We Don't Talk Anymore Read online

  Outside, it’s quiet. Music drifts from the open windows, but otherwise there’s only the low hum of voices from the jacuzzi tub, where a handful of people are bubbling like lobsters in a pot. The surface of the pool gleams, a black mirror, as we pass by, stepping over discarded beer cans, cigarette butts, and plastic cups.

  What a mess. I would not want to be Lee Park tomorrow morning. (Or, more accurately, the Park family maid. No one in this socioeconomic bracket does their own menial labor.)

  It’s dark at the edge of the property, where the manicured lawn meets the unforgiving Atlantic. An outcropping of boulders rebuffs the ocean’s persistent advances. Ryan steers me toward one with a flat top.

  “Here,” he says softly. “Sit with me for a bit.”

  Sitting feels good. Stable. With solid rock beneath me and solid muscle at my side, the earth rights on its axis just enough for things stop spinning. Behind us, the party rages on, but we are far-removed from it out here in the darkness, where there are no bright lights or pounding bass beats — just a starry sky and the faint crashing of waves against the rocky beach. Breathing deeply, I time my inhales to each sea swell: in through my nose, out through my mouth. Steadying myself against the alcohol undulating in my system.

  “Feel better?” Ryan asks after a few moments of silence.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I swallow hard. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you’d rather go back…”

  “Nah.” His shoulder brushes mine. “Could use a little air myself, to be honest. If Chris beats me at pong again I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “I definitely didn’t help you on that front.”

  “You did just fine.”

  “Right. Tell that to Sienna, Queen of Beer Pong,” I blurt in a mocking tone I’d never normally use around anyone except Archer. Apparently, my verbal filter has been rendered null-and-void by beer.

  Ryan laughs. “Don’t let Sienna make you feel bad. She’s just…” When he trails off, I glance over at him. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, staring out at the water. “She’s gotten used to being the center of attention around here. She can be a little territorial — especially when it comes to girls she’s threatened by.”

  “Me? A threat? In what world?”

  “You don’t see yourself very clearly, do you Valentine?”

  I blink slowly at him. His face is still a bit blurry. “To be entirely forthright… at the moment, I’m not seeing anything all that clearly, Ryan.”

  A quick grin spreads across his face. “Hey. You’re funny! I never knew you were funny. You’re always so shy.”

  “I am not shy!”

  “Not tonight.” He laughs again. “But usually you keep to yourself, if you even bother coming to our parties — which isn’t often.”

  “It’s not like I really fit in here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” I chew my lip, regretting that I ever opened my mouth. This conversation is heading somewhere I’m not certain I want to go. “I’m not like the rest of you.”

  “You half-alien or something?”

  “I don’t usually drink. I don’t really party. I’m not…” Popular, I add silently.

  “Valentine, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Not one person here feels like they truly belong. Why do you think everyone gets so wasted at these parties?”

  My nose scrunches in thought. “To hook up?”

  “Well, yeah. But also because beer is like… social lube. It makes everyone less of a tight ass.”

  I laugh so hard, it comes out a snort. Not my most attractive attribute, but I’m too tipsy to contain it.

  “Laugh all you want,” Ryan says somewhat defensively, fidgeting with his fingers. “It’s true! When you’re buzzed, you don’t worry about saying the wrong thing or screwing everything up.”

  His shoulders have gone stiff. It’s possible I shouldn’t have snorted at him. I remember my mother telling me a million times — men like making jokes, but they can’t stand feeling like one.

  “I’m not laughing at you,” I assure him, attempting to get a hold on the mirth bubbling inside me. “It’s just… what a poignant metaphor, Ryan. I don’t know what your plans are for after graduation, but might I suggest a career in poetry?”

  A chuckle vibrates through his shoulder, into mine. “There’s that sense of humor creeping out again. Careful, Valentine — I might not let you pretend to be shy around me anymore.”

