Emmett would never have done that, but I already know Jay is basically the polar opposite of Emmett, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to me.
Jay lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re unbelievable. You’re the one who texted me the code phrase for ‘get me the fuck out of here.’I was saving you from climbing out the goddamn window and breaking your neck. AndIdidn’t force you to pretend I was your mom, you were all too happy to play along. So how about saying, ‘Thanks for helping me out, Jay,again’?” He shakes his head. “You know, just when I thought you were proving me wrong and are actually kind of fun, you pull this shit.”
All I can do is blink at him. He’s right. He’s completely right, and I hate him for it. I wanted out of that date, and I would’ve done anything to avoid an awkward confrontation. It was easier to blame Jay than to accept the fact that having a serious conversation letting Arthur down makes my skin crawl.
My lower lip quivers, and Jay freezes. “What . . . what’s happening? Why are you making that face? Don’t . . . Princess, don’t do that.”
I can’t help it. My lip keeps quivering as I fight back the tears. I don’t even know why I’m so emotional. Jay’s said worse things to me before, so why am I being such a baby? The people in the yard continue crowding us, forcing Jay and me even closer to each other.
“Hey,” someone says over the music, and I see Emmett elbowing his way toward us. He looks at me, then at Jay. “Is everything okay here?”
Of course. It’s just like Emmett to play the hero, and that makes me feel even worse.
“Yes,” I start, “everything’s fi—”
Before I can finish lying, a guy with a mohawk hairdo runs up to us. He’s unsteady on his feet, and Jay half catches him.
“Hey!” the guy exclaims, a huge slice of coconut cream pie wobbling on the plate he’s holding. “I said I called next for beer pong! I called it! I’m playing winner, and you can’t cut in front just because you’re standing here.” He’s slurring, but he’s loud. Super loud. Loud enough that most people are looking over at us now and stepping away from him.
“Hey, just calm down, man,” Jay tells him.
“I won’t calm down!” He shoves Jay. I wonder if Jay even knows who he is. Mohawk Guy turns to me like I’m some co-conspirator. “I haven’t had a turn in ages!”
Everyone is looking over at us now. Maybe because he’s causing a commotion, or maybe because they’re hoping to see a fight.
“We’re not playing beer pong,” Jay says, trying to de-escalate instead of giving in to the crowd’s secret hopes. “We’re only standing in the vicinity of the table. It’s all yours—though you shouldn’t drink any more.” He adds the last part as he catches Mohawk Guy again.
“Don’t be telling me what to do!” Mohawk exclaims, pushing Jay off him, but the sudden jerky movement throws him even more off-balance. Before I realize what’s happening, before I can even blink, he lurches forward, his arms windmilling and sending the pie in his hand flying. Right into my face.
There’s a chorus of gasps and laughs, as well as exclamations of shock and horror, as I stand there, too stunned to move, a whole slice of pie splattered on my face.
“She got pied in the face!” someone shouts as I wipe a huge chunk of pie away and dig through the pile of whipped cream so I can see. Now everyone is looking atmeinstead of Mohawk, who stumbles and mutters something about not feeling good before sauntering away.
“I would literallydieif that was me,” someone else exclaims to a chorus of snickering agreement.
I meet Jay’s eyes in front of me. He’s managed to escape any type of whipped cream damage and is staring at me with wide eyes before he abruptly turns and walks away.
Did he really justditchme? What a jerk! I get that everyone is staring at me with gossipy delight and amused horror and that he’s probably feeling secondhand shame, but I kind of needed him to, I don’t know, be here for me? Help in some way? Anything other than run in the opposite direction and act like he doesn’t know me.
Emmett’s still standing beside me, so at least he hasn’t deserted me, but he’s no help either, standing there with his jaw dropped as I try to wipe more coconut cream and pie chunks off my face. I only manage to smear the cream around and make clumps fall onto my white dress.
“That isso embarrassing,” someone exclaims, and other people join in. Some kids are laughing. Others are pointing and talking about how mortifying this is, and I can confirm, yes, itisawful. I don’t even know what to do other than stand here, do a poor job of trying to clean off my face, and not die of embarrassment.
Emmett opens his mouth to say something. I need it to be something great. Something to make me feel better. A joke. A suggestion on what to do. An escape route. Something Emmett-like.
“You . . .” he starts. “There’s pie . . . on you.”
Thatis the insightful statement I was hoping for?
“Hey, Princess!”
I turn toward the voice. Jay’s there, a few feet away from me by the food table, visible in the clear path through the people between us. Everyone isstillstaring at me. Isn’t this a party? Shouldn’t they be off partying?
Before I’m fully turned around, Jay reaches into the bowl beside him with his bare hands and throws a handful of food at me. The chunks land on me, directly on my chest, and I gasp at the impact.
“Did you just throwpotato saladat me?”
To confirm it, he reaches into the same bowl and, with perfect aim, throws even more at me. Some of it sticks to me on impact, and some slides down with the whipped cream and lands at my feet.