I WISH I WOULD’VE TOLD YOU (PLACEHOLDER FILE)

WHITNEY G.

CONTENTS

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Me

Part 1

Back then

1

Me

2

Me

3

Me

4

Easton

5

Me

6

Easton

7

Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Me

Part 1

Back then

1

Me

2

Me

3

Me

4

Easton

5

Me

6

Easton

7

Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Me

Part 1

Back then

1

Me

2

Me

3

Me

4

Easton

5

Me

6

Easton

7

Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Me

Part 1

Back then

1

Me

2

Me

3

Me

4

Easton

5

Me

6

Easton

7

Me

Part 2

For Mish.

I wrote this one for you.

Thank you.

SYNOPSIS

WARNING: DO NOT READ THE BLURB FOR THIS BOOK.

It's better if you go in BLIND, trust me…

But if you *have* to know what you're getting yourself into, you can read the synopsis below.

She lied to me.

Not once, not twice.

This entire time.

To her, I was the "cliche Mr. Popular," the star quarterback who owned Friday nights.

To me, she was the goth geek in the bleachers, playing clarinet in the band.

Despite our differences, I climbed through her window every night.

Even when we started college.

She was the only person who truly understood me, and I couldn't stay away from her if I tried.

Our connection was hot and toxic, but we never dared to put out the flames.

We fell too hard, too fast…

And this wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I was already dating someone else.

Her sister.

**See? That's why you shouldn't have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.*

A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.

Dear Awesome Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up I Wish I Would’ve Told You! I can’t wait for you to dive into this crazy little story!

If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

Sincerely,

PROLOGUE

ME

I  swear I didn’t mean to send him that letter.

Yes, I revised it fifty-seven times, spent eighteen days fretting over which envelope to buy, and paid for first-class postage, but I didn’t really intend to drop it into a postal box.

It was supposed to be a simple “cathartic exercise” to heal old wounds. Yet, after penning letters to every person I’d ever hurt, I set aside several blank pages for him.

I wrote down all the ways I missed him and asked if he missed me, too. I told him that whenever I’m lying in bed at night—despite whatever guy may be sharing my sheets—I can’t help but remember all the times he handled me better.

So much better.

He bent me over our high school bleachers after the home games. Made love to me in the backseat of an old-school Mustang. Devoured me in his father’s office while the mistress cooked in the kitchen downstairs.

I penned rambling paragraphs of things I never wanted to forget and others that were better left unsaid. On page seven, my teardrops marred the lines so terribly that the sentence “I was so lonely,” read like “I was so horny.”

Then again, page eight featured nothing more than a drunken drawing of the time we were thousands of miles apart during one summer, so he’ll probably interpret it the proper way.

None of those things concern me, though.

The problem is on page eleven.

Sixteen lines down, in the second to last paragraph, is a sentence that unravels every lie I’ve ever told him. It’s the one thing that will obliterate ‘us’ the moment he reads it.

The post office sent me a delivery confirmation minutes ago, so I’m standing outside our old meetup spot with gasoline and matches.

It’s almost time.

I’m prepared to set our world on fire before my words can beat me to it…

PART 1

THE LIES BEGIN…

BACK THEN

Question:

Assuming you’re a good person, if someone close to you is dating a guy you desperately want, but she isn’t willing to give him up, which of these would be your next move?

- A) Let it go. Spend your time trying to find someone else.

- B) Fight. Because you truly believe this guy belongs to you.

- C) Explain how this guy is your soulmate and hope your friend will let go of him and understand.

Answer:

None of these.

A “good person” would never be in a situation like this.

1

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

ME

Dear Carly Hills,

I was the one who stole your Prada purse during our junior-year class trip. I didn’t take anything out of it, though. I just tossed it into the Blackwater River because I was tired of you calling me a “Wednesday Addams looking bitch.”

Sorry.

Well, not really.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

M y date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.

We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.

“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”

I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”

“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazing strumming and fingering skills?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”

Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?

“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”

“Me too.” I nod, even though I have no intention of answering his calls after tonight.

I really need to give up on the idea of college guys being “intellectual and deep” once and for all. He’s the fifth guy I’ve dated, and although he didn't try to slip his tongue down my throat or try to impress me with a never-ending game of beer pong, his conversation was as shallow and mundane as the others.

All he did was talk about himself.

“I really need to get home.” I lean back. “I have school in the morning.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you inside?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’d hate for you to slip in all this rain.”

“I’m sure. I have to go through the back door so I won’t wake up my parents before my curfew.”

“That's the good thing about dorm rooms.” He presses a stale kiss on my forehead. “There are no parents and no one cares about curfew.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is amazing.” He wiggles his fingers. “I’ll call you on Friday so I can show you what I can do with these, okay?”

“Okay.” I vow to block his number once I get inside. “Looking forward to it.”

Stepping out into the drizzle, I wave at him before walking up my neighbor’s driveway. Then I watch until his headlights disappear around the corner before jumping the fence and running into my real backyard.

As thunder roars in the distance, I run to the oversized treehouse and unzip the duffel bag I left there hours ago.

Panicking, I pull a pair of sweatpants over my fishnet tights. Then I cover my black halter top with a hoodie.

I’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before my parents realize that the human-shaped mound on my bed is nothing more than sweaters and hoodies.

The lights in the kitchen suddenly turn on, so I slide behind the tree trunk.

Seconds later, I see my dad heading toward the fridge.

Walking like a zombie, he takes out a beer and sits at the breakfast bar. He opens a laptop and stretches his fingers, making it clear that he’ll be sitting there for a while.

Shit.

There's no way I can get through the back entrance without him spotting me, and I can’t risk getting caught sneaking out without permission again.

I’ve been grounded more than enough this year.

Thinking fast, I pick up a rock and hurl it at the parlor room window.

It misses, so I pick up another.

Then another.

It takes five tries before a rock hits the glass and ricochets off a drainage pipe.

My father immediately stands and looks around.

Come on. Come on…

He doesn’t make a move, so I pick up the biggest rock I can find and launch it.

This time, I break the glass.

My father grabs a baseball bat and runs toward the sound.

Finally!

I run to the house as fast as I can, getting soaked with each step.

My sandal strap snags on a lawn tool, and I fall face forward on the ground.

I yelp in pain as I struggle to free it from the blade, but it’s stuck, so I’m forced to leave it behind.

When I make it to the steel ivy brackets that cling to the side of the house, I hold them for dear life.

Climbing up, I make it to the second story and push up my window.

Using my bare foot for balance, I force my body over the sill and fall onto the floor.

“I made it.” I let out a sigh of relief. “I effin’ made it.”

The lights come on.

“I could’ve sworn your curfew was ten o'clock, Scarlett.” My mom is glaring at me from the bed. “Didn't we discuss this the last time I grounded you?”

I glance at the clock, tempted to tell her that it’s nine fifty-eight, but I bite my tongue.

“I also recall saying that you needed to ask to leave this house.” She crosses her arms. “You’re only seventeen years old, last time I checked. But since I clearly can't trust you, don’t make plans for the next three weekends. You're coming with me and your sister to shop for prom dresses in Nashville.”

“Can’t you drown me in our pool instead?” I roll over onto my back. “I think that would be slightly less painful for me.”

“Very funny, Scarlett.”

I groan and stand up. The mere thought of tagging along with my mom and sister for more than an hour is punishment enough.

She tosses me a dry towel and gets off my bed. “Where were you anyway?”

“Out on a date,” I confess.

“Really?” She smiles. “Who is he? Or were you with a she?”

“It was with a college guy, Mom.”

“I’m sure, hon.” She snorts. “So, you were with your weird little friend Kaizen?”

“His name is Kevin.”

“That’s what I said.” She smiles. “I like him a lot, and I love that he adores me.”

He hates you.

“Yeah, I was with Kevin,” I say, stunned that she still doesn’t know me in the slightest. I could literally tell her what I’ve been up to for the past several months and she wouldn’t believe a word.

In her eyes, I’m still the shy and awkward girl who prefers to lock herself in a room and practice music instead of making new friends.

“I was going through your closet a while ago, and it makes me wonder if you’re preparing for a slew of funerals that I don’t know about.”

“No, Mom,” I say. “I just love wearing black and grey.”

“It’s no wonder why no guys at school ever ask you out, then,” she says. “They probably think you’re the Queen of Death or something…Then again, at least you keep your makeup light and pretty.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Please walk away and don’t give me the ‘beautiful’ speech…

“You’re such a beautiful girl, Scarlett,” she says, stepping closer. “You have brains and talent, and I’m just worried that you’ll end up old, crusty, and reading romance novels to get yourself off instead of experiencing the real thing.”

“That’s not why people read romance novels…”

“Of course it is.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “They can’t find men in real life, so they have to resort to dating the ones on the page. I don’t want you to be like that. I want you to find a great guy who treats you well, takes care of you financially, and keeps your panties wet without you having to flip a page, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about sex with you…Ever.”

“I just know that you could land any guy you wanted if you were more like—”

“My sister,” I say, “I know.”

She nods, shooting me a sympathetic look. “I meant what I said about the next three weekends. Goodnight, Scarlett.”

“Goodnight.” I watch as she steps into the hallway and shuts the door.

I move closer and wait in the silence, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’s changed her old, troubling ways, but the telltale sound of her clicking through music samples begins. Then she begins speaking in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

“Soooo, I just caught one of my daughters sneaking in past her curfew, so I sat her down to have a heart-to-heart conversation. It was important that we discussed her behavior, and although I had to punish her, she'll respect me so much more as her mom for not giving her a free pass. Speaking of ‘free pass,’ when it comes to parenting teenagers…”

I put on my headphones and change clothes.

As a former mommy vlogger, my mother still has a habit of every moment, no matter how mundane content. Her life revolves around what will net her the most comments and likes, and even though the world knows her as “Sweet Southern Caroline” a woman who loves baking and has a Marry Poppins approach to life, she curses like a sailor and is more of a “Cool Mom.” (Oh, and the only thing I’ve ever seen her bake is a pre-package cookies,)

Thanks to all the money she made off her former “Caroline and the Twins” YouTube channel, we changed our last names and moved from our trailer park in Ohio to an estate in The South. We live in a fancy suburb where everyone owns at least four acres, and attend a school system that ranks in the top five of the nation.

It’s supposed to feel like a “prize,” but the past few years have felt more like a punishment…

BY THE TIME I open the door, my mom is long gone, so I head downstairs to the kitchen. I'm hoping I can persuade my dad to make her cancel the cruel and unusual shopping punishment, but he's not sitting at the bar anymore.

I pour myself a glass of milk and chug it down. As I’m opening a bag of Oreos, I hear a high-pitched laugh coming from outside.

Ugh, Tully…

Even though we were born six minutes apart, me and my sister couldn’t possibly be any more different. I analyze our birth certificates and call the hospital for verification on our birthday every year.

