Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 34

Lo

Jared and I don't speak until we're at the stairwell. He knows I'm fuming and I appreciate his silence. Until he ruins it by kicking things off with: "So that went about as well as could be expected, right? Sam is jealous as shit."

"Yeah?" I have to hold myself back from swearing. "Didn't look like that from my perspective."

Jared scoffs. "You're kidding, right?"

I don't answer as we pass through the main hall of MacMillan, two third form boys pausing their video game to watch us walking out the doors together. It's only 6 but the sky is already darkening, and the air holds a note of winter in its breeze. I rub my hands furiously over my arms, covered by only a jean jacket. The action does little to warm me.

"Let me let you in on a little secret about guys, Lo," Jared continues as we make our way to the boarder lot. "We almost always act out in the worst possible ways when we're hurt."

Now it's my turn to scoff. "Yeah, well, Sam takes it to a different level."

Jared looks to me, incredulous. "Does he?"

I don't answer. I know what he's really asking. Not that he's willing to let me off the hook.

"What are you and I doing?" He asks.

"That's different," I point out, thinking fast. We've reached the boarder lot, and I pull my truck keys from my pocket, hitting 'unlock.' One of the caveats of Jared's and my "date" is that I drive so he can drink both before and during tonight's party. I'm perfectly happy with that plan. My mom's been the kind of example that makes a girl want to avoid drinking entirely, but, even if I liked to indulge every now and then, tonight wouldn't be one of those times.

"You and I are entering into a mutually beneficial evening in which you get a sober driver to this stupid party, and I get to make Sam..." I pause. I've almost said the word "jealous." Which isn't even entirely accurate. What I really want is for Sam to hate me, or keep his distance, or whatever it takes to stop this mad push-and-pull. Though it sucks that it hurts so damn much.

"Exactly." Jared knows that I've just caught myself, and he hops easily into the passenger seat of my truck, appraising me as I slide into the driver's side. "You're playing the same game he is, Lo. And, no offense, but both of you look pretty stupid doing it."

"Hey!" I jab a hand into his shoulder. "You're supposed to be my co-conspirator on this, not my voice of reason."

Jared laughs. "Well, since we're trying out the whole friendship thing, I just gotta say that I think you need the latter a hell of a lot more than the former."

"Whatever." I reverse the truck out of its spot and direct it toward town, turning up my music. Jared hums along, occasionally lifting the flask he brought to his lips and taking a pull from it. I find myself glancing at him. He seems so at ease. He's always been a little lighter than both Sam and Brandon, the jester to their broodiness. I guess I'm glad to have him around; my third friend at Remington. Now, at least, my number of allies outnumbers my enemies. That feels like a good sign.

I find myself genuinely enjoying Jared as we settle into our booth at McGrubers. It's been pleasantly surprising to learn how fun and down to earth he is under all that "lax bro" bravado. If Jill and Spencer have to be away this weekend for fall tennis regionals, Jared's turning out to be a not-so-terrible replacement to their company.

He regales me with ridiculous stories of his pampered life as we suck down waters left by the host and wait for our server. I'm just reading Jill's text (she and Spencer are meeting up with some kids from York Prep in Manhattan tonight, but she promises not to be too hungover for her first match in the morning), when the smiling face of Annie O'Hara appears at our table. She's holding a notepad and she glances between the two of us, exclaiming, "Hi Jared! Lo! Good to see you guys!"