“Oh, hey, Chloe.”
She stares at him. He stares at Rory. They all stand there, staring at one another. Looks like those “plans” Rory mentioned were six feet of quarterback.
“Chloe needs to borrow my ladder,” Rory says.
“Oh, uh, okay,” Smith says. “Want me to bring it out to your car?”
“Actually,” Chloe says. “I was, uh. I was gonna bring it right back. I just need to bring it, um, next door.”
“Next door?” Smith says.
“Yeah.”
“You—oh. Okay.”
“But I need help getting it over the fence.”
“For gutters,” Rory adds.
“Uh-huh.”
And then Smith laughs, and Rory’s laughing too, and Chloe’s own laugh comes out high-pitched and terrified. It reminds her of that first Monday at Smith’s locker, trying to avoid the fact that they were all chasing the same girl. It’s kind of surreal to realize she’s the only one still running.
“Okay,” Smith says.
Smith blessedly doesn’t say anything else as Rory leads them past the living room, which is messy with snacks and hastily jettisoned throw pillows, or as he heaves the ladder over the fence. It’s not until she’s at the top that he calls after her, “Hey, Green!”
She stops and looks, and he’s standing there in the grass, biting back that sunshine smile of his. Ten feet behind, Rory is hovering near the patio furniture, pretending not to watch.
“Good luck,” Smith says.
Chloe swallows a hysterical sound and salutes him, of all the stupid things. Off to a great start. She tips herself into Shara’s yard before she can embarrass herself further.
When she climbs up to Shara’s open window, she can tell Shara’s really back, because the room looks less like a meticulously arranged movie set and more like an actual human teenager lives in it. Finals notecards and paperbacks spill across the desk, and three dresses have been laid out across the bed like she’s trying to choose one. On the bookshelf, the infamous box of pink stationery has been crammed between a book of devotionals and the copy of Emma from Belltower. The only thing missing is Shara.
Then there she is, coming in through her bedroom door, fastening an earring. She’s halfway into a white sundress. Chloe gets the briefest glimpse of a lacy bralette she once saw in Shara’s underwear drawer, and then they make eye contact and she falls off the ladder.
Chloe hears a faint Oh my God—can’t tell if it’s her or Shara, maybe both—before a hand catches her.
Above her, Shara hangs out of the window, eyes wide, hair falling around her face, cheeks flushed. Her knuckles are white around Chloe’s wrist, and Chloe has to swallow another hysterical laugh.
“I’m good!” Chloe says. The toe of her sneaker finally finds the rung again. Shara’s expression pinches into an incredulous mix of relief and exasperation, like maybe she should have let Chloe break an arm. “I’m fine! Thanks for the assist, but I got it!”
Together, they pull Chloe through the window. As soon as she hits the carpet, Shara retreats to the walk-in closet and emerges in a fuzzy pink bathrobe.
Chloe opens her mouth to speak, but Shara shushes her, pointing to the open doorway. It’s not just open, Chloe realizes. The door has been taken off the hinges completely.
“What are you doing here?” Shara whispers.
Chloe grunts to her feet, pitching her voice low. “I need to talk to you.”
“I meant, what are you doing in my literal bedroom window?”
“Took the back way.” Suddenly Chloe wishes she hadn’t been in such a hurry that she left in her grubby after-school clothes. She’s going to have the most important conversation of her life so far in a Godspell cast T-shirt and Benjy’s gym shorts. “I, uh, figured I should probably avoid your parents.”
“Probably smart,” Shara concedes airily. “We can talk, but I’m supposed to be leaving for Bible study with my mom in like, ten minutes.”
“Even with the whole … uh, thing with your dad?”
“She’s counting on everyone being too polite to bring it up.” Shara shrugs. “What did you want to talk about?”
Chloe takes a breath. “Was it—Rory said—was it really you? Did you leak your dad’s emails?”
Something like disappointment flickers across Shara’s face before it settles into unimpressed aloofness, as if someone in class raised their hand too fast with a painfully obvious answer.