  “Oh, I think my secrets are pretty safe. Or have you forgotten our high school days are numbered? After a few more weeks, we probably won’t cross paths ever again.”

  “Ouch! Dagger to the heart.” He scowls playfully at me. “You can’t shake me that easily. There’s still a handful of baseball games, then playoffs, prom, and, like, a million graduation parties to get through.”

  I have no response to offer. Not one he’d appreciate, anyway. Frankly, I’m not certain I’ll be attending the majority of the events he’s just rattled off. The senior prom — four hours trapped on a party cruise around the Massachusetts coast with a hundred of my fellow graduates dressed in their best formalwear — sounds like a chapter pulled from a tome of my worst nightmares. And then there’s the small fact that, as of this moment, I don’t even have a date.

  In another lifetime, I thought maybe Archer would ask me. After tonight, that seems about as improbable as me receiving an invitation to Sienna Sullivan’s post-grad sunset soiree.

  “It’s a small town, Valentine,” Ryan, bless his naive heart, reminds me. As if a town’s size makes any difference when it comes to being an outcast. Even this small Massachusetts microcosm we call home is full of people who don’t fit in. Myself included.

  Manchester-by-the-Sea.

  Population: 5,000

  Number of parties I attended to prior to Archer making the the varsity baseball roster and dragging me along as his weirdo sidekick: 0

  “There’s a whole summer to waste before college orientation!” Ryan bumps my shoulder with his again. “Bonfires, beach days, you name it. Just because we aren’t passing each other in the halls every day, doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.”

  My eyes widen. “You and me?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” It’s dark, so I can’t be sure, but I think his cheeks are a little red. Gesturing back toward the house, he tacks on, “But also, I’m sure the guys on the team will throw a bunch more parties like this one. It’ll be chill. You should come.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Sounds like a no.”

  “Parties aren’t really my scene.”

  “What is your scene, then?”

  I shrug noncommittally.

  “Come on. That’s all I get? A shrug?” Sighing, he shakes his head. “Josephine Valentine. Always so mysterious.”

  A scoff pops out. “I’m not even slightly mysterious.”

  “Then tell me something about yourself. What do you like to do? You know, when you aren’t boycotting fun parties and kicking ass at beer pong.”

  “Um…”

  “Don’t overthink it. Just spit it out.”

  “Sailing,” I blurt abruptly. “I like sailing.”

  “That’s cool. You have your own boat?”

  “Yeah, a 20-foot Alerion. She’s fast, but also small enough for me to take her out single-handed.” I smile at the thought of my most prized possession, bobbing at her slip back home. “It was a sixteenth birthday present from my parents.”

  “Most girls probably would’ve preferred a convertible.”

  “I guess.” I shift against the stone, uncomfortable. “But I usually get a ride everywhere with Archer, since he lives right next door. I wouldn’t have much use for a car of my own.”

  “Right, I forgot. You and Reyes.” He sighs. “You’ve been his little shadow for as long as I can remember. Before he joined the team, I don’t think I’d ever seen him without you by his side.”


  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all. We lapse into silence. It’s not an uncomfortable one, though. Just the sound of the waves and the thudding of my pulse, beating a bit too fast inside my veins.

  “So what’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Ryan asks suddenly.

  “Me and Archer?” I squeak. “There’s no deal. We’re just friends.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You don’t sound very convinced.”

  He shrugs. “Just not sure I buy it.”

  “Buy what?”

  “That a guy and a girl can ever really be just friends.”

  Feeling brave, I nudge his shoulder with mine. “What about you and me — we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  He’s silent for such a long beat, I begin to regret my words. Damn. Maybe I overshot. Maybe I misread this entire situation. Maybe he’s just a nice guy taking pity on the weird loner girl at the party and—

  “What if I said I didn’t want to just be your friend, Valentine?”

  My mouth gapes in shock at his question. I blunder with fragments of disbelief and incomprehension, trying to cobble them into a single coherent thought… trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do next.