We tolerate each other's presence like strangers who share a long transatlantic flight. Cordial when we cross paths, a light conversation here and there, but never anything beyond the surface.

Her dreams of being a top influencer have come true, and she has ten million followers who buy into the sugarcoated version of her life, numerous sponsors who’ve already paid her way to college, and most importantly, a mother who knows exactly how to help her build her “brand.”

Peering through the blinds, I see that she’s not alone. She’s sitting next to her boyfriend, Easton Rush.

I suck in a breath at the sight of him in a white T-shirt that clings to his muscles, at his perfect pearly white smile that makes my heart race.

He’s the star player of the football team, the sexiest guy to ever exist in this small town. With his sinewed muscles, stunning ocean blue eyes, and a face courtesy of a maker who said, "Give me fucking perfection,” he makes grown women give him a second glance.

Leaning against his shoulder, Tully holds up her cell phone.

“So, we just got back from Gayle’s Diner and I bought a ton of stuff that I’m making him try tonight,” she says. “Since everyone swears by the waffle bites and custom creams, I can’t wait to see what he thinks!”

She runs a hand through his ink-black hair before turning off the video. Then she looks at him. Do you want to eat chocolate or vanilla first?”

“Chocolate.”

“Vanilla it is, then.”

He smiles and picks up a tiny silver tin, while Tully places a spoonful of cream onto his tongue.

I watch as she films him trying flavor after flavor, forcing my blood to boil with every dollop.

Every time she playfully runs her fingers through his hair, I think about my fingers touching him there better.

Each time he laughs, I can hear the strain and the fakeness. Not the authentic full-throated one he has with me.

And in the rare moments that he places his fingers under her chin to adjust the angle of the camera, I think about where those fingers have tried to go with me, where they’ve trailed against my skin and made me lose all consciousness.

I hate this feeling, and I know that I should stop watching and walk away, but I can’t.

I hate dating other guys, searching for someone who can make me feel even a tenth of what Easton does.

Stepping back, I return to my room and lock the window. I draw the blinds shut and close the curtains. Then I curl into a ball on my bed, put in my earbuds, and ignore the wetness that stains my pillowcase.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, but later I hear a familiar sound outside my window.

Tap! Tap! Tappp!

It’s him, but I don’t move.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I remain still.

I feel my phone vibrating next to my head, and then he taps again, but I can’t face looking at him tonight.

I just can’t.

In addition to accepting that the college boys aren’t worth my time, I need to accept that none of them will ever be able to wean my heart away from the boy who’s owned it for over a year.

2

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

ME

Dear Heather Adair,

I once saw you shaving your head in the locker room before school, but I didn’t think anything of it…Until I caught you doing it again. I also found out that the “clinic in Memphis” you incessantly mentioned (whenever you weren’t in class for days here or there) doesn’t exist. You didn’t need to fake cancer to make friends. Everyone liked you already.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“P lease tell me that there are some mornings when you wake up and say, ‘There’s no way I’m related to my identical twin sister.’” My best friend Kevin plops down next to me in the cafeteria.

“I say that every morning. Why do you ask?”

“Because apparently, she’s kicking off her homecoming campaign today and it’s far worse than what she did last year.”

“Nothing is worse than last year, Kevin.” I shake my head at the thought. “Nothing.”

“Want to bet me one of your cherry sour belts?”

I hold up the packet of my favorite candy, unsure of if a bet is worth that much.

Last year, my sister enlisted the help of every cheerleader, basketball player, and football player to fill our school’s hallways with pink and white “Tully Crane for Queen” balloons.

Her post about it went viral within an hour.

She won the crown unanimously.

“She’s going with a Cinderella theme this time,” Kevin snatches the candy away from me. “She’s also bribing people for votes.”

“She thinks she’s too good to beg,” I say. “There’s no way.”

“Speak of the devil.” He smiles. “See for yourself.”

I look over my shoulder as Tully steps into the cafeteria, dressed in a sparkling pink ball gown that exposes the top of her C-cup breasts. At her side are two of her friends, dressed like fairy godmothers and waving glitter wands.

She’s always been a master when it comes to commanding attention, and this moment is no exception. Everyone is staring at her like she’s some type of celebrity and she’s loving every second of it.

“Are you voting for her?” I ask.

“No, I’m voting for Chelsea Hilton.”

“The girl who outed you in middle school?”

“She did me a favor.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I never vote. I’m sure she’ll win regardless.”

“Oh, me too. I just have to do my part in making sure it won’t be unanimous this time.”

I laugh as Tully makes her way to our table.

“Good afternoon, Sir Kevin and Lady Scarlett!” She pulls a handful of glitter from her purse and tosses it over us. “The homecoming season is officially upon us.”

Her godmother friends hold out two bright pink lollipops that feature her face, but neither me nor Kevin make a move to grab them.

“Make your senior year un-dull by voting for your girl, Tulles!” She smiles. “A vote for me would not only be tasty, but it also won’t be waste-y!”

We stare at her.

“Ugh. Just vote for me, okay?” She lowers her voice. “Why haven’t you responded to my text message yet?”

“My phone’s in my locker,” I say. “I didn’t know you sent me anything.”

“Well, I did. So, hurry up and read it. It’s important.”

“Why can’t you tell me what it is now?”

“Because it’s personal, Scarlett.” She clasps my hand and looks into my eyes. “It’s life or death level important, and I desperately need your help.”

From her touch, I can feel her pulse racing, and for a split second, it feels like we're seven-year-old girls again, partners in crime, willing to do whatever for each other without question.

Back when we were friends…

She lets go and clears her throat. “Since you’re editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook, I expect you to name me as Most Likely to be a Supermodel. It’s only fair since that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Tully, I’ve told you before that’s not a real category.”

“Well, make it one.” She scoffs. “If you want people to pay for a yearbook, you need to make sure people like me are featured as much as possible. No one cares about anything else.”

Welp. At least she ruined the sister moment quicker than usual this time.

“Okay, onto the next set of voters.” She serves me and Kevin a princess wave before walking away. Her minions follow her lead to bribe more peasants.

“Okay, remind me.” Kevin sighs. “How many days do we have left until graduation?”

“Two hundred and sixty seven days and three hundred eighty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes,” I say. “Do you want to know the seconds?”

AFTER FIFTH PERIOD, I pull my cell phone from my locker and check the text messages.

TULLY

Okay sooooo when Mom & Dad go to Aunt Jane’s wedding, I’m throwing a house party. Since you’re good at decor and shit, I’ll need you to help set up so it can be amazing.

Oh, and we should consider this as our early birthday party sooo I guess you can invite your friends too! (Just a few though…)

I roll my eyes.

I should’ve known it wasn’t really life or death.

The locker on my left suddenly slams shut and a familiar, intoxicating woodsy pine scent I love surrounds me. It’s the scent that clings to all my sheets, the one that lingers for weeks and makes me wish it never had to leave.

Easton…

I avoid looking at him and rummage in my locker, pretending to search for something.

I can feel him staring, then glaring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but I don’t.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he says, his voice low.

I say nothing. I flip through a chemistry book. Then I pick up a pen and click it a few times.

“I know you hear me talking to you…”

I hum a Chopin refrain and rotate the violin case behind the clarinet.

My heart is beating so loudly that I’m convinced he can hear it.

“Scarlett…” He slips an arm around my waist and spins me around.

As he releases me, I feel the urge to press my hands against his chest, to kiss his lips and tell him how much I missed him last night, but I don’t.

I can’t…

“Is there something I can help you with this afternoon, Easton Rush?”

“I believe so,” he says. “I have a problem.”

“You only have one?”

“I wanted to see a certain someone last night.” He paused. “But her window was locked.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “It was.”

“I guess I must’ve forgotten to leave it open.”

“You also ignored all ten of my calls.”

“You should’ve gotten the hint after the fifth one.”

“Why do you have to do this shit to me every week?” He gazes at my lips. “Does arguing with me every other day turn you on?”

“Even if it did—and it doesn’t—it’s not like there’s anything you could do about it.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I’m coming over around seven tonight. I need you to leave the window open.”

“I might not be there.” I cross my arms. “I have a date.”

“With who?”

“A guy I can actually go out in public with,” I say. “He’s also in college, so he’s far more mature. He knows all about classical music and shit.”

“So do I, Scarlett.”

“Not like he does. He’s on another level than you.”

“He plays piano?”

“He does. Far better than you’ll ever be able to.”

A slow smirk crosses his lips, as if he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He moves his head closer, nearly pressing it against my forehead, making my breath catch in my throat.

“Why do you keep wasting your time going out with these guys who aren’t me?” He loops a finger under my necklace, lifting the petal-shaped charm he gave me last month. “It’s not like you’re sleeping with them.”

“I’m not sleeping with you either.”

“Until you come to your senses.”

“Are you planning on asking my sister to join us, then?”

“I haven’t fucked your sister.” He looks offended. “You know better than that.”

“Does she?”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just in a relationship with her.”

“We’re not discussing this right now.” He looks like he wants to kiss me right here, like he wants to silence the heavy beating in my chest once and for all, but he can’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

Too much is at stake.

“Easton!” One of his teammates calls from down the hall. “Come on, man! We’re running late!”

He steps back, looking me over one last time. “Leave your window unlocked for me tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Try me and fucking see…”

3

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

ME

Dear Aidan Mills,

I cheated off all your papers in AP History class, and I’m really sorry about that… I don’t know why Mr. Meyers gave me higher grades than you.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

T he worst part of marching band rehearsal is being forced to wear our full cotton uniforms in the sweltering Southern heat. Then again, maybe it’s the fact that our band practices are open to the public. And since there’s not much to do in our small town, random people show up to watch and shout commentary from the bleachers.

If I hear someone shout, “What’s Tully Crane doing down there in the band?” one more time, I’m going to scream…

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major whistles. “All halt!”

I stop marching in unison with everyone else. Then the whistle sounds again, commanding us all to face forward.

“Trumpets, you came in a half rest late during the fight song, but the tubas thankfully saved your asses!” He yells from a ladder. “Woodwinds, perfect as always.”

I force a smile. It’s not like we get a prize for consistency.

“We need to be one hundred percent in sync for our first Friday night,” he says. “It’s the season opener, and you know the media will be watching our football team like hawks so we need to put on our best show.”

“One of the flute player’s shoe strings is untied!” Someone from the bleachers yells. “She also missed a step when y’all were playing Sweet Caroline!”

I bite my tongue and look to the sidelines.

I spot one of my cutest classmates—Edward Johns—wrapping an arm around his long-term girlfriend. He’s kissing her cheek and whispering something against her skin, making her cheeks flush pink.

Everyone knows that she belongs to him, that there’s no point in trying to steal her way. The two of them are an unbreakable unit, just like Easton and Tully. Where one goes, the other follows. If you see one, the other is a few feet away.

