Page 93 of How To Plot a Payback

Which is why no matter how tempting, I will never hit on her. Despite how I feel looking at her now, with her hair pulled into a ponytail, standing barefoot on the grass as she clings to her leather sandal in a tug-of-war with Bernie, laughing and imploring me yet again to come to her aid.

I will not flirt, despite how aware I am of her every move.

I will look the other way at work, disregarding how I feel whenever Kye rests his arm across her shoulders and whispers something in her ear.

I will never suggest we have anything more than platonic friendship, no matter how caring or thoughtful she is, or whether she might look out for me with that same ferocity she uses to care for others. I have never understood it until now. I know why Sonya and Kye and everyone else in the world treasures and protects her.

I will happily be someone who admires her from a distance.

I will be, if she wishes it, her friend.

“Did you see that? He’s sitting!” Lavender cries, swiveling on her heel. Both her hands are covering her mouth, eyes bright and wide.

The truth is, she has been trying to get Bernie to sit for half an hour. I’ve managed to do it several times, while she has been successful only in getting him to bounce around with springs for legs while nipping at the elbows of her jumper. She was getting discouraged and needed a win.

So yes, I might have stood behind her, motioning with my hand for him to sit.

Discreetly I toss a treat his way. “Look at that,” I say.

“Yes,” she says in breathy excitement. “Oh, there’s my shoe. I’m going to get it,” she says, pointing to her sandal currently stashed beside a tree.

“No,” I say. It’s one thing to stand there barefoot in the middle of a dog park, and another thing to dodge the miscellaneous gifts left by less conscientious dog owners. “Let me.”

As I hand the sandal to her, the two teens who followed us home catch my eye from behind a tree. “I see your entourage is here again. I have to hand it to them, they’re getting better. Didn’t spot them until now.”

“Oh, they’re not with me today, they’re”—and then she turns around, sees the boys, and drops down onto the bench. A moment later I feel her hand grab mine and tug me to do likewise. “Duck,” she urges.

I pause, trying not to laugh at Lavender, who has pulled her legs up onto the bench and is bending over as if trying to melt into it. But she looks so insistent, I, a bit clumsily, fold up like an accordion as well.

“How are you doing this? You’re a human pretzel,” I say, trying without success to get my nose anywhere near my bent legs like she has done.

“Sonya must be here,” she whispers, and peeks one eye over the bench for a millisecond.

“Your best friend, Sonya. That Sonya.”

“My very persistent best friend, Sonya, yes. Now if you please, just lower your neck here. That’s it.” I feel her hand behind my neck as if she is some poor yoga instructor trying to press my head to the ground.

“I’m almost entirely sure my neck was not made to go this way,” I manage to say. “Is pinching normal?”

“Perfectly normal.”

Several seconds pass.

“The right side of my body is going numb—”

“Shhh.” She peeks over the bench.

Her fingers press against my lips. Startled by the intimate touch, I do indeed quiet. They smell of the honeysuckle lotion I saw her rub on her hands from the tube in her pocket. Her nails are a robust pink, with several chips. She’s wearing gold bands, but there’s one ring on her right ring finger that catches my attention. I recognize the crest.

The seal of a lion, surrounded by a circle of holly and the word veritas. An unfurling scroll beneath holding the words Welling School.

Her secondary-school ring.

A touch of home. She wears it, all these years later?

“Why are you afraid of her?” I whisper through her fingers, because apparently, this is what we do now: crouch down on public benches like schoolchildren.

“Because she’s an incredibly considerate person who cares about my well-being.”