There’s a couple whoops and hell yeahs as everyone returns to their conversations, though I notice a few lingering stares . . . Blake might not have said my last name, but I don’t think it will take a genius to make the connection.
Blake leans back on his hands, still perched on the tailgate of his truck. His eyes are on me again, focused through the crowd, lips curving into a crooked smile. There is devious amusement dancing in his gaze. There is no way he’s just being friendly by introducing me. I can see it written all over his face, the pleasure he takes in making me uncomfortable . . .
I glower straight back.
5
Savannah touches my arm in an attempt to get my attention. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I tear my eyes away from Blake and lock them on Savannah instead. “What’s the deal with your cousin?” I ask, my tone sharper than intended. “Is he, like, the captain of the football team or something? The student body president?”
Tori busts up with laughter and Savannah bites her lip to stop herself from joining in, the two of them sharing one of those knowing glances that I can’t understand. Tori excuses herself to get back to her DJ duties, leaving Savannah to fiddle with her earrings in front of me. I raise an eyebrow, prompting her for a reply.
“Our school is small, so we don’t really have cliques. Everyone is kind of friends with everyone,” she explains with a shrug, her gaze wandering off over my shoulder. “Blake is just good at getting things done and making sure things run smoothly, so he tends to be at the forefront of stuff like this.” She scoffs quietly. “It’s kind of in his blood.”
Okay, good. So, I can go talk to him without fear of getting on the wrong side of Fairview High’s top dog, since there isn’t one, apparently. Which I don’t buy for a second. In what world does a high school hierarchy not exist?
“Thanks. I’ll be right back,” I tell Savannah, then spin on my heels and stalk off.
Blake’s still in the back of his truck, bent over a cooler and rummaging through its contents. I stop by the side of the truck, then knock my knuckles hard against the paintwork to get his attention. He glances over but doesn’t straighten up.
“Miss Mila? ” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest. I feel patronized and, therefore, defensive. I don’t think it’s cool for a complete stranger to call me Miss Mila, and I don’t believe either that it’s down to southern etiquette.
“Well, you’re not married, are you?” Blake says matter-of-factly, finally straightening up from the cooler having retrieved a can of Dr Pepper. “You are Miss Mila. I simply assumed that you’re addressed with a title.”
“Are you messing with me?”
Blake pops the tab of his soda and gives me a flippant, disinterested glance. “Now why would you think that?” He takes a sip, exhales loudly, then awaits a response from me.
“Because I didn’t want to be addressed or introduced. And especially not as Miss Mila.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you have preferred to have been introduced as Mila Harding, the daughter of that guy . . . What’s his name again?” Mockingly, he cups a hand to his ear and angles toward me, listening for a reply that never comes. “No, I didn’t think so.”
Stunned, I shake my head wordlessly at him. What a jerk. I press myself against the truck and hiss through clenched teeth, “Who do you think you are?”
Nonchalantly, Blake jumps down from the truck bed and closes the distance between us. He looks straight into my eyes. “Blake Avery,” he says with an infuriating smirk. “It’s nice to meet you, Mila.”
Ugh. I can’t take another second of his obnoxious self-confidence. Fixing him with the most intimidating look I can muster, I turn and stomp back over to Savannah, who seems to have been watching the whole thing.
“What was that about?” she questions, glancing between Blake and me. He’s talking to some guy now, casually waving his soda can around as he speaks.
“Nothing,” I mutter, ignoring the quick beating of my pulse. “Your cousin is—” I start, but as rattled as I am, my voice trails off when I remember it’s probably not a good idea to talk trash about Savannah’s relatives.
“You’ll warm to him,” Savannah says with a teasing smirk, but no, I definitely will not. “C’mon, let’s sit down.”
I don’t know whose truck it is that Tori is working from, but I help Savannah drag out some lawn chairs from the back of it and set them up. We sink down into them and I take the opportunity to really study the crowd.
There’s a mixture of ages and equal amounts boys and girls. Myles is sprawled out on a lawn chair with some girl in his lap who’s biting at his earlobe, and I give Savannah a sidelong glance to see if she’s noticed, but I’m pretty sure she’s actively avoiding looking in that direction.
I pay attention again to the truck from before, the one with the packets of hot-dog buns laid out on the tailgate. There’s a guy setting up a trio of the disposable grills and I assume that must be Barney.
“Any boys caught your eye? Or do you already have a boyfriend?” a voice from above us says, and my eyes fly upward to find Tori leaning over us from the back of the truck. She sticks her tongue out, upside-down, and then jumps down and gets comfy in the chair next to me. She passes out cans of soda to us, and I figure she must be satisfied that her playlist is now set up and running correctly.
“No and no,” I say. “What about you guys?”
“Savannah has a huuuuge thing for Nathan Hunt. That guy over there helping Barney with the food.”
“No, I don’t!” Savannah protests, catapulting forward in her chair to lean over me and whack Tori’s arm. “I only said he was cute one time and now Tori thinks I’m obsessed with him,” she tells me.
“Oh, please,” Tori snorts. “You stalk his Insta feed daily.”
Tori goes on to tell me about some guy she’s been seeing, who isn’t here tonight, and then they fill me in on everyone who is here. They give me the low down on who’s dating who, who was on the prom court, who’s on the football team (surprisingly, not Blake), and who went skinny dipping in the lake last month. Maybe there’s more to Fairview than meets the eye.
Barney and Nathan dish out hot dogs to everyone but I decline when they offer me one – when I was a kid, Dad bought me a hot dog from a food cart at the beach and I got sick with food poisoning, so I’ve never been able to stomach one since – but Savannah and Tori both wolf them down.
The “party” is more of a chilled get-together among friends than the wild night of debauchery I was worried it might be, so I’m pleasantly relieved. People are relaxed, lounging on chairs, on truck beds, sipping on sodas and seltzer, though I do spot the odd beer every now and again. The scent of hot dogs wafts through the air and Tori’s music is the heartbeat of the night. It’s nice, and I feel at ease with Savannah and Tori with no one else bothering me, until Blake starts banging those tongs against his truck again.