Chloe stares at him, trying to reconcile Rory’s whole persona with the extreme uptightness of the False Beach Country Club. “You live here?”
Rory glares. “What, I don’t look like I could afford to live here?”
“You seem like you’d rather die than live here,” Chloe says.
“Believe me, it’s not by choice,” Rory says, still scowling, but in a different flavor now. “You’re—Chloe, right? Chloe Green? What are you doing under Shara’s desk?”
“What are you doing climbing through Shara’s window?”
“You first.”
“I—I, uh,” Chloe stammers. Rory’s entrance startled some of the fire out of her, and now she’s not sure how to explain herself. Her face starts to heat; she wills it to stop. “I heard she ran away last night.”
“I heard the same thing,” Rory says. He talks with the same kind of studied disaffection that he carries himself with, shoulders slumped and impartial. “Did you—do you know where she is?”
“No, I just—I wanted to see if she was really gone.”
“So you broke into her house,” Rory says flatly.
“I used a key!”
“Yeah, that’s still breaking and entering.”
“Only if I commit a crime.”
“Okay, trespassing.”
“What do you call climbing through her window, then?”
Rory pauses, glancing down at the toes of his Vans. “That’s different. She told me she was leaving her window unlocked.”
“Not an invitation, dude.”
“Jesus Christ, I told you, I’m her neighbor. People like, ask their neighbors to check on their stuff while they’re gone all the time. It’s a thing.”
“And that’s what you’re doing?”
“I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
Chloe pulls a skeptical face. “I’ve literally never seen you speak to her in my life.”
“You don’t even know her, do you?” Rory counters. “What are you doing here? Why do you care if she’s gone?”
Why does she care? Because she and Shara have both spent every day of their high school careers dedicated to the singular goal of graduating valedictorian, and the only thing Chloe has ever wanted as much as that title is the satisfaction of knowing Shara Wheeler can’t have it. Because Shara Wheeler has everything else.
Because if Shara’s really gone, that’s a forfeit, and Chloe Green does not win by default.
Because two days ago, Shara found her alone in the B Building elevator before fifth hour, pulled her in by the elbow, and kissed her until she forgot an entire semester of French. And Chloe still doesn’t know why.
“Why do you care?” she snaps back at Rory.
“Because I—I get her, okay? Her stupid-ass friends don’t, but I do.”
“Oh, you get her.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “So that makes you qualified to lead the search party.”
“No—”
“Then what does?”
There’s another pause. Rory shifts his weight from one foot to the other. And then he looks down at the desk, raises his dark brows, and says, “That.”
When Chloe follows his gaze, she finds an envelope sitting innocuously in a pink letter organizer. Shara’s cursive spells out Rory’s name on the front.
Rory’s name?
Rory’s arms are longer, but Chloe reacts faster. She snatches the envelope up and opens it with one finger, taking out a piece of that pink monogrammed stationery, and reads Shara’s flawless cursive out loud.
Rory,
Thanks for the kiss. If you thought I never noticed you, you’re wrong.
XOXO
Shara
P.S. peach100304
P.P.S. Tell Smith to check the drafts. Chloe should have the rest.
“You kissed her?” Chloe demands.
Rory looks ready to dodge a punch, which he might want to save for when Shara’s actual boyfriend finds out. “She kissed me!”
The anger comes screaming back, and Chloe grinds out, “When?”
“Last night. Before prom.”
“Where?”
“On … the mouth?”
“Geographically, Heron.”
“Oh. On my roof.”
Shara kissed Rory. And now Rory is standing here, in her room, defending her to Chloe, because he—oh God.
She’s the girl next door, and he’s in love with her. That’s what this is. How absolutely, annoyingly predictable.
“Well, don’t get too excited,” Chloe says. “She kissed me too.”