually got. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s not exactly working,” I said, fighting tears. “It’s important.” Casey ribbed Aiden’s side.
It must have been hard because he shied away from her elbow. “Okay, okay! I will give you one tip. And then if he’s not immediately smitten, I’ll give him a swirly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Deal or no deal?”
There were way too many deals being made lately for my liking. Still, I nodded. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Help,” I pleaded.
“Okay, here’s what Casey did,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made me want to look away. “You have to make him work for it. Let him know, without a doubt, that you’re the prize and he’d be lucky as hell to even be graced with your presence.”
I made a gagging sound as Casey giggled. “Who is it?” Aiden asked.
“What difference does it make who he is?”
“You might not believe it, but not all guys are the same.”
They could have been for all the exposure I’d had. But I couldn’t even bring myself to say Beckett’s name.
“Come on,” Aiden said. “I won’t tell anyone.” “Promise?”
He drew a pretend cross over his heart. I coughed and then muttered, “Beckett.” “Who?” he asked.
“Beckett,” I repeated.
“What? I can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.” “Oh my gosh!” I cried. “Beckett. Beckett Langley!”
Aiden’s eyes widened, and I saw something worse there than humor. I saw worry. Pity.
“Sis…” he said. “Are you—” He chewed his lip. “Are you sure?”
Feeling all the blood in my body pooling in my ears, I stood up. “Forget I asked.” I knew when it was my time to leave. I hadn’t even felt this humiliated with someone mooing at me. My own brother didn’t think Beckett could be interested in a girl like me.
“No.” He rose from the bed and took my hand. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I lifted a corner of my mouth. “Too late.”
I walked down the hall, hearing him and Casey whispering furiously to each other, until he called, “Rory!”
I turned and walked back, a spark of hope flaring in my chest. “Yeah?” “One piece of advice,” he said.
I launched into his lean arms and hugged him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, shooting a glare at Casey, who nodded encouragingly. “Here’s the deal with Beckett. He’s the kind of guy who’s always had everything handed to him. Football, money, popularity—it all came naturally. You know how many girls are interested in him. You don’t want to be one of them.”
“But I am,” I deadpanned. I was very interested, and for reasons beyond the bet.
Aiden shook his head. “He’s going to give up if it’s easy.” “So…” I said, not following.
“Give him hell,” he said. “And really, Beckett would be lucky to have a girl like you. You’d be way better for him than Merritt.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Aiden.”
As I left his room, my heart felt heavy. For all of Aiden’s good intentions, he saw me the way everyone else did, and that picture didn’t mesh with the perfect image of Beckett Langley.
Walking down the carpeted hall, I passed my room and walked into the studio Mom and Dad had redecorated for me for my seventeenth birthday. It used to be a guest bedroom, but now it was all mine for creating and thinking. The room had a sweeping view of the greenbelt behind our house, and evening light poured in through the west-facing windows.
I picked up a canvas and set it on my main easel. I hadn’t been in here much in the month since school started, consumed by the returning duties of studying and applying for college. Emerson Academy was nothing if not rigorous. They didn’t prepare students to be average. They made “winners” like my dad, who took on trials of national significance. Like Zara’s dad,
who owned a multi-million-dollar production company, or Beckett’s dad, who agented for Super-Bowl-winning NFL players.
In another school, I might have stood out, but here, I was a minnow in a Pacific-sized pond.
I sighed and got out my brushes and palette of watercolors. I liked working in the softer tones. They were like me, blurred around the edges, fading into the canvas, never standing out or making a bold statement.
My first strokes were in soft blues, a muted version of Emerson’s school colors. As I blended paint to create an image, I lost myself as I always did when creating. Here, I could paint any reality I wanted and escape the gnawing feeling of being just a little out of place. Of not being good enough.
By the time my mom called me down for supper, a couple covered the canvas. A curvy girl with thick legs and wavy hair and a handsome guy staring down at her, his arm around her.
Was Merritt right? Was my painting the only place a couple like Beckett and me could exist?
I sighed and left the room. I would be finding out soon enough.