  Ryan doesn’t seem confused. Not at all. He’s following a script no one bothered to share with me — looking into my eyes, leaning closer. So close, I can smell the beer on his breath, can see the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose.

  I feel dazed — from the alcohol in my veins, from his unexpected words, from this entire night. I can’t move. I can’t do anything except watch him narrow that gap between us, his mouth heading straight for mine.

  He’s going to kiss me, I think stupidly. My first kiss. It’s finally happening.

  At seventeen, it is a milestone long overdue. But now that it’s finally arrived, I’m oddly unsettled — which makes no sense at all. How can something I’ve been waiting for forever somehow feel so incredibly rushed?

  Probably because it’s happening with the wrong person.

  I push away the unwelcome thought and try to focus on the boy in front of me. The one who finds me funny and mysterious. The one who wants to kiss me in the starlight, with the waves crashing a stone’s throw away. The one who is actually interested in being more than just my friend.

  I’m not sure what’s more pathetic — the fact that, in this moment, with Ryan’s mouth a hairsbreadth from my own, I can’t stop wishing I was about to kiss someone entirely different… or that I’m still wasting wishes on that someone, when he’s probably inside at this exact moment with his tongue in some other girl’s mouth.

  Stop.

  Thinking.

  About.

  Archer.

  Closing my eyes, I square my shoulders and brace myself for the brush of Ryan’s lips. Only… it never comes. Instead, I hear the sudden rush of footsteps, followed shortly by the dull thud of a fist making impact with a cheek. I hear a male roar — one I recognize all too well.

  “Get the fuck off her!”

  My heart stops.

  I know that voice.

  Ryan’s warmth is ripped abruptly from my side. By the time I manage to open my eyes and register what’s going on, he’s sprawled in the grass ten feet away. Standing above him with clenched fists, his chest pumping harder than the pistons of a steamer engine, is the last person in the world I expect to see at this moment.

  “Archer!” I spring to my feet, stumbling a bit in the process. “Are you out of your mind?!”

  My best friend doesn’t look at me. He’s too busy glaring down at Ryan, who’s still sprawled in the grass moaning lightly, clutching his cheek. A bruise is already blooming.

  “Oh god, Ryan…” I wince, starting in his direction. “Are you okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Archer’s voice is cold as ice. I actually shiver at the sound of it, my steps faltering to a sudden stop halfway between the two boys — one on the ground, looking as bewildered as I feel, the other looming like a thunderstorm, electrically charged with inexplicable anger.

  “You hit me, man!” Ryan clambers to his feet. “What the hell?”

  Archer offers no explanation. His jaw is locked so tight, I’m not sure he’s able to breathe, let alone speak. For the life of me, I cannot fathom what’s set him off. He’s never acted like this before, in all the years I’ve known him. Not once.

  Of the two of us, I’m the one with the temper. I’m the one who flips out and storms off, sulking until he talks me down with that calm voice, those deep eyes. We balance one another — me a boiling froth, him a steady undercurrent. Where I’m dramatic, he’s unperturbed. While I overreact, he takes everthing in stride.

  At least… usually.

  This black rage of his, this swelling anger, dark enough to blot out the stars… it’s a side I’ve never seen before.

  A side I’m not certain I like.

  “Archer…” His name comes out almost as a plea. “What is going on?”

  Ryan glances at me. “Come on, Valentine. I think we should go.”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you, Snyder.” Archer steps forward, his eyes locked on Ryan with lethal precision. “You should walk away. Before I make you walk away.”

  “That a threat, Reyes?”

  “A promise.”

  “Archer!” I cry out, half-angry, half-astonished by his behavior.

  His eyes cut to me for the briefest of seconds. When I sway on my feet, still not one hundred percent in control of my balance, he looks swiftly away again, his jaw even tighter than before.

  “Look, man…” Ryan’s nostrils flare. “I don’t know what your problem is, but—”

  Archer cuts him off. “Right now? You. I told you to piss off once already. You won’t like the way I tell you again.”