What I wouldn’t give for me and Easton to have that.

In public.

I could add up all our private moments, and they would pale in comparison to what everyone else sees with him and Tully. What their millions of followers obsess over daily on social media.

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major’s whistle sounds, forcing me to look away from what I desperately want.

As I march into the next formation, I decide that I don’t feel like settling for sloppy seconds today. I’m not the slightest bit worried about Easton’s threat from earlier.

I’m spending the night at Kevin’s house.

Easton will just have to deal with it…

4

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

EASTON

Later that night

T he crescent shaped night-light in Scarlett’s room isn’t glowing for me. It’s her silent signal that lets me know that she’s home, that I’m welcome to come into the place that’s become my refuge over the past year and a half. The place that makes me forget just how fucked up my life is in the dark corners no one else can see.

Maybe she’s sleeping.

I cross the backyard and climb the ivy brackets that hang under her window. Then I tap on the glass.

No answer.

I tap again, a bit harder this time.

Nothing.

Peering inside, I spot her curled under my grey blanket, so I send her a text.

Hey. I’m here. Open your window.

You know I don’t sleep well without you…

The bulge on her bed doesn’t move, so I call her.

“Hey there,” she answers on the first ring.

“I’m here. Open the window for me.”

“Okay, hold on.” She pauses. “I just did. Anything else?”

“Stop fucking with me Scarlett.” I roll my eyes. “Get out of bed and open the window.”

“I’m literally staring out of an open window right now, Easton.”

“The window in your bedroom.”

“Oh.” There’s a smile in her voice. “That window. Well, that’s kind of impossible for me to do right now unless you want to tell me how to bend time and space.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time….”

“I’m at Kevin’s house,” she says. “We’re working on a group project.”

“You two don’t have any classes together last time I checked.”

“It’s a duet for the band.”

“He plays the trombone,” I say. “I doubt there’s a clarinet duet with that.”

“Shows how much you know about music.” She’s definitely testing me. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good night.”

She hangs up before I can say another word, and I call her again, but she doesn’t answer.

Grabbing the edge of the pane, I attempt to push it up in hopes that maybe she left it unlocked, but it doesn’t budge.

I’m tempted to break the damn glass, but a loud rustling below breaks my thoughts.

“Easton? Is that you?” It’s Tully.

Shit. I turn around and stare at her. I’ve never been caught coming here before.

“My room is on the other side, genius!” She smiles. “You clearly got knocked around too hard at practice today. Come down before Scarlett wakes up and pepper sprays you.”

“Right.” I climb down, and she immediately hugs me.

“You know, you don’t have to go all ‘Romeo & Juliet’ to convince me to finally fuck you, Easton.”

“Come again?”

“I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all, but don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough for sex?” She stands on her tiptoes, threading her fingers through my hair. “Everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway, so I don’t see why you’re dragging out the inevitable. I’ve never gone this long without a guy fucking me…”

I blink.

To every other guy at school, Tully is the epitome of the phrase “sexy as fuck.” Her dark brown hair is always pulled into a perfect high bun and she knows exactly how to make minds wander with her collection of tightly-fitted dresses and skirts.

When we started dating the summer before our junior year, I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that we didn’t have much in common except popularity, but I figured we could still have fun together.

We created a joint TikTok account and started posting random “When your boyfriend plays football and you’re a cheerleader” type of things, and then one night we went viral.

Then we went viral again.

And again and again.

Before we knew it, the joint account had three million followers and sponsors lining up to pay us money that I desperately needed.

It was easy money, I enjoyed being around her, but then her sister was paired with me for an AP English project, and within seconds of her saying, “I hope you don’t think I give a fuck that you’re Mr. Popular because you’re just as average as all these other guys.” I liked her.

“I have my reasons,” I finally say to Tully.

“Care to share at least one of them?”

“They’re complicated.”

“Of course.” She smiles, pressing a kiss on my cheek. “I’m making spiked hot chocolate with my mom’s brandy since I need to get some sleep. Want some?”

“Sure,” I say. “Double the shots in mine…”

5

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

ME

Dear Harriet Rayner,

There were so many days when I wished we could’ve been friends since we shared a love of all things goth and gore. I was thrilled that you invited me to your exclusive Halloween dinner, but there’s a reason why I never showed…I discovered that you were @MissGreyHighAnonymous who spread rumors on social media about everyone at our school. You hurt a shit ton of people, including me.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“D o you really need to rehearse that concerto again?” Kevin crosses his arms in the living room.

“I do, if I want to make sure it’s perfect in time for my recital.”

“I mean, do you need to rehearse it here?” He laughs, gently prying the violin bow from my fingers. “It’s been perfect for the past several weeks. Trust me.”

“Sounds like you’re about to kick me out.”

“I’m not.” He sets my bow on the mantle. “But I’d like to watch our show with the pizza instead of your music. No offense.”

“None taken.” I place the violin into its case and crack open a soda. “You don’t have to pretend like you haven’t watched the next episode without me, by the way.”

“Good!” He laughs. “I’ll still rewatch it with you, though.”

The doorbell rings and he picks up the remote.

“You’re turn to pay for our nourishment,” he says. “I paid the last two times.”

“Of course.” I grab a few bills from my purse and head to the door.

The pizza guy isn’t waiting for me when I open it, though.

It’s Easton.

What the…

“Hello, Scarlett.” He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. “Is now a good time?”

“A good time for what?”

“For us to have a conversation,” he says. “You clearly wanted to try me by not being at home, so I came here to talk.”

I step back, somewhat stunned by the darkness in his eyes. We’ve made each other mad before, but I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Make sure he gives us extra parmesan packets!” Kevin calls out. “The crushed red peppers, too!”

“So, is now not a good time?” Easton says.

“It’s really not.” I motion for him to lower his voice. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We’re talking now.” He grabs my hand again, pulling me to the far side of the porch.

“Easton, I swear to God, I—” My sentence ends on his lips, and my back hits the hot bricks.

He grips my hips as he kisses me harder, making me lose my breath. Then he bites down on my bottom lip.

“I know you’re trying to make a point about us,” he whispers against my mouth, “so congratulations. You’ve made it.”

“What I’m doing right now has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay.” He kisses me again, making me regret not letting him in last night. “You also know what tomorrow is for me.”

I say nothing.

“And regardless of how mad you are at me, I know you would never pull this shit on that day. Or am I wrong?”

I say nothing, because he isn’t. Because even during our worst moments, he’s always been there if I needed him.

A red car suddenly pulls into the driveway and the delivery guy steps out.

We watch him walk toward us with a pizza bag.

“Two extra large pepperoni pizzas, a medium order of breadsticks, and a large coke, right?” He steps in front of us.

“Yes.” I finally turn away from Easton. “With parmesan and crushed red pepper packets.”

“Got it. It’s forty two dollars and fifty two cents.”

I hold out the money, but Easton pushes my hand away.

“I’ve got it,” he says, paying for it. “You can keep the change.”

The delivery guy smiles and then tilts his head to the side. “Easton Rush?”

“Yes.”

“Aw man. My dad talks about you all the time.” He hands me the food. “And my little sister is obsessed with ya’lls TikTok account, Tully. Your name is Tully, right?”

“Yeah.” I feign a smile. “Thanks.”

“Good luck this season dude!” He walks away without another word, and Easton waits until he pulls away before pressing a kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more, but Kevin suddenly calls my name.

“Scarlett, are you dying out there or something?” He calls. “Scarlett?”

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’ll um…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Easton presses one final kiss on my lips before walking away.

6

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

EASTON

I  park my car outside the school gym at five thirty in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I know better than to try.

Stepping out, I grab my bag and head toward the side door.

Since joining the football team, I’ve become friends with the chief janitor and he always texts to see if he needs to leave an entrance open for me.

I twist the knob and it gives way, but before I can disappear into the locker room, a familiar voice drifts down the hall.

“Is that you, Reed Hinson?” It’s my coach.

“No, Coach.”

“Then who the hell is it?” He shouts louder. “This complex is off limits until seven o’clock unless you’re on my staff or a team captain!”

I roll my eyes and head to his doorway.

“It’s me, Coach.”

“Oh.” He puts on his glasses. “Fate must be on my side today. Have a seat so we can talk.”

I hold back a sigh. “Can this wait until later, Coach?”

“No.” He points to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I set down my bag and oblige.

He stares at me for several moments, rocking back and forth in his squeaky chair.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll hurry up and say something, but all he does is rock.

“If you’re not about to say anything, can I—”

“Are you using the best brand of condoms?” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Are you covering your cock properly while you’re screwing these girls or what?”

I should’ve just stayed in my car…

“You do know what condoms are, don’t you son?” He narrows his eyes. “I gave you my sex talk when you were a freshman, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately. With all due respect though, Coach, where the hell is this coming from?”

“I was like you back in my day.” He clasps his hands. “I mean, I wasn’t the top ranked high school quarterback in the nation or anything, but I was popular enough to make the sports news. Very popular. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does…”

“You know what doesn’t feel good?” He stops rocking and leans forward. “A surprise baby by some gold digger who knows, just knows, you’re destined to do big things in college and will be huge in the NFL. I don’t want that to happen to you, so I want you to make sure you’re wrapping it up.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not only do I want you to wrap it up,” he says, “But I want you to make sure you carry something around whenever you’re done and put it to use.”

He opens his drawer and pulls out a small stack of red packets. “These will fit in your wallet behind the condoms.”

“What are those?”

“Hot sauce packets,” he says. “Whenever you take off a condom, squeeze some of this into it so the girl can’t go behind your back and put your semen to use.”

What the fuck?

I stand to my feet. “I’m good, Coach.”

“No, trust me.” He pushes the packets closer. “The closer you get to announcing whatever college you’re attending in the spring, the closer the gold diggers are to sinking their claws into your future.”

“I’m going to leave now.”

“I smelled the scent of female desperation in the air once this school year started, once ESPNU started running those long promos on you.” He’s officially talking to himself, not me. “The stench is unmistakable.”

“Are you taking new meds, Coach?”

“I don’t want to be invited to your baby shower for at least ten years,” he says, staring into space. “I wish I could go back in time and have someone say that to me…”

I turn around and head to the door.

“Wait, Easton!”

I look over my shoulder. “Yes, Coach?”

He picks up a blue envelope and holds it out for me. “Happy birthday son. I never forget.”

“Thank you.” I take the envelope from him and leave his office, shutting the door behind me.

“Easton?” Someone else calls my name.

Fuck… I turn around and spot the offensive coordinator. “Yes, Mr. Hinson?”

“I wanted to make sure I caught you before I looked at some film.” He hands me a small gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He pats my shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not the next best All-American quarterback. You have an incredible game, a beautiful supportive family, and good looks and shit, too.”

I nod. “Will do, sir.”

