Page 84 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
I tip my head to the side. “Really?”
She fills me in on her reasoning, and while it does sound possible and also dispels the last of my worry it could be Delaney, the whole thing still mostly reeks of Josh to me. Maybe he and Amaya are in it together. I say as much.
Clara nods. “Good point. With Amaya onstage, it makes the mostsense to interview him tonight. I doubt Josh will admit anything outright, but if I can get him talking about last year and their relationship, maybe he’ll let something slip.”
“What do you want me to do?”
The setting sun streaks through the trees behind her, haloing her in a soft glow. “Try to get under his skin. He’s more talkative when he’s mad.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Easy enough.”
Her eyes fall to my shirt and flit back up to meet mine, full of amusement. We exchange a quick, nervy smile. Both aware that something’s shifted again. Something that has my heart punching me from the inside out.
She takes out her camera to capture everyone walking through the stone arched entrance. All holding some combination of blankets and lawn chairs and bags of food.
“I’m going to get as much footage as I can before we lose the light.” With that she takes off, weaving through the crowd.
Mitch and Kenji flank me, and I don’t realize I’m still staring at her until a hand waves in front of my face. I blink and swat it away.
“You’ve still got it so bad,” Kenji mutters, then pulls Mitchell with him to scout a spot to sit.
I glare after him even though he’s right.
I survey all the familiar people laughing and talking. A lot of the adults have full picnic setups on the grass, pouring wine from the vineyard next door. If they don’t have students who go to Woodhurst High, they’re likely alumni themselves. Everyone seems genuinely excited to watch a high school rendition ofRomeo and Juliet. Something about their enthusiasm chips away at the loneliness I’ve felt since going to school.
As weird and warped as this town is, I guess it’s kind of nice being back in Woodhurst.
“Reid!” It’s my dad. He’s got his usual coach apparel on: running clothes and a baseball hat. His face is lined with concern that stops my thoughts short.
Did he somehow see the letter from Stanford? Maybe that was the second notice I threw away. Sweat forms at my hairline, my entire body too hot.
“I noticed you came in with Clara,” he says.
Oh god, this again.
“Dad, don’t—”
He folds his arms and cuts me off. “It took weeks to get your training back on track after that assembly last year. Remember how you almost lost the fifteen hundred—to that slimeHarper?” he whispers his name, knowing it’s not a great look to be talking about the kids he used to coach. But Peter Rousseau is as much of a gossip as the rest of them. And thatwasmy worst race in years.
When I don’t respond, he goes on, lowering his voice even more. “She’s a nice girl, but that video—”
“You mean the one that cost her everything and was a huge violation of her privacy?Thatvideo?” I glare at him, daring him to say more. We had this fight over and over last year.
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose and nods. “Let’s not get into that here. I just don’t want you to lose your focus all over again. This is your future.”
Then why don’t I get any say in it?I think.
It almost comes out of my mouth, but Principal West bursts into the conversation. “There you are, my boy!”
Josh shoots me the dirtiest look as he approaches behind him.
Oh goody, he’s already in a bad mood.
But I notice he’s not the only one looking at me sideways. Severalpeople are glancing my way. Unlike the enthusiastic, smiling expressions at the Fun Run this morning, these are alight with intrigue or suspicion. The kind of looks that mean people are talking about you—and not in a good way.
I straighten my spine and wave at the family whose kid wore theRousseaushirt this morning. The mom quickly averts her gaze and maneuvers the kid by his shoulders, ushering him in the opposite direction. I swipe at the sweat on my forehead, trying to calm down while West and Dad talk.
Josh appraises me with mock sympathy. “Tough day?”