  Rage gathers inside my chest, overriding all the confusion and embarrassment fighting for purchase. Before I know it, I’m barreling in my best friend’s direction, so angry, I can barely see straight. (The buzz isn’t helping on that front, either.)

  My palms slam against his shoulders, full force. “Have you gone insane?”

  He barely even rocks backward — which pisses me off so much, I do it again. Harder. He grunts this time, but doesn’t move more than an inch.

  Is the boy made of stone?

  “What is the matter with you?” I ask, my words punctuated by a third shove to his shoulders. “You can’t just go around—” Another shove. “—punching people—“ And another. “—for no good reason!”

  Before I can land one more hit, Archer grabs my wrists, manacling them in a steely grip. Disarming me seems to cost him almost no effort — like controlling an overtired toddler or swatting a meddlesome fly. I don’t even have time to summon indignation; in the space between two heartbeats, I find myself hauled up against his chest, our joined hands crushed between our bodies.

  Normally, he’s a half-foot taller than me. Like this, dragged up onto my tiptoes, we’re nearly nose to nose.

  “Stop,” he grunts.

  I jerk in halfhearted protest at his order, knowing all the while it’s futile. He’s a million times stronger than me. I couldn’t get away if I tried. And if I’m being candid, I’m not trying. Not really. Something about Archer’s anger up close is disarming. It tempers my rage with undeniable curiosity.

  What’s gotten so under your skin, Archer Reyes?

  “Let me go,” I whisper thickly. “You’re acting like a total psychopath right now!”

  “The girl who just shoved me six times is angry I hit someone?” His eyes narrow on mine. “Certain sort of irony in that.”

  “At least I had a good reason!”

  “So did I.”

  “And what might that be?”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “He was touching you.”

  “And?”

  The muscle jumps again, but he remains silent.

  “So what if he was touching me?” I ask, not even caring that Ryan is
within earshot of this mortifying exchange. “Maybe I wanted him to touch me, did you ever think of that? Did you?”

  Fury is still rolling off Archer in waves — it’s there in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, in the stiffness of his posture, in the furrowed brow — but when he speaks again, it’s in a flat voice that lets me know his emotions are now on a tight leash.

  “He was taking advantage of you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “He was.”

  “How?”

  “You’re drunk, Jo.”

  “I am not!” I yell, indignant enough to lie.

  “You can’t even walk straight!” he yells right back. “And if you think I’m going to stand by and watch as some asshole gets you wasted just so he can put his hands all over you—”

  Ryan attempts to interject. “Bro, chill! I wasn’t—”

  “We’ll settle this later, Snyder.” Archer’s eyes cut to his teammate with a look so full of promise, it makes my heart skip a beat. “Now… evaporate.”

  Ryan shoots me an apologetic look before he bolts back toward the party, where it’s safe. I can’t blame him. Archer is in full-on, overbearing asshole mode. I wouldn’t stick around either.

  “Thanks a lot!” I glare into Archer’s face, mere inches from my own. “You humiliated me! Are you happy?”

  “Happy he’s not touching you when you’re too wasted to consent? Yeah. I am happy.”

  “So you can get drunk and have—” I can’t bring myself to say sex. “—and hook up with whoever you want, but I can’t even let a boy kiss me without you beating him into the ground?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” he growls. “He was taking—”

  “Advantage of me?” I shake my head. “And what exactly were you and Sienna doing tonight? Playing Scrabble? Because she wasn’t sober. In fact, she was snorting lines off the coffee table with the commitment of a housewife in the candle aisle at HomeGoods.” I pause for a loaded beat of silence. “Or did you think I didn’t know that you slept with her?”

  Archer actually flinches.

  Good.

  I’m glad I still have the power to wound him. God knows he’s hurt me enough, tonight. Glaring into his face, I try to read the emotions in his eyes but he shields them from me, staring fixedly over my shoulder. He offers me nothing — no answers, no apologies, no explanations.