Turning away before I can be distracted again, I walk down the hall and into the team’s state of the art locker room.

I check all the rows to make sure I’m the only person here. Then I open my bag and take out a framed picture that I can only face once a year.

My mother used to come here with me during this ungodly hour, armed with cupcakes and candles like I was still in kindergarten. She’d also bring along a piano keyboard and request that I play a Chopin piece from memory.

Even though I’d long given up a chance at being a musician, she was proud of me for choosing “a sport that might actually pay your bills someday.”

I run my finger along the edge of her face.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes me put away the frame. Before I can ask who else is interrupting my morning, my father rounds the corner, holding up a brown bag.

“I hope you won’t mind that I came here,” he says. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I motion for him to sit next to me.

I don’t mention that he reeks of alcohol.

“Your mother was a really great woman.” He hands me a box of waffles. “Loyal to a fault.”

“She never lied to me.” His voice cracks. “Not one time.”

“She didn’t lie to me either.”

“Very loyal.”

“Yes,” I say. “Very loyal.”

We eat our food in silence, swallowing it down with our forced lies.

We’ve never discussed the truth.

It hurts too damn much…

My mother died on her way to our family vacation last year.

She was in the passenger seat of a red Corvette that didn’t belong to my father.

It was our church pastor’s.

The accident report revealed that they were half-naked, that the backseat floor was littered with condoms.

At the hospital, the doctors gave me a plastic bag of her things, and while I was texting her friends and families the news, I realized that most of the names in her phone belonged to other men with nicer cars than Corvettes.

My life had already been hanging by a thread, but that was the week it finally snapped.

The same week I met Scarlett…

“Well…” My father downs the last bite of his waffle and stands to his feet. “I know I’m not her, but Happy Birthday son. I’ve got to get my rehab meeting. I’m one hundred percent sober now, you know.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “I know.”

Later that afternoon

Are you at home yet?

SCARLETT

I will be in an hour. Late practice. Some idiot decided to play a game with the fire alarm today.

How unfortunate…You’re the only person who hasn’t wished me ‘Happy Birthday’ today.

SCARLETT

Because you told me that you prefer to celebrate it on a different day…Have you changed your mind about that?

Not at all. Call me when you’re heading home.

I TOSS my football pads on the floor before slumping onto the living room couch. Trying to kill time, I flip through the channels, but nothing catches my attention.

I scroll down my contacts and call my best guy friend Jeremiah.

“What’s up, Shitface?” he answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?”

“Terribly.” I shut my eyes. “I’m wishing you were kissing me right now.”

He laughs. “I hope you’re not trying to use the birthday sympathy card to get out of going with me to the gulf this weekend.”

“Never.”

“Good. What do you really want then?”

“A distraction,” I admit. “At least half an hour if you can…”

“Of course.” There’s a smile in his voice. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to tell you just how overrated you are.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re not as attractive as everyone claims,” he says. “There are plenty of other actors in Hollywood who look far better.”

“Are you saying I look good enough to belong in Hollywood, though?”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Laughing, I shut my eyes and lean back on the couch, listening to him serve me lies until I fall asleep.

I’M DREAMING of throwing epic passes at The University of Alabama’s stadium when something wet touches my thigh.

Confused, I look up at the sky, but it’s bright blue. No sign of an oncoming storm anywhere.

“Easton! Easton!” The crowd cheers my name as my teammate rushes into the end zone.

The wetness touches my thigh again, leaving a strange trail, and I open my eyes.

Scarlett is kneeling between my legs, her fingers pressed against my briefs.

She looks up at me and I smile.

Then I realize she’s Tully.

What the…

“Hey there.” She smiles and presses another kiss against my skin. “Happy birthday.”

Fuck. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you a birthday blowjob.” She smiles. “Don’t you want one?”

Only if it was from your sister. I clear my throat before those words slip from my mouth.

“Exactly.” She presses her palms on my knees. “Lay back and let me finish.”

“No, don’t.” I clasp her wrists and stand up, moving around her. “I just want to be alone today.”

“Ugh. Seriously?” She opens a bag, pulling out a champagne bottle and some type of dessert tray. “I bribed a guy to get us some top shelf alcohol and I even bought you birthday candles to go with this custom cookie cake.”

I sigh. “I really just want to be alone today, Tully.”

“But I’m your girlfriend.” She stands.

“I’m aware,” I say. “It’s not personal.”

“It feels like it.” She walks over to me. “Why can’t I be here with you? Like, on all days, why not today?”

“Tully…”

“Save it.” She looks into my eyes. “When you stopped letting me come over months ago because you claimed you didn’t sleep well with me in your bed, I bought that.”

“That’s the truth.”

“When you said, ‘I feel like we need to work on being better friends in our relationship’ I bought that bullshit, too.”

“That’s still the truth…”

“What about my truth, then?” Her voice cracks. “Like, I get the social media thing with the sponsors can be annoying, but we both signed all those deals and they pay us pretty well.”

“It has nothing to do with social media, Tully.”

“I also understand that you’re under a lot of stress since every college is trying to sink their claws into you, and everyone in this town thinks you’re some sort of celebrity, but…What about me?” She sighs. “What happened to the guy I was dating last year?”

I swallow, knowing that she could never handle the honest truth. She’s a drama queen through and through, and the only people who exist in her world are those who serve her best interests.

“I don’t really have anyone close in my life,” she says. “My mom loves her vlogging shit more than anything, my dad loves that money, and my friends are…” Her voice trails off. “I have friends, and I want to have you, too.”

I hold back a sigh.

She didn’t mention Scarlett.

She never does…

“I’ll let you have your birthday because well, it is your birthday.” She presses her hand against my chest. “But we need to talk within the next few days because I need to know that you still like me as much as I like you.”

She kisses my cheek. “Save the champagne and cookies for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, stopping myself from making a promise I don’t want to keep.

I grab her hand and lead her outside, to the silver BMW she supposedly “shares” with Scarlett. I’ve yet to see Scarlett behind the wheel.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, shutting the door.

“I’ll hold you to that.” She blows me a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

I stand in my driveway long after she’s gone, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I grab the keys to my dad’s car and head to the only place I want to be.

7

THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR RETAILER OR WHITGBOOKS@GMAIL.COM IF YOU RECEIVE THIS IN ERROR.

ME

Dear Elliot Tipton,

In debate class, you once argued that “parents who put their kids on the internet for content are selfish people who fuck them up for life.” I told you how wrong you were, how I grew up in a family like that and I turned out just fine.

You were right, though….

One hundred percent.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

I  look like a poor version of Little Bo Peep.

All I’m missing is a flock of sheep and a golden herder stick.

“Stop frowning, Scarlett!” My mom fluffs the white petticoat under my pink dress. “This is a thirty-thousand-dollar period piece. You should be thrilled to wear something so beautiful.”

“The corset is too tight, Mom,” I say. “I can barely breathe.”

“Nonsense!” She grabs the strings and pulls them in even tighter. “Now, let’s see what we can do about these wayward ruffles.”

I suck in what will probably be the last breath of my life, and wince as she stabs my skin with a pushpin.

Since I had the misfortune of beating Tully home from school today, I’m standing in for her latest sponsorship fitting.

“We’re sensing that the Renaissance era will be making a fashionable comeback in the near future, and your daughter’s online persona truly fits in line with our brand.” A woman in a light lavender suit, who looks like she’s descended from English royalty, sips tea in our living room.

“She has such lovely posture and bone structure.” The woman smiles at me. “That dress truly comes to life on you, Miss Crane.”

“Say, thank you very much, Scarlett.” My mother chides.

“Thank you, Miss. Very much.”

“Pardon me asking.” The woman sets down her tea cup and walks over to us. “But are you sure you don’t want to join your sister for this campaign? I know you don’t have as many followers as she does, but if you both did videos on her account, I’m sure our marketing department would negotiate a higher payout.”

“She’s not interested.” “I’m not interested.” My mother and I say in unison.

“Not even for triple the amount?” She smiles.

“No.” “She’ll think about it.” We speak in unison again, but our answers aren’t in sync this time.

“I thought so.” The woman smooths the lace sleeves of my dress. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as social media, influencers, or lifestyle bloggers.”

“I’m sure life was much better back then…”

“You kids these days can completely bypass college and build immense wealth with the tap of your fingertips,” she continues. “You can make connections all around the world without ever leaving your living room.”

“They have no idea how good they have it.” My mother chimes in. “I’m hoping Scarlett eventually takes advantage of her good looks and charm.”

“I hope so, too.” The woman picks up a footstool and motions for me to step on top of it. “Let’s finish the rest of the fitting, shall we?”

I tune out their conversation as they poke and prod me with needles and make notes on measuring tape.

When they’re done, I head upstairs with the contract and slip into my bedroom.

Easton is already inside, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Something funny, Birthday Boy?” I ask.

“I’m not used to seeing you in bright pink.”

“Oh.” I look down at the dress. “Don’t get used to it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Being a stand-in for Tully.” I shrug. “I was planning to call when I finished and got out of this thing.”

“Let me help you.” He walks over and motions for me to turn around.

Staring at him through the mirror, I watch as he unzips the side of my dress. He slides his finger along the sash that’s tied at the front and slowly loosens it.

With his eyes on mine, he saves the pearl necklace I’m wearing for last, unclasping it and pressing a kiss against the back of my neck.

Every nerve in my body comes to life, my heart skips a beat.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me there,” I say.

“You’re right.” He kisses my neck again. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s against my ‘I don’t want to go there with you’ rules.”

“You were supposed to rewrite some of those…” He lets the pearls drop to the floor. “When exactly are you getting around to that?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised.”

He sighs and gently grabs my waist, spinning me around to face him.

“I hate that I didn’t meet you first,” he says.

“Would that have changed anything?”

“Yes.”

I want to believe that, but hypotheticals have never been my strong suit. It’s hard for me to see the shades in anything; it’s always black and white.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses my lips.

Then he lets me go and I change into my set of pajamas.

I climb into bed first and he follows, pulling me against his chest.

He toys with the strands of my hair, and I inhale his scent.

“We need to find a new meetup spot for our weekends at some point,” he says.

“What’s wrong with you dad’s off road shack?”

“The ‘for sale by owner’ sign isn’t there anymore. I think someone might’ve bought it and he hasn’t told me yet.”

“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “I stole it and tossed it into a dumpster so no one would have the number to call about it anymore.”

He smiles. “You know that’s a crime, right?”

“Are you planning to report me?”

“I might.”

He laughs. “Hypothetical question. If you got arrested for something you did, but the police weren’t convinced that you did it, what would you do?”

“Go about my life.”

“You’re supposed to wait for three options before responding, Scarlett.”

“Not when I already know the answer.” I smile. “What would you do?”

“Probably the same thing.”

We both laugh and he slides his hands under me, rolling me on top of him.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“I’m serious. You can’t laugh and you have to promise.”

