Fire with Fire

IT’S TUESDAY, AND SCHOOL’S ALREADY LET OUT. I’VE been in and out of the pool, and now I’m studying for AP US History on the bleachers while Reeve does more laps. I figure this way we can walk out together; I can give him a proper good-bye. You can’t flirt with a boy if he’s underwater and you’re on dry land.

Reeve has a clipboard lying on top of his gym bag. I glance over at it and recognize the bubble loops of Rennie’s hand-writing right away. She’s still plotting all his workout sessions. I smile smugly to myself. She’d kill to be here with him. But she’s not. I am.

Though it’s obvious Rennie doesn’t know anything about our after-school meet-ups. If she did, she’d drain the pool.

I guess Reeve hasn’t mentioned it. Me.

After half an hour or so, Reeve finally climbs out of the pool. “I’m starving,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking water from his ears. “Wanna get pancakes or something?”

My heart skips a beat. This is the first time he’s initiated an actual hangout. This is real progress. Ever since our fight, things have felt different.

Casually, I look up from my textbook. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m nowhere near done studying. Don’t you have a US History test on Friday too?” I’m in AP and he’s not, but I’m pretty sure we both have a test on Friday, when I’m back from Boston.

Reeve shrugs. “I haven’t been to class in a couple of days. I’ve been doubling down in the weight room. Now that I have my walking cast, I’ve been working on my sprints. That way, when the doctor gives me the okay to go full-throttle, I’ll be ahead of the game.”

“Are you serious? Then you’d better start studying, like, yesterday!”

“I’m not worried. I have a great memory,” he tells me. Tapping his head, he boasts, “Like a steel trap.”

“Okay, so what year was Shays’ Rebellion?”

“Um . . .” Reeve leans forward and peeks at the notebook in my lap. “1786.” A droplet of pool water from his hair splashes onto the page.

I shove him away. Crossly, I blow on the page and say, “Reeve! You’re getting my notebook all wet!”

He sits down next to me. “Come on, this is boring. Let’s get out of here. I’m starved.”

Pancakes do sound good. We could go to the Greasy Spoon. They serve real maple syrup there. But this test is important. It’s practically a midterm.

“I have to finish my note cards.” I reach into my backpack and pull out a chocolate chip granola bar. “Eat this for now,” I say, handing it over and going back to my book.

Abruptly he asks me, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I look up, surprised. Nice? It’s a granola bar. “Because we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Reeve scoffs. “Admit it, Cho. You’ve never liked me.”

Whoa.

I mean, it’s pretty much true. But I never thought Reeve noticed whether or not I liked him, much less cared. And it’s not like I’ve always hated him or anything like that. At least, not before I met Mary.

I quickly try to string some words together. “Yes I did!” I shake my head. “I do.”

Reeve doesn’t look convinced. Impulsively I hold my hand out to him. “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” He cocks his head and gives me a nod, and I say, “So shake my hand!”

He finally takes my hand and shakes it and says, “Does that mean you’re going to help me study this week, friend? Tomorrow, postswim library trip?”

“Oh . . . I can’t. I’m leaving in the morning for Boston for a college trip.”

“You too? Lind told me he’s going to visit schools in Boston this week.”

I hesitate. “Yeah . . . he’s going with me.” I quickly add, “With our moms. They’re the ones who set the whole thing up. I didn’t even know about it until a week ago. We’re all staying at our apartment in the city.”

I don’t know why I’m explaining it to Reeve. It’s not like it’s his business. And judging by the bored look on his face, it’s not like he cares. “Have fun,” he says, yawning and stretching his arms over his head again.

“We will,” I say. I’m annoyed now, and I can’t pinpoint the reason. I snap my book shut and put it back in my saddlebag. “I should get home and pack.” He’ll probably meet up with Rennie now. I don’t even know what the deal is between those two. I wonder if they’ve DTRed or whatever.

“Your hair’s still wet,” Reeve protests.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll run to my car.” I throw on my hoodie and tie my towel around my waist.

Lazily, Reeve reaches over and pulls my hood up so it’s covering my head. “Why do you need, like, ten hours to pack for two days?”

“It’s three days, actually. We’re not coming back until early Friday morning. Besides, my mom made reservations for us at fancy places, so I have to figure out what I’m bringing. And these interviews are important. I need to look my absolute best.”

“Sounds fun,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Are you guys going to go to a ballet too? Maybe an opera?”

“Maybe!” I screw up my lips tight. “And maybe we’ll go to a Red Sox game! My dad’s friend has box seats!”

Reeve busts up laughing. He’s laughing so hard he can’t talk.

“What? What?” I demand, my hands on my hips.

“Lillia, Lillia, Lillia. Baseball season’s over, girl. You guys aren’t going to any Red Sox game!” He shakes his head, holding his sides, guffawing. “You two nerds have fun, though.”

I want to push him off the bleacher. And then it occurs to me. It’s the second time he’s told me to have fun.

Which is boy speak for “I’m jealous.” Reeve is jealous! Of Alex. Of me and Alex, together.

It’s working. The plan is working!

I pack my bag up and say, “So are we getting pancakes or not?”

“I thought you had to pack,” he challenges.

“I might have time for one pancake,” I say, giving him what I hope are flirty eyes.

Reeve stands up, stretching. “All right. Whatever Princess Lillia wants, she gets.” But I can tell he’s happy, because he puts his hands on my shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze.