✯ North Star ✯

16 - Full Pogue Mode

Topper was in the driveway when I got home, which was the last thing I needed and exactly what I should have expected, my stomach sinking the second I saw his car.

"Hey." He moved to cut me off. "How's John B? Is he doing all right?"

"Like you give a damn," I said, and kept walking, my jaw already tight.

"I didn't push him. He lost his balance and fell."

I stopped. Turned, feeling something hot and disbelieving climb up my throat. "Are you seriously defending yourself right now?"

"He fell against the rail. That's not my fault."

I just looked at him. The sheer nerve of it sat in the air between us like something with a smell.

"Wow," I said. "I cannot believe you." I turned again.

"You're forgetting about us." His voice rose behind me. "Midsummers was supposed to be our party. That was supposed to mean something."

I turned back slowly, feeling my whole body settle into something colder and more certain than I'd expected to find. "We were never together, Topper. We were never going to be a thing."

"Yes we were! We were, Stella, because I love you—"

"No you don't."

"I love you!" he said again, like volume would make it true.

"No." I held his gaze, feeling steadier the longer I looked at him. "You love the idea of me. You love being seen with me—"

"Stop—"

"—but you don't love me." I finished it clearly. "You don't know me well enough to."

"You have no idea what I'm feeling." His voice cracked somewhere in the middle of it. "This summer was supposed to be legendary. That's what we said."

"Yeah," I said. "It will be. You just won't be part of it. Especially not after last night"

Something shifted in his face. "After last night? You want to talk about last night?"

"Sure," I said, feeling my pulse pick up but not backing down.

"You cheated on me." He stepped closer, close enough that I had to fight the urge to step back. "Did you forget about that?"

"Oh my God. We weren't together, Topper! We have never been together! How many times do I have to say it?"

"You're a slut," he said. Then again, louder: "You're a slut—"

The word landed like a slap, hot and sudden, my whole body flinching before I could stop it.

"Hey."

My dad's voice came from behind me, low and absolutely controlled, which was somehow worse than if he'd yelled, and I felt the whole air of the driveway change with it.