“Okay, Scarlett,” he says. “I promise.”

“I dozed off during band practice today,” I say. “I had this long dream of you picking me up after school and us riding off into the sunset.”

“What exactly is funny about that?”

“We drove all the way to New York, but it took us two weeks to get there because every time we saw a sign for a beautiful hotel we stopped and you went down on me.”

“I’m not seeing what’s funny.” He trails a finger against my lips. “I think about eating your pussy all the time.”

My cheeks heat. “Oh.”

“I really need to revise the terms of us a lot sooner than ‘soon,’” he says, straining. “Please.”

“Okay.”

His fingers leave my lips and I suddenly feel bereft.

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever, communicating without saying a word, both wishing—like always—that we’d met each other first.

My phone buzzes at exactly midnight, and I lean over him to turn it off.

“Happy birthday, Easton.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.” He pauses. “My mom lied to me, to me and my dad. The entire time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just promise that you’ll never do that.”

“Tell you sorry?”

“Lie.”

I nod. “I promise.”

“Good.” He pulls me into his arms. “Go to sleep."

PART 2

THE LIES KEEP SPINNING

Question:

If you knew that you’d suffer no consequences for holding onto a secret that hurts someone you love, what would you do?

- A) Keep it to yourself. There’s no point in hurting someone for no reason.

- B) Invite them out to a public place and tell them. Honesty is always key. No matter what.

- C) Write it in a letter with as many details as possible to get it off your chest. Send it later to clear your conscience.

Answer:

A.

But not because you are concerned with hurting them.

You don’t want to hurt yourself.

SYNOPSIS

WARNING: DO NOT READ THE BLURB FOR THIS BOOK.

It's better if you go in BLIND, trust me…

But if you *have* to know what you're getting yourself into, you can read the synopsis below.

She lied to me.

Not once, not twice.

This entire time.

To her, I was the "cliche Mr. Popular," the star quarterback who owned Friday nights.

To me, she was the goth geek in the bleachers, playing clarinet in the band.

Despite our differences, I climbed through her window every night.

Even when we started college.

She was the only person who truly understood me, and I couldn't stay away from her if I tried.

Our connection was hot and toxic, but we never dared to put out the flames.

We fell too hard, too fast…

And this wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I was already dating someone else.

Her sister.

**See? That's why you shouldn't have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.*

A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.

Dear Awesome Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up I Wish I Would’ve Told You! I can’t wait for you to dive into this crazy little story!

If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

Sincerely,

PROLOGUE

ME

I  swear I didn’t mean to send him that letter.

Yes, I revised it fifty-seven times, spent eighteen days fretting over which envelope to buy, and paid for first-class postage, but I didn’t really intend to drop it into a postal box.

It was supposed to be a simple “cathartic exercise” to heal old wounds. Yet, after penning letters to every person I’d ever hurt, I set aside several blank pages for him.

I wrote down all the ways I missed him and asked if he missed me, too. I told him that whenever I’m lying in bed at night—despite whatever guy may be sharing my sheets—I can’t help but remember all the times he handled me better.

So much better.

He bent me over our high school bleachers after the home games. Made love to me in the backseat of an old-school Mustang. Devoured me in his father’s office while the mistress cooked in the kitchen downstairs.

I penned rambling paragraphs of things I never wanted to forget and others that were better left unsaid. On page seven, my teardrops marred the lines so terribly that the sentence “I was so lonely,” read like “I was so horny.”

Then again, page eight featured nothing more than a drunken drawing of the time we were thousands of miles apart during one summer, so he’ll probably interpret it the proper way.

None of those things concern me, though.

The problem is on page eleven.

Sixteen lines down, in the second to last paragraph, is a sentence that unravels every lie I’ve ever told him. It’s the one thing that will obliterate ‘us’ the moment he reads it.

The post office sent me a delivery confirmation minutes ago, so I’m standing outside our old meetup spot with gasoline and matches.

It’s almost time.

I’m prepared to set our world on fire before my words can beat me to it…

PART 1

THE LIES BEGIN…

BACK THEN

Question:

Assuming you’re a good person, if someone close to you is dating a guy you desperately want, but she isn’t willing to give him up, which of these would be your next move?

- A) Let it go. Spend your time trying to find someone else.

- B) Fight. Because you truly believe this guy belongs to you.

- C) Explain how this guy is your soulmate and hope your friend will let go of him and understand.

Answer:

None of these.

A “good person” would never be in a situation like this.

1

ME

Dear Carly Hills,

I was the one who stole your Prada purse during our junior-year class trip. I didn’t take anything out of it, though. I just tossed it into the Blackwater River because I was tired of you calling me a “Wednesday Addams looking bitch.”

Sorry.

Well, not really.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

M y date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.

We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.

“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”

I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”

“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazing strumming and fingering skills?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”

Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?

“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”

“Me too.” I nod, even though I have no intention of answering his calls after tonight.

I really need to give up on the idea of college guys being “intellectual and deep” once and for all. He’s the fifth guy I’ve dated, and although he didn't try to slip his tongue down my throat or try to impress me with a never-ending game of beer pong, his conversation was as shallow and mundane as the others.

All he did was talk about himself.

“I really need to get home.” I lean back. “I have school in the morning.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you inside?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’d hate for you to slip in all this rain.”

“I’m sure. I have to go through the back door so I won’t wake up my parents before my curfew.”

“That's the good thing about dorm rooms.” He presses a stale kiss on my forehead. “There are no parents and no one cares about curfew.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is amazing.” He wiggles his fingers. “I’ll call you on Friday so I can show you what I can do with these, okay?”

“Okay.” I vow to block his number once I get inside. “Looking forward to it.”

Stepping out into the drizzle, I wave at him before walking up my neighbor’s driveway. Then I watch until his headlights disappear around the corner before jumping the fence and running into my real backyard.

As thunder roars in the distance, I run to the oversized treehouse and unzip the duffel bag I left there hours ago.

Panicking, I pull a pair of sweatpants over my fishnet tights. Then I cover my black halter top with a hoodie.

I’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before my parents realize that the human-shaped mound on my bed is nothing more than sweaters and hoodies.

The lights in the kitchen suddenly turn on, so I slide behind the tree trunk.

Seconds later, I see my dad heading toward the fridge.

Walking like a zombie, he takes out a beer and sits at the breakfast bar. He opens a laptop and stretches his fingers, making it clear that he’ll be sitting there for a while.

Shit.

There's no way I can get through the back entrance without him spotting me, and I can’t risk getting caught sneaking out without permission again.

I’ve been grounded more than enough this year.

Thinking fast, I pick up a rock and hurl it at the parlor room window.

It misses, so I pick up another.

Then another.

It takes five tries before a rock hits the glass and ricochets off a drainage pipe.

My father immediately stands and looks around.

Come on. Come on…

He doesn’t make a move, so I pick up the biggest rock I can find and launch it.

This time, I break the glass.

My father grabs a baseball bat and runs toward the sound.

Finally!

I run to the house as fast as I can, getting soaked with each step.

My sandal strap snags on a lawn tool, and I fall face forward on the ground.

I yelp in pain as I struggle to free it from the blade, but it’s stuck, so I’m forced to leave it behind.

When I make it to the steel ivy brackets that cling to the side of the house, I hold them for dear life.

Climbing up, I make it to the second story and push up my window.

Using my bare foot for balance, I force my body over the sill and fall onto the floor.

“I made it.” I let out a sigh of relief. “I effin’ made it.”

The lights come on.

“I could’ve sworn your curfew was ten o'clock, Scarlett.” My mom is glaring at me from the bed. “Didn't we discuss this the last time I grounded you?”

I glance at the clock, tempted to tell her that it’s nine fifty-eight, but I bite my tongue.

“I also recall saying that you needed to ask to leave this house.” She crosses her arms. “You’re only seventeen years old, last time I checked. But since I clearly can't trust you, don’t make plans for the next three weekends. You're coming with me and your sister to shop for prom dresses in Nashville.”

“Can’t you drown me in our pool instead?” I roll over onto my back. “I think that would be slightly less painful for me.”

“Very funny, Scarlett.”

I groan and stand up. The mere thought of tagging along with my mom and sister for more than an hour is punishment enough.

She tosses me a dry towel and gets off my bed. “Where were you anyway?”

“Out on a date,” I confess.

“Really?” She smiles. “Who is he? Or were you with a she?”

“It was with a college guy, Mom.”

“I’m sure, hon.” She snorts. “So, you were with your weird little friend Kaizen?”

“His name is Kevin.”

“That’s what I said.” She smiles. “I like him a lot, and I love that he adores me.”

He hates you.

“Yeah, I was with Kevin,” I say, stunned that she still doesn’t know me in the slightest. I could literally tell her what I’ve been up to for the past several months and she wouldn’t believe a word.

In her eyes, I’m still the shy and awkward girl who prefers to lock herself in a room and practice music instead of making new friends.

“I was going through your closet a while ago, and it makes me wonder if you’re preparing for a slew of funerals that I don’t know about.”

“No, Mom,” I say. “I just love wearing black and grey.”

“It’s no wonder why no guys at school ever ask you out, then,” she says. “They probably think you’re the Queen of Death or something…Then again, at least you keep your makeup light and pretty.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Please walk away and don’t give me the ‘beautiful’ speech…

“You’re such a beautiful girl, Scarlett,” she says, stepping closer. “You have brains and talent, and I’m just worried that you’ll end up old, crusty, and reading romance novels to get yourself off instead of experiencing the real thing.”

“That’s not why people read romance novels…”

“Of course it is.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “They can’t find men in real life, so they have to resort to dating the ones on the page. I don’t want you to be like that. I want you to find a great guy who treats you well, takes care of you financially, and keeps your panties wet without you having to flip a page, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about sex with you…Ever.”

“I just know that you could land any guy you wanted if you were more like—”

“My sister,” I say, “I know.”

She nods, shooting me a sympathetic look. “I meant what I said about the next three weekends. Goodnight, Scarlett.”

“Goodnight.” I watch as she steps into the hallway and shuts the door.

I move closer and wait in the silence, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’s changed her old, troubling ways, but the telltale sound of her clicking through music samples begins. Then she begins speaking in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

“Soooo, I just caught one of my daughters sneaking in past her curfew, so I sat her down to have a heart-to-heart conversation. It was important that we discussed her behavior, and although I had to punish her, she'll respect me so much more as her mom for not giving her a free pass. Speaking of ‘free pass,’ when it comes to parenting teenagers…”

I put on my headphones and change clothes.

