Kody Keplinger: A Midsummer's Nightmare

I stepped away from the door, fists clenched.

All summer I’d looked for him. My laid-back, laughing, best friend of a dad. But he’d been here all along. Two months, and I hadn’t seen him. Now, he sat just outside with his new fiancée, living his new life.

I swung my fist into the side of the fridge. Then again. I left my Pop-Tart on the table and ran back upstairs, slamming every door between there and the guest room.

I’d missed him. I’d missed him so much, and he’d been there all along. Just not with me.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Come on, Whit. Please?”

“Leave me alone, Nathan.”

It was the beginning of August, about a week after the bad shopping day with Dad, and Nathan had decided to spend that Friday afternoon harassing me.

The fact was that I hadn’t been in a good mood since Saturday. Seeing Dad being his old self again—without me—had hurt almost as much as Dad’s admission about not wanting me to live with him four years ago. Since that night, I hadn’t left the guest room much, going downstairs only for meals, and I hadn’t spoken a word to Dad.

Nathan wasn’t making things much better. He’d been banging on the guest-room door for the past ten minutes, bugging the shit out of me. I knew what he wanted. He’d been trying to convince me to go to the Nest with him for days. He claimed it would cheer me up. Get me out of this funk I had fallen into.

At first, I’d politely—well, kind of politely—told him I wasn’t interested. I just didn’t feel like it. Not tonight. Maybe another time. Try again later.

He asked every single goddamn night, always showing up with a new argument. I knew he was doing it because he cared. Because we were friends… or something . But it still got annoying fast.

And he was back again, knock, knock, knocking away at the door.

Finally sick of yelling through the door at him, I yanked it open, positioning myself carefully in front of it so he couldn’t get in. “No,” I said. “I’m not going, so leave me alone.”

“Come on, Whit,” he whined, wedging himself against the doorframe to prevent me from locking him out of the guest room, putting us in close proximity. Close enough that I could see just how long his eyelashes were, see that his brown eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them. “It’ll be good for you.”

“I’ve told you a million times to stop calling me Whit.”

“It’s just the Nest,” he teased. “Clean, wholesome fun. Even a prude like you couldn’t object.”

“Ha ha. You’re so funny.”

“Seriously. Why won’t you come?”

“I don’t feel like being on everyone’s Facebook News Feed tomorrow, thanks,” I said, trying to push the door shut.

He blocked it, squeezing himself all the way into the room and brushing past me without an invitation.

“Christ, do you realize how rude that is?”

“So you’re telling me,” he said, plopping down on the bed, “that you’re going to stay home and be a hermit for the rest of the summer because you’re scared that some bored moron might write a comment about you on Facebook?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

“It’s more than just that group,” I said, ignoring him. “It’s the people who’ve read those stories. Everyone in this goddamn town knows my name, and they all think I’m some filthy slut.”

“Then prove them wrong.”

“I’m not going, Nathan. Drop it.”

“Please, Whit. Don’t make me bring Bailey in here.”

“What does she have to do with this?” I asked.

“She’s the one who wants to go,” he said. “She’s been dying to go all week, but she didn’t want to pressure you, since you’d been so down. I told her I’d talk you into it. This is all her idea.”

I was surprised. Bailey had spent the last couple of months avoiding the social scene, backing out whenever I invited her to go to the Nest with Harrison and me. It made sense—for her to be scared, I mean. I figured it would be a long time before she got back on the horse.

I underestimated her.

“I’ll bring Bailey in here,” Nathan threatened. “We both know you can’t say no to her.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you really can’t.”

I rolled my eyes and slumped against the wall. “Why do I have to go? Why can’t you take her and leave me here?”

“Because she wants you there,” he said. “And so do I.”

Those last four words shouldn’t have made my heart rate speed up a notch, but they did.

“No,” I mumbled, feeling myself start to waver.

“Whitley, is this about Harrison’s party?” His voice was quiet.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Phantom breath and ghost fingers lingering on my skin. “I can’t, Nathan,” I whispered. “It was my fault with Theo that night. If I hadn’t gotten so drunk and gone with him, if I hadn’t let everyone think—”

“No, Whit. That was not your fault.”

“If I hadn’t—”

“I’m going to keep telling you this until you believe me,” he said. “I don’t care what you think you did. No one deserves that. No one. That guy was a sick bastard—a complete asshole. You did not ask for it. So stop blaming yourself.”

I looked down. “I just don’t want to go out tonight, all right?”

“Listen to me.” He stood up and walked across the room to stand in front of me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I know you’ve been having a rough time lately. With your dad and all that. I know that what happened at Harrison’s party scared you. I’m sorry about everything.”

“Don’t go all Hallmark on me,” I warned, focusing on a small tear in the collar of his plain navy T-shirt instead of looking him in the face.

“Look, I’m glad that you’ve chilled out a little lately—easing up on the Girls Gone Wild act—but you’re just going to make yourself miserable staying in here.”

“Girls Gone Wild? Please. You only wish I’d taken my shirt off.”

Oh, wait. I had taken my top off in front of him. On graduation night and that one time in his car outside of the movie rental store. Whoops.

He pretended not to hear me.

“You need to get out. Have a little fun. You can have fun without tequila, you know. I swear.”

“Christ, Nathan, can’t you just drop it?” I asked, trying to swerve out of his reach.

He caught my other shoulder and pushed me lightly against the wall again. Finally, I looked up at him. He held me between both of his hands and was staring down at me. We were standing too close. For a minute, all the feelings I’d been trying to stifle came bubbling to the surface. I was looking right into his eyes; I could smell his fresh, cinnamon breath. All I wanted was to kiss him. Or for him to kiss me. It didn’t matter.

But that wasn’t what this was about.

“I want you to be happy,” he said. “And we both know you’re not happy like this. Locking yourself in here isn’t going to make you happy. It’s not going to make any of us happy.”

“Nathan…”

“Either you promise me right now that you’ll come with us,” he insisted, “or I’ll go get Bailey and have her lay those puppy eyes on you. We both know you’re wrapped around her little finger. You’d do anything if she asked.”

I knew he was right.

But in that moment, as I opened my mouth to answer, a scary realization hit me: Everything he’d just said about Bailey applied to him, too. I’d do almost anything for this boy.

“Fine,” I relented. Then, with a forced smile, I added, “I mean, it looks like you actually combed your hair. We wouldn’t want that rare effort going to waste.”

He laughed as I thumped him on the side of the head with my index finger. His soft brown hair—which really did look neater than usual—tickled my knuckle. God, I wanted to run my fingers through it. Luckily, he was stepping away, removing the temptation. At least a little bit.