Stuck With The Four Hotties

Dad isn’t able to get off work to come and get me for fall break, so Zack gives me a ride home in his orange McLaren. We sit in silence for a good portion of the drive which I actually like. When I’m around Zack Brooks, I don’t feel like I have to force anything. The quiet between us is companionable and easygoing, not strained or awkward.NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

“I can’t believe you’re still hanging around me,” I tell him, glancing up from my phone screen to look at his face. All I’m doing is trolling gossip sites anyway. Every single freaking article is about this prince guy, this Windsor York. He sounds like a total a-hole to me. He’d be right at home at Burberry Prep. According to the online gab rags, he sleeps with every celebrity, model, or billionaire heiress he can get his hands on. Reminds me of a certain someone, but at least his smile in all the pictures is nice.

Still … another manwhore, gross. No thank you. I shut my phone off.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Zack asks, his voice unbelievably soft. I notice he does that around me now, softens all of his hard edges. It almost … makes him likable. Almost. But not quite. He’s taken up track now, and he’s stupid good at it. I imagine he’ll be earning himself another letterman jacket next year. Really, I should take him down another peg. But am I going to? We’ll see. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him which, considering how muscular and tall he is, would not be all that far. “I told you how I feel about you.”

My nostrils flare, and my throat closes up. Oh god. Now the silence really does feel awkward.

I stare out at the road and focus on the yellow lines.

ZaFk doesn’t love me. That’s weird. He’s a freaking psyFho bully. Remember how he treated Ileana during tryouts? He’s a monster inside; he Fan’t be trusted.

And yet, I’m so relaxed around him that I fall asleep and drool all over his expensive sports car. The next thing I know, he’s carrying me into my

bedroom at the Train Car, and tucking me in. Pretty sure I imagine it, but I think he kisses my forehead before I pass out again.

In the morning, I’m woken up by the scent of dad’s famous vanilla waffles and I’ve forgotten all about the almost-possible-maybe-didn’t-happen kiss.

“Good morning,” I say, giving him a huge hug. He looks good, actually, much better than I’d feared. “How are you feeling?”

“Wonderful, actually,” he says, handing me a plate. I smear peanut butter all over my waffles and douse them in real maple syrup. Don’t ask: it’s a Reed thing. As I sit down on the couch in the living room, I’m overwhelmed by emotion and have to choke back tears. I will not think negatively about my father or his prospects. What good would that do him? “The Du Pont Medical Center is incredible.”

My mouth purses into a thin line, and I have to resist the urge to voice my fears. Why, exactly, Harper is helping my father out, I don’t know. To hold it over my head? I can only imagine the whole situation is going to end poorly. If she messes with my father’s heath however … god help her.

“Also, I wanted to talk to you about your mother …”

“Please don’t make me see her,” I blurt. I’m not ready for that. Jennifer and I have a strained relationship at best. Being home means taking care of dad and getting a break from the rat race that is Burberry Preparatory Academy. If I have to spend any forced afternoons with her, I’ll collapse.

“I won’t,” Dad says, surprising me. I put my fork down and lean back into the cushions, playing with Grandma Reed’s charm bracelet. I don’t dare take it to school with me. Can you imagine what those Blueblood psychos would do if they got a hold of it? “It was wrong of me to try to force a relationship.” He swallows hard and glances away, like he’s ashamed about something. I narrow my eyes.

“You didn’t buy a chicken instead of a turkey again this year?” I ask, already thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie chuckles and glances back at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Wow, you know me too well,” he says, laughing. But it feels so … forced. That was not what he was going to say. I narrow my eyes, but Dad’s already standing up and moving into the kitchen to fry up some eggs. I’m already stuffed, but I don’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides, I just like watching him cook, smelling the smells, sinking into the ratty old couch.

If the Idols think money buys happiness, I feel sorry for them. This, this right here is what life is all about.

Dad isn’t exactly thrilled to receive an invitation from Zack’s family to have Thanksgiving dinner at the Brooks’ place. He hasn’t said much since the video came out at the football game, but I know he’s upset. More for me than for him, but still, even though I told him I forgave Zack, it isn’t enough. Nor should it be, considering what Zack did to me.

Still, when the invitation comes, it’s tempting to go.

“I did not know he was the one that drove you home from school,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like he’s severely disappointed. I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth and grimace. I never lie to my dad; I try to make it a habit not to lie at all. The thing is, I didn’t exactly tell him either.

“Dad,” I start, glancing over at the brown paper bags full of groceries on the counter. I went shopping for everything we would need to have a huge Thanksgiving feast, but I’m just … tired, and Dad’s tired, and quite frankly it sounds kind of fun to hang out with Zack. Does that make me a crazy person? “Look, I’m not trying to minimize what Zack did to me. But I know you like to hang out with him, and I know he kept you company last year when I was gone. Going over to his house for dinner doesn’t mean that he’s been forgiven or that has sins have been forgotten.” I exhale and slide my palms down the front of my red skirt. “But don’t you think he deserves a second chance? You gave one to Jennifer.”

Charlie purses his thin lips and tucks his hands into the pockets of his paint-covered overalls. He must believe in second chances, or he really wouldn’t be having an affair with Jennifer. We haven’t talked about that yet; it seems so unimportant right now. Dad’s health is the only thing that matters.

“I guess they’ll probably have a full spread over there …” He starts, and I grin. I don’t need to keep pressing: I’ve already won him over. Dad says I forgive too easily, but he also believes in the power of forgiveness. It’s a fine line to walk.

So on Thursday, we had over to the Brooks’ family home in Dad’s rusted- out Ford. It rattles down the pristine white limestone driveway, coming to a stop near an impressive set of steps. The porch on this house is as big as the entire Train Car.

Zack is waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall near the front door with his big hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. I surprised to see him dressed up in a white button-down and jacket. He seems so uncomfortable in it, like he’d rather be in sweats and a tank, working out in the gym. Even though he seems nonchalant, I can tell he’s nervous about our visit. Probably nervous about confronting my father. As he should be, anyway.

Charlie gets out of the car in his unflattering yellow and red plaid button- down (I tried to convince him not to wear it) and brown slacks. Pretty sure this is the same outfit he wore to his friend’s wedding two or three decades ago. He’s also wearing an extreme frown that looks carved into the slightly wrinkled planes of his face. As he makes his way around the front of the truck and heads up the stairs, Zack lifts his head and meets my eyes.

There’s no doubt about it: my heart stumbles, trips, falls. I have a hard time breathing, and my palms are suddenly sweaty. I curse those damn teenage hormones out again, and roll my eyes as Charlie approaches Zack with a no-nonsense expression on his face.

“Zack.”

“Mr. Reed.”

The two men stare each other down, and I wait at the bottom of the steps to see who will break the tension first. Even though I can tell it pains him, Zack is the one to do it, glancing away from my father and toward the rocking chair covered pumpkins, bits of hay, and a smiling scarecrow. The entire porch is decorated in fall themes: orange, red, and yellow leaves, turkey silhouettes, horns of plenty. I wonder who did the decorating? Probably someone that was paid to do it. The Brooks don’t exactly strike me as a family who does their own decorating.

Zack looks back to my father again, and meets his stare dead-on.

“Sir, I apologized to your daughter once, but I’ll do it again. I’d like to apologize to you, too.” Zack lifts his chin proudly. “For the things I’ve done, there are no words to make up for it. But I really am sorry. From now on, I’ll try to be a better man. It wasn’t Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.” Zack turns his brown gaze over to me, and I feel a

little thrill shoot through me. It takes everything I have in me not to fidget. “Thank you, Marnye.”