As a former mommy vlogger, my mother still has a habit of every moment, no matter how mundane content. Her life revolves around what will net her the most comments and likes, and even though the world knows her as “Sweet Southern Caroline” a woman who loves baking and has a Marry Poppins approach to life, she curses like a sailor and is more of a “Cool Mom.” (Oh, and the only thing I’ve ever seen her bake is a pre-package cookies,)

Thanks to all the money she made off her former “Caroline and the Twins” YouTube channel, we changed our last names and moved from our trailer park in Ohio to an estate in The South. We live in a fancy suburb where everyone owns at least four acres, and attend a school system that ranks in the top five of the nation.

It’s supposed to feel like a “prize,” but the past few years have felt more like a punishment…

BY THE TIME I open the door, my mom is long gone, so I head downstairs to the kitchen. I'm hoping I can persuade my dad to make her cancel the cruel and unusual shopping punishment, but he's not sitting at the bar anymore.

I pour myself a glass of milk and chug it down. As I’m opening a bag of Oreos, I hear a high-pitched laugh coming from outside.

Ugh, Tully…

Even though we were born six minutes apart, me and my sister couldn’t possibly be any more different. I analyze our birth certificates and call the hospital for verification on our birthday every year.

We tolerate each other's presence like strangers who share a long transatlantic flight. Cordial when we cross paths, a light conversation here and there, but never anything beyond the surface.

Her dreams of being a top influencer have come true, and she has ten million followers who buy into the sugarcoated version of her life, numerous sponsors who’ve already paid her way to college, and most importantly, a mother who knows exactly how to help her build her “brand.”

Peering through the blinds, I see that she’s not alone. She’s sitting next to her boyfriend, Easton Rush.

I suck in a breath at the sight of him in a white T-shirt that clings to his muscles, at his perfect pearly white smile that makes my heart race.

He’s the star player of the football team, the sexiest guy to ever exist in this small town. With his sinewed muscles, stunning ocean blue eyes, and a face courtesy of a maker who said, "Give me fucking perfection,” he makes grown women give him a second glance.

Leaning against his shoulder, Tully holds up her cell phone.

“So, we just got back from Gayle’s Diner and I bought a ton of stuff that I’m making him try tonight,” she says. “Since everyone swears by the waffle bites and custom creams, I can’t wait to see what he thinks!”

She runs a hand through his ink-black hair before turning off the video. Then she looks at him. Do you want to eat chocolate or vanilla first?”

“Chocolate.”

“Vanilla it is, then.”

He smiles and picks up a tiny silver tin, while Tully places a spoonful of cream onto his tongue.

I watch as she films him trying flavor after flavor, forcing my blood to boil with every dollop.

Every time she playfully runs her fingers through his hair, I think about my fingers touching him there better.

Each time he laughs, I can hear the strain and the fakeness. Not the authentic full-throated one he has with me.

And in the rare moments that he places his fingers under her chin to adjust the angle of the camera, I think about where those fingers have tried to go with me, where they’ve trailed against my skin and made me lose all consciousness.

I hate this feeling, and I know that I should stop watching and walk away, but I can’t.

I hate dating other guys, searching for someone who can make me feel even a tenth of what Easton does.

Stepping back, I return to my room and lock the window. I draw the blinds shut and close the curtains. Then I curl into a ball on my bed, put in my earbuds, and ignore the wetness that stains my pillowcase.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, but later I hear a familiar sound outside my window.

Tap! Tap! Tappp!

It’s him, but I don’t move.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I remain still.

I feel my phone vibrating next to my head, and then he taps again, but I can’t face looking at him tonight.

I just can’t.

In addition to accepting that the college boys aren’t worth my time, I need to accept that none of them will ever be able to wean my heart away from the boy who’s owned it for over a year.

2

ME

Dear Heather Adair,

I once saw you shaving your head in the locker room before school, but I didn’t think anything of it…Until I caught you doing it again. I also found out that the “clinic in Memphis” you incessantly mentioned (whenever you weren’t in class for days here or there) doesn’t exist. You didn’t need to fake cancer to make friends. Everyone liked you already.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“P lease tell me that there are some mornings when you wake up and say, ‘There’s no way I’m related to my identical twin sister.’” My best friend Kevin plops down next to me in the cafeteria.

“I say that every morning. Why do you ask?”

“Because apparently, she’s kicking off her homecoming campaign today and it’s far worse than what she did last year.”

“Nothing is worse than last year, Kevin.” I shake my head at the thought. “Nothing.”

“Want to bet me one of your cherry sour belts?”

I hold up the packet of my favorite candy, unsure of if a bet is worth that much.

Last year, my sister enlisted the help of every cheerleader, basketball player, and football player to fill our school’s hallways with pink and white “Tully Crane for Queen” balloons.

Her post about it went viral within an hour.

She won the crown unanimously.

“She’s going with a Cinderella theme this time,” Kevin snatches the candy away from me. “She’s also bribing people for votes.”

“She thinks she’s too good to beg,” I say. “There’s no way.”

“Speak of the devil.” He smiles. “See for yourself.”

I look over my shoulder as Tully steps into the cafeteria, dressed in a sparkling pink ball gown that exposes the top of her C-cup breasts. At her side are two of her friends, dressed like fairy godmothers and waving glitter wands.

She’s always been a master when it comes to commanding attention, and this moment is no exception. Everyone is staring at her like she’s some type of celebrity and she’s loving every second of it.

“Are you voting for her?” I ask.

“No, I’m voting for Chelsea Hilton.”

“The girl who outed you in middle school?”

“She did me a favor.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I never vote. I’m sure she’ll win regardless.”

“Oh, me too. I just have to do my part in making sure it won’t be unanimous this time.”

I laugh as Tully makes her way to our table.

“Good afternoon, Sir Kevin and Lady Scarlett!” She pulls a handful of glitter from her purse and tosses it over us. “The homecoming season is officially upon us.”

Her godmother friends hold out two bright pink lollipops that feature her face, but neither me nor Kevin make a move to grab them.

“Make your senior year un-dull by voting for your girl, Tulles!” She smiles. “A vote for me would not only be tasty, but it also won’t be waste-y!”

We stare at her.

“Ugh. Just vote for me, okay?” She lowers her voice. “Why haven’t you responded to my text message yet?”

“My phone’s in my locker,” I say. “I didn’t know you sent me anything.”

“Well, I did. So, hurry up and read it. It’s important.”

“Why can’t you tell me what it is now?”

“Because it’s personal, Scarlett.” She clasps my hand and looks into my eyes. “It’s life or death level important, and I desperately need your help.”

From her touch, I can feel her pulse racing, and for a split second, it feels like we're seven-year-old girls again, partners in crime, willing to do whatever for each other without question.

Back when we were friends…

She lets go and clears her throat. “Since you’re editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook, I expect you to name me as Most Likely to be a Supermodel. It’s only fair since that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Tully, I’ve told you before that’s not a real category.”

“Well, make it one.” She scoffs. “If you want people to pay for a yearbook, you need to make sure people like me are featured as much as possible. No one cares about anything else.”

Welp. At least she ruined the sister moment quicker than usual this time.

“Okay, onto the next set of voters.” She serves me and Kevin a princess wave before walking away. Her minions follow her lead to bribe more peasants.

“Okay, remind me.” Kevin sighs. “How many days do we have left until graduation?”

“Two hundred and sixty seven days and three hundred eighty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes,” I say. “Do you want to know the seconds?”

AFTER FIFTH PERIOD, I pull my cell phone from my locker and check the text messages.

TULLY

Okay sooooo when Mom & Dad go to Aunt Jane’s wedding, I’m throwing a house party. Since you’re good at decor and shit, I’ll need you to help set up so it can be amazing.

Oh, and we should consider this as our early birthday party sooo I guess you can invite your friends too! (Just a few though…)

I roll my eyes.

I should’ve known it wasn’t really life or death.

The locker on my left suddenly slams shut and a familiar, intoxicating woodsy pine scent I love surrounds me. It’s the scent that clings to all my sheets, the one that lingers for weeks and makes me wish it never had to leave.

Easton…

I avoid looking at him and rummage in my locker, pretending to search for something.

I can feel him staring, then glaring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but I don’t.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he says, his voice low.

I say nothing. I flip through a chemistry book. Then I pick up a pen and click it a few times.

“I know you hear me talking to you…”

I hum a Chopin refrain and rotate the violin case behind the clarinet.

My heart is beating so loudly that I’m convinced he can hear it.

“Scarlett…” He slips an arm around my waist and spins me around.

As he releases me, I feel the urge to press my hands against his chest, to kiss his lips and tell him how much I missed him last night, but I don’t.

I can’t…

“Is there something I can help you with this afternoon, Easton Rush?”

“I believe so,” he says. “I have a problem.”

“You only have one?”

“I wanted to see a certain someone last night.” He paused. “But her window was locked.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “It was.”

“I guess I must’ve forgotten to leave it open.”

“You also ignored all ten of my calls.”

“You should’ve gotten the hint after the fifth one.”

“Why do you have to do this shit to me every week?” He gazes at my lips. “Does arguing with me every other day turn you on?”

“Even if it did—and it doesn’t—it’s not like there’s anything you could do about it.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I’m coming over around seven tonight. I need you to leave the window open.”

“I might not be there.” I cross my arms. “I have a date.”

“With who?”

“A guy I can actually go out in public with,” I say. “He’s also in college, so he’s far more mature. He knows all about classical music and shit.”

“So do I, Scarlett.”

“Not like he does. He’s on another level than you.”

“He plays piano?”

“He does. Far better than you’ll ever be able to.”

A slow smirk crosses his lips, as if he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He moves his head closer, nearly pressing it against my forehead, making my breath catch in my throat.

“Why do you keep wasting your time going out with these guys who aren’t me?” He loops a finger under my necklace, lifting the petal-shaped charm he gave me last month. “It’s not like you’re sleeping with them.”

“I’m not sleeping with you either.”

“Until you come to your senses.”

“Are you planning on asking my sister to join us, then?”

“I haven’t fucked your sister.” He looks offended. “You know better than that.”

“Does she?”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just in a relationship with her.”

“We’re not discussing this right now.” He looks like he wants to kiss me right here, like he wants to silence the heavy beating in my chest once and for all, but he can’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

Too much is at stake.

“Easton!” One of his teammates calls from down the hall. “Come on, man! We’re running late!”

He steps back, looking me over one last time. “Leave your window unlocked for me tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Try me and fucking see…”

3

ME

Dear Aidan Mills,

I cheated off all your papers in AP History class, and I’m really sorry about that… I don’t know why Mr. Meyers gave me higher grades than you.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

T he worst part of marching band rehearsal is being forced to wear our full cotton uniforms in the sweltering Southern heat. Then again, maybe it’s the fact that our band practices are open to the public. And since there’s not much to do in our small town, random people show up to watch and shout commentary from the bleachers.

If I hear someone shout, “What’s Tully Crane doing down there in the band?” one more time, I’m going to scream…

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major whistles. “All halt!”

I stop marching in unison with everyone else. Then the whistle sounds again, commanding us all to face forward.

