“Are we going to sit here all day or…” She still won’t look at me.
“We can. Unless you want to just tell me what that was.”
“We were playing a stupid game, take me home.”
“Why was I involved?”
“Parker, take me home,” she says again.
I start the truck, but don’t drive toward her house. Instead, I go to the open field we come out to in the middle of the night. The late nights we can’t sleep and drag each other out of our houses without our parents knowing. The place we turn up the music as loud as it can go in my old speakers and dance around like nothing matters. The spot we lay in the truck bed looking up at the stars, naming constellations, making up our own.
Sometimes I’m just looking at her. Watching how excited she gets whenever she finds the big dipper. It’s the place I really started to realize I was falling in love with her. My best friend. My Lil. But I’ve been too scared to say anything because if she doesn’t feel the same then it would ruin our entire friendship. And I’m not going to do that.
“This isn’t home,” she huffs as I park.
“Nope. I’m still waiting for an answer,” I push.
“It was just smash or pass, jerk.” She rolls her eyes.
“Why’d I hear my name?”
“Because Rachel thinks she’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Why what, Parker?” she snaps, finally looking at me.
Her blue eyes are blazing as they glare at me. Her lips look so soft, I want to know what they would feel like against mine. Lily thinks I’ve kissed someone before; I lied when she’s asked, but I haven’t. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone that isn’t her.
“Why did she say my name?”
“Because…” Her voice trails off and I wait for her to continue. She looks down, breaking the eye contact and I want it back. I hook my finger under her chin to guide her eyes back up to mine. She takes a sharp intake of breath at the action but doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“Because why?” I ask, my voice deeper than I think I’ve ever heard it before.
“Because everyone thinks we’re…you know.”
“I don’t.” I shake my head.
She mumbles quickly. “Everyone thinks we’re together or we should be or whatever.”
“You didn’t answer her, though.”
“Nope.”
“Will you answer me?”
Her voice squeaks. “What’s the question?”
“Smash or pass?” I smirk.
Her cheeks darken, and she tries to look away, but I don’t let her, gripping her chin to keep her looking at me. Her mouth opens but then shuts quickly and she’s moving so fast out of my grasp and out of the truck.
I follow her to the hood where she’s standing with her hands on her hips.
“Why’re you doing this?” she snaps. “There’s no right answer.”
“Oh there’s a right answer,” I argue.