Page 43 of Movers and Fakers

Her head bobs in a quick nod, then her eyes flutter open.

“We’ll go, stay as little time as humanly possible, then leave and do our best to never go back.” She gives me a pointed look. “That means having excuses ready for follow-up invites.”

“All right, I’ll do better next time,” I promise her. “You’re sure we can’t just cancel?”

She shakes her head. “She’ll just show up here, which would be worse. I think. I don’t know.” Another sigh leaves her. “Either way, we’re not getting out of this.”

“At least we have each other?” I offer half-heartedly.

Her mouth quirks up on one side. And that miniscule smile restores my dwindling hope that I might not have ruined everything after all. I don’t fully know what I’m even in danger of ruining. Our relationship doesn’t fit any normal definitions, that’s for sure. But I like this. I like her. And while deep down I know I’ll have to let go eventually, I don’t want to yet.

Chapter twenty-one

Sugary Confession

Aurora Driscoll

I stare at the fresh-out-of-the-oven cinnamon roll in front of me. Cream cheese frosting drips down the swirl of pastry. To the right of the plate is an iced coffee with cold foam and caramel drizzle, all made from scratch by Jasmine. She presented the treat to each of us roommates after we finished devouring the mushroom-and-Swiss omelets she whipped up for breakfast. It was hard enough to eat the first part of breakfast with how full of secrets I am. Jasmine shows her love through food, so this plate is a depiction of how much she cares about me. I feel like I’m gonna be sick if I don’t tell them what’s going on.

“I went to the Shadow Ring with Hayes on Friday night,” I blurt out.

Saylor freezes, a forkful of cinnamon roll poised in front of her gaping mouth. Marigold’s bleary eyes widen over the rim of her giant coffee mug. Jasmine hovers over the pillow she was about to sit on. On Sundays, if everyone is free, we try to eat breakfast around our little coffee table. Saylor clears off her collection of highlighters, Marigold puts away her laptop, and we scrunch around the low tabletop to eat. Usually, it’s quiet, the silence broken by the occasional hum of appreciation for Jasmine’s food. Once everyone is fed and caffeinated, conversation about our week ensues.

I broke tradition, and it’s noticeable.

“Afterward, I texted my mom a picture of us, and of course she called.” I squeeze my eyes shut to block out their dumbfounded expressions. “Hayes talked to her. And got tricked into a Sunday dinner. We go to their house tonight. And I-I’m—”

“You’re freaking out,” Marigold murmurs.

I cut a glare in her direction. Jasmine leans over and flicks her in between her eyebrows.

“Ow!” Marigold exclaims.

“That was not helpful,” Jasmine scolds, then looks at me. “How are you feeling?”

I cross my arms over my chest and grumble, “I’m freaking out.”

Marigold gives Jasmine an I told you so look that earns her another forehead flick. She bats Jasmine’s hand away.

“Quit that!”

“How was the Shadow Ring?” Saylor asks over Jasmine and Marigold’s bickering.

I shrug. “It was fine. Hayes won. We left after.”

I don’t mention the deal we made. I can’t handle that on top of going to my parents’ house tonight. That problem has been tucked into a manila folder and placed in a box on a tall, far-away shelf marked later.

“Why didn’t you invite me?” Saylor pouts.

“It was past your bedtime,” I reply wryly.

She scoffs and takes an aggressive bite of her cinnamon roll.

“Are you worried something will go wrong tonight?” Jasmine asks once she’s through fending off Marigold’s retaliation. She brushes back her dark curls, which have started to spring out of the messy bun she’s shoved them into.

“I don’t know.” I twist my plate, focusing on the uneaten dessert.

“Can I talk, or am I going to be hit?” Marigold sasses.