“Trumpets, you came in a half rest late during the fight song, but the tubas thankfully saved your asses!” He yells from a ladder. “Woodwinds, perfect as always.”

I force a smile. It’s not like we get a prize for consistency.

“We need to be one hundred percent in sync for our first Friday night,” he says. “It’s the season opener, and you know the media will be watching our football team like hawks so we need to put on our best show.”

“One of the flute player’s shoe strings is untied!” Someone from the bleachers yells. “She also missed a step when y’all were playing Sweet Caroline!”

I bite my tongue and look to the sidelines.

I spot one of my cutest classmates—Edward Johns—wrapping an arm around his long-term girlfriend. He’s kissing her cheek and whispering something against her skin, making her cheeks flush pink.

Everyone knows that she belongs to him, that there’s no point in trying to steal her way. The two of them are an unbreakable unit, just like Easton and Tully. Where one goes, the other follows. If you see one, the other is a few feet away.

What I wouldn’t give for me and Easton to have that.

In public.

I could add up all our private moments, and they would pale in comparison to what everyone else sees with him and Tully. What their millions of followers obsess over daily on social media.

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major’s whistle sounds, forcing me to look away from what I desperately want.

As I march into the next formation, I decide that I don’t feel like settling for sloppy seconds today. I’m not the slightest bit worried about Easton’s threat from earlier.

I’m spending the night at Kevin’s house.

Easton will just have to deal with it…

4

EASTON

Later that night

T he crescent shaped night-light in Scarlett’s room isn’t glowing for me. It’s her silent signal that lets me know that she’s home, that I’m welcome to come into the place that’s become my refuge over the past year and a half. The place that makes me forget just how fucked up my life is in the dark corners no one else can see.

Maybe she’s sleeping.

I cross the backyard and climb the ivy brackets that hang under her window. Then I tap on the glass.

No answer.

I tap again, a bit harder this time.

Nothing.

Peering inside, I spot her curled under my grey blanket, so I send her a text.

Hey. I’m here. Open your window.

You know I don’t sleep well without you…

The bulge on her bed doesn’t move, so I call her.

“Hey there,” she answers on the first ring.

“I’m here. Open the window for me.”

“Okay, hold on.” She pauses. “I just did. Anything else?”

“Stop fucking with me Scarlett.” I roll my eyes. “Get out of bed and open the window.”

“I’m literally staring out of an open window right now, Easton.”

“The window in your bedroom.”

“Oh.” There’s a smile in her voice. “That window. Well, that’s kind of impossible for me to do right now unless you want to tell me how to bend time and space.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time….”

“I’m at Kevin’s house,” she says. “We’re working on a group project.”

“You two don’t have any classes together last time I checked.”

“It’s a duet for the band.”

“He plays the trombone,” I say. “I doubt there’s a clarinet duet with that.”

“Shows how much you know about music.” She’s definitely testing me. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good night.”

She hangs up before I can say another word, and I call her again, but she doesn’t answer.

Grabbing the edge of the pane, I attempt to push it up in hopes that maybe she left it unlocked, but it doesn’t budge.

I’m tempted to break the damn glass, but a loud rustling below breaks my thoughts.

“Easton? Is that you?” It’s Tully.

Shit. I turn around and stare at her. I’ve never been caught coming here before.

“My room is on the other side, genius!” She smiles. “You clearly got knocked around too hard at practice today. Come down before Scarlett wakes up and pepper sprays you.”

“Right.” I climb down, and she immediately hugs me.

“You know, you don’t have to go all ‘Romeo & Juliet’ to convince me to finally fuck you, Easton.”

“Come again?”

“I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all, but don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough for sex?” She stands on her tiptoes, threading her fingers through my hair. “Everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway, so I don’t see why you’re dragging out the inevitable. I’ve never gone this long without a guy fucking me…”

I blink.

To every other guy at school, Tully is the epitome of the phrase “sexy as fuck.” Her dark brown hair is always pulled into a perfect high bun and she knows exactly how to make minds wander with her collection of tightly-fitted dresses and skirts.

When we started dating the summer before our junior year, I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that we didn’t have much in common except popularity, but I figured we could still have fun together.

We created a joint TikTok account and started posting random “When your boyfriend plays football and you’re a cheerleader” type of things, and then one night we went viral.

Then we went viral again.

And again and again.

Before we knew it, the joint account had three million followers and sponsors lining up to pay us money that I desperately needed.

It was easy money, I enjoyed being around her, but then her sister was paired with me for an AP English project, and within seconds of her saying, “I hope you don’t think I give a fuck that you’re Mr. Popular because you’re just as average as all these other guys.” I liked her.

“I have my reasons,” I finally say to Tully.

“Care to share at least one of them?”

“They’re complicated.”

“Of course.” She smiles, pressing a kiss on my cheek. “I’m making spiked hot chocolate with my mom’s brandy since I need to get some sleep. Want some?”

“Sure,” I say. “Double the shots in mine…”

5

ME

Dear Harriet Rayner,

There were so many days when I wished we could’ve been friends since we shared a love of all things goth and gore. I was thrilled that you invited me to your exclusive Halloween dinner, but there’s a reason why I never showed…I discovered that you were @MissGreyHighAnonymous who spread rumors on social media about everyone at our school. You hurt a shit ton of people, including me.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“D o you really need to rehearse that concerto again?” Kevin crosses his arms in the living room.

“I do, if I want to make sure it’s perfect in time for my recital.”

“I mean, do you need to rehearse it here?” He laughs, gently prying the violin bow from my fingers. “It’s been perfect for the past several weeks. Trust me.”

“Sounds like you’re about to kick me out.”

“I’m not.” He sets my bow on the mantle. “But I’d like to watch our show with the pizza instead of your music. No offense.”

“None taken.” I place the violin into its case and crack open a soda. “You don’t have to pretend like you haven’t watched the next episode without me, by the way.”

“Good!” He laughs. “I’ll still rewatch it with you, though.”

The doorbell rings and he picks up the remote.

“You’re turn to pay for our nourishment,” he says. “I paid the last two times.”

“Of course.” I grab a few bills from my purse and head to the door.

The pizza guy isn’t waiting for me when I open it, though.

It’s Easton.

What the…

“Hello, Scarlett.” He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. “Is now a good time?”

“A good time for what?”

“For us to have a conversation,” he says. “You clearly wanted to try me by not being at home, so I came here to talk.”

I step back, somewhat stunned by the darkness in his eyes. We’ve made each other mad before, but I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Make sure he gives us extra parmesan packets!” Kevin calls out. “The crushed red peppers, too!”

“So, is now not a good time?” Easton says.

“It’s really not.” I motion for him to lower his voice. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We’re talking now.” He grabs my hand again, pulling me to the far side of the porch.

“Easton, I swear to God, I—” My sentence ends on his lips, and my back hits the hot bricks.

He grips my hips as he kisses me harder, making me lose my breath. Then he bites down on my bottom lip.

“I know you’re trying to make a point about us,” he whispers against my mouth, “so congratulations. You’ve made it.”

“What I’m doing right now has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay.” He kisses me again, making me regret not letting him in last night. “You also know what tomorrow is for me.”

I say nothing.

“And regardless of how mad you are at me, I know you would never pull this shit on that day. Or am I wrong?”

I say nothing, because he isn’t. Because even during our worst moments, he’s always been there if I needed him.

A red car suddenly pulls into the driveway and the delivery guy steps out.

We watch him walk toward us with a pizza bag.

“Two extra large pepperoni pizzas, a medium order of breadsticks, and a large coke, right?” He steps in front of us.

“Yes.” I finally turn away from Easton. “With parmesan and crushed red pepper packets.”

“Got it. It’s forty two dollars and fifty two cents.”

I hold out the money, but Easton pushes my hand away.

“I’ve got it,” he says, paying for it. “You can keep the change.”

The delivery guy smiles and then tilts his head to the side. “Easton Rush?”

“Yes.”

“Aw man. My dad talks about you all the time.” He hands me the food. “And my little sister is obsessed with ya’lls TikTok account, Tully. Your name is Tully, right?”

“Yeah.” I feign a smile. “Thanks.”

“Good luck this season dude!” He walks away without another word, and Easton waits until he pulls away before pressing a kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more, but Kevin suddenly calls my name.

“Scarlett, are you dying out there or something?” He calls. “Scarlett?”

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’ll um…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Easton presses one final kiss on my lips before walking away.

6

EASTON

I  park my car outside the school gym at five thirty in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I know better than to try.

Stepping out, I grab my bag and head toward the side door.

Since joining the football team, I’ve become friends with the chief janitor and he always texts to see if he needs to leave an entrance open for me.

I twist the knob and it gives way, but before I can disappear into the locker room, a familiar voice drifts down the hall.

“Is that you, Reed Hinson?” It’s my coach.

“No, Coach.”

“Then who the hell is it?” He shouts louder. “This complex is off limits until seven o’clock unless you’re on my staff or a team captain!”

I roll my eyes and head to his doorway.

“It’s me, Coach.”

“Oh.” He puts on his glasses. “Fate must be on my side today. Have a seat so we can talk.”

I hold back a sigh. “Can this wait until later, Coach?”

“No.” He points to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I set down my bag and oblige.

He stares at me for several moments, rocking back and forth in his squeaky chair.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll hurry up and say something, but all he does is rock.

“If you’re not about to say anything, can I—”

“Are you using the best brand of condoms?” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Are you covering your cock properly while you’re screwing these girls or what?”

I should’ve just stayed in my car…

“You do know what condoms are, don’t you son?” He narrows his eyes. “I gave you my sex talk when you were a freshman, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately. With all due respect though, Coach, where the hell is this coming from?”

“I was like you back in my day.” He clasps his hands. “I mean, I wasn’t the top ranked high school quarterback in the nation or anything, but I was popular enough to make the sports news. Very popular. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does…”

“You know what doesn’t feel good?” He stops rocking and leans forward. “A surprise baby by some gold digger who knows, just knows, you’re destined to do big things in college and will be huge in the NFL. I don’t want that to happen to you, so I want you to make sure you’re wrapping it up.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not only do I want you to wrap it up,” he says, “But I want you to make sure you carry something around whenever you’re done and put it to use.”

He opens his drawer and pulls out a small stack of red packets. “These will fit in your wallet behind the condoms.”

“What are those?”

“Hot sauce packets,” he says. “Whenever you take off a condom, squeeze some of this into it so the girl can’t go behind your back and put your semen to use.”

What the fuck?

I stand to my feet. “I’m good, Coach.”

“No, trust me.” He pushes the packets closer. “The closer you get to announcing whatever college you’re attending in the spring, the closer the gold diggers are to sinking their claws into your future.”

“I’m going to leave now.”

“I smelled the scent of female desperation in the air once this school year started, once ESPNU started running those long promos on you.” He’s officially talking to himself, not me. “The stench is unmistakable.”

“Are you taking new meds, Coach?”

“I don’t want to be invited to your baby shower for at least ten years,” he says, staring into space. “I wish I could go back in time and have someone say that to me…”

I turn around and head to the door.

“Wait, Easton!”

I look over my shoulder. “Yes, Coach?”

He picks up a blue envelope and holds it out for me. “Happy birthday son. I never forget.”

“Thank you.” I take the envelope from him and leave his office, shutting the door behind me.

“Easton?” Someone else calls my name.

Fuck… I turn around and spot the offensive coordinator. “Yes, Mr. Hinson?”

“I wanted to make sure I caught you before I looked at some film.” He hands me a small gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He pats my shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not the next best All-American quarterback. You have an incredible game, a beautiful supportive family, and good looks and shit, too.”

I nod. “Will do, sir.”

Turning away before I can be distracted again, I walk down the hall and into the team’s state of the art locker room.

I check all the rows to make sure I’m the only person here. Then I open my bag and take out a framed picture that I can only face once a year.

My mother used to come here with me during this ungodly hour, armed with cupcakes and candles like I was still in kindergarten. She’d also bring along a piano keyboard and request that I play a Chopin piece from memory.

Even though I’d long given up a chance at being a musician, she was proud of me for choosing “a sport that might actually pay your bills someday.”

I run my finger along the edge of her face.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes me put away the frame. Before I can ask who else is interrupting my morning, my father rounds the corner, holding up a brown bag.

“I hope you won’t mind that I came here,” he says. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I motion for him to sit next to me.

I don’t mention that he reeks of alcohol.

“Your mother was a really great woman.” He hands me a box of waffles. “Loyal to a fault.”

“She never lied to me.” His voice cracks. “Not one time.”

“She didn’t lie to me either.”

“Very loyal.”

“Yes,” I say. “Very loyal.”

We eat our food in silence, swallowing it down with our forced lies.

We’ve never discussed the truth.

It hurts too damn much…

My mother died on her way to our family vacation last year.

She was in the passenger seat of a red Corvette that didn’t belong to my father.

It was our church pastor’s.

The accident report revealed that they were half-naked, that the backseat floor was littered with condoms.

At the hospital, the doctors gave me a plastic bag of her things, and while I was texting her friends and families the news, I realized that most of the names in her phone belonged to other men with nicer cars than Corvettes.

My life had already been hanging by a thread, but that was the week it finally snapped.

The same week I met Scarlett…

“Well…” My father downs the last bite of his waffle and stands to his feet. “I know I’m not her, but Happy Birthday son. I’ve got to get my rehab meeting. I’m one hundred percent sober now, you know.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “I know.”

Later that afternoon

Are you at home yet?

SCARLETT

I will be in an hour. Late practice. Some idiot decided to play a game with the fire alarm today.

How unfortunate…You’re the only person who hasn’t wished me ‘Happy Birthday’ today.

SCARLETT

Because you told me that you prefer to celebrate it on a different day…Have you changed your mind about that?

Not at all. Call me when you’re heading home.

I TOSS my football pads on the floor before slumping onto the living room couch. Trying to kill time, I flip through the channels, but nothing catches my attention.

I scroll down my contacts and call my best guy friend Jeremiah.

“What’s up, Shitface?” he answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?”

“Terribly.” I shut my eyes. “I’m wishing you were kissing me right now.”

He laughs. “I hope you’re not trying to use the birthday sympathy card to get out of going with me to the gulf this weekend.”

“Never.”

“Good. What do you really want then?”

“A distraction,” I admit. “At least half an hour if you can…”

“Of course.” There’s a smile in his voice. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to tell you just how overrated you are.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re not as attractive as everyone claims,” he says. “There are plenty of other actors in Hollywood who look far better.”

“Are you saying I look good enough to belong in Hollywood, though?”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Laughing, I shut my eyes and lean back on the couch, listening to him serve me lies until I fall asleep.

I’M DREAMING of throwing epic passes at The University of Alabama’s stadium when something wet touches my thigh.

Confused, I look up at the sky, but it’s bright blue. No sign of an oncoming storm anywhere.

“Easton! Easton!” The crowd cheers my name as my teammate rushes into the end zone.

The wetness touches my thigh again, leaving a strange trail, and I open my eyes.

Scarlett is kneeling between my legs, her fingers pressed against my briefs.

She looks up at me and I smile.

Then I realize she’s Tully.

What the…

“Hey there.” She smiles and presses another kiss against my skin. “Happy birthday.”

Fuck. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you a birthday blowjob.” She smiles. “Don’t you want one?”

Only if it was from your sister. I clear my throat before those words slip from my mouth.

“Exactly.” She presses her palms on my knees. “Lay back and let me finish.”

“No, don’t.” I clasp her wrists and stand up, moving around her. “I just want to be alone today.”

“Ugh. Seriously?” She opens a bag, pulling out a champagne bottle and some type of dessert tray. “I bribed a guy to get us some top shelf alcohol and I even bought you birthday candles to go with this custom cookie cake.”

I sigh. “I really just want to be alone today, Tully.”

“But I’m your girlfriend.” She stands.

“I’m aware,” I say. “It’s not personal.”

“It feels like it.” She walks over to me. “Why can’t I be here with you? Like, on all days, why not today?”

“Tully…”

“Save it.” She looks into my eyes. “When you stopped letting me come over months ago because you claimed you didn’t sleep well with me in your bed, I bought that.”

“That’s the truth.”

“When you said, ‘I feel like we need to work on being better friends in our relationship’ I bought that bullshit, too.”

“That’s still the truth…”

“What about my truth, then?” Her voice cracks. “Like, I get the social media thing with the sponsors can be annoying, but we both signed all those deals and they pay us pretty well.”

“It has nothing to do with social media, Tully.”

“I also understand that you’re under a lot of stress since every college is trying to sink their claws into you, and everyone in this town thinks you’re some sort of celebrity, but…What about me?” She sighs. “What happened to the guy I was dating last year?”

I swallow, knowing that she could never handle the honest truth. She’s a drama queen through and through, and the only people who exist in her world are those who serve her best interests.

“I don’t really have anyone close in my life,” she says. “My mom loves her vlogging shit more than anything, my dad loves that money, and my friends are…” Her voice trails off. “I have friends, and I want to have you, too.”

I hold back a sigh.

She didn’t mention Scarlett.

She never does…

“I’ll let you have your birthday because well, it is your birthday.” She presses her hand against my chest. “But we need to talk within the next few days because I need to know that you still like me as much as I like you.”

She kisses my cheek. “Save the champagne and cookies for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, stopping myself from making a promise I don’t want to keep.

I grab her hand and lead her outside, to the silver BMW she supposedly “shares” with Scarlett. I’ve yet to see Scarlett behind the wheel.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, shutting the door.

“I’ll hold you to that.” She blows me a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

I stand in my driveway long after she’s gone, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I grab the keys to my dad’s car and head to the only place I want to be.

7

ME

Dear Elliot Tipton,

In debate class, you once argued that “parents who put their kids on the internet for content are selfish people who fuck them up for life.” I told you how wrong you were, how I grew up in a family like that and I turned out just fine.

You were right, though….

One hundred percent.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

I  look like a poor version of Little Bo Peep.

All I’m missing is a flock of sheep and a golden herder stick.

“Stop frowning, Scarlett!” My mom fluffs the white petticoat under my pink dress. “This is a thirty-thousand-dollar period piece. You should be thrilled to wear something so beautiful.”

“The corset is too tight, Mom,” I say. “I can barely breathe.”

“Nonsense!” She grabs the strings and pulls them in even tighter. “Now, let’s see what we can do about these wayward ruffles.”

I suck in what will probably be the last breath of my life, and wince as she stabs my skin with a pushpin.

Since I had the misfortune of beating Tully home from school today, I’m standing in for her latest sponsorship fitting.

“We’re sensing that the Renaissance era will be making a fashionable comeback in the near future, and your daughter’s online persona truly fits in line with our brand.” A woman in a light lavender suit, who looks like she’s descended from English royalty, sips tea in our living room.

“She has such lovely posture and bone structure.” The woman smiles at me. “That dress truly comes to life on you, Miss Crane.”

“Say, thank you very much, Scarlett.” My mother chides.

“Thank you, Miss. Very much.”

“Pardon me asking.” The woman sets down her tea cup and walks over to us. “But are you sure you don’t want to join your sister for this campaign? I know you don’t have as many followers as she does, but if you both did videos on her account, I’m sure our marketing department would negotiate a higher payout.”

“She’s not interested.” “I’m not interested.” My mother and I say in unison.

“Not even for triple the amount?” She smiles.

“No.” “She’ll think about it.” We speak in unison again, but our answers aren’t in sync this time.

“I thought so.” The woman smooths the lace sleeves of my dress. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as social media, influencers, or lifestyle bloggers.”

“I’m sure life was much better back then…”

“You kids these days can completely bypass college and build immense wealth with the tap of your fingertips,” she continues. “You can make connections all around the world without ever leaving your living room.”

“They have no idea how good they have it.” My mother chimes in. “I’m hoping Scarlett eventually takes advantage of her good looks and charm.”

“I hope so, too.” The woman picks up a footstool and motions for me to step on top of it. “Let’s finish the rest of the fitting, shall we?”

I tune out their conversation as they poke and prod me with needles and make notes on measuring tape.

When they’re done, I head upstairs with the contract and slip into my bedroom.

Easton is already inside, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Something funny, Birthday Boy?” I ask.

“I’m not used to seeing you in bright pink.”

“Oh.” I look down at the dress. “Don’t get used to it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Being a stand-in for Tully.” I shrug. “I was planning to call when I finished and got out of this thing.”

“Let me help you.” He walks over and motions for me to turn around.

Staring at him through the mirror, I watch as he unzips the side of my dress. He slides his finger along the sash that’s tied at the front and slowly loosens it.

With his eyes on mine, he saves the pearl necklace I’m wearing for last, unclasping it and pressing a kiss against the back of my neck.

Every nerve in my body comes to life, my heart skips a beat.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me there,” I say.

“You’re right.” He kisses my neck again. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s against my ‘I don’t want to go there with you’ rules.”

“You were supposed to rewrite some of those…” He lets the pearls drop to the floor. “When exactly are you getting around to that?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised.”

He sighs and gently grabs my waist, spinning me around to face him.

“I hate that I didn’t meet you first,” he says.

“Would that have changed anything?”

“Yes.”

I want to believe that, but hypotheticals have never been my strong suit. It’s hard for me to see the shades in anything; it’s always black and white.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses my lips.

Then he lets me go and I change into my set of pajamas.

I climb into bed first and he follows, pulling me against his chest.

He toys with the strands of my hair, and I inhale his scent.

“We need to find a new meetup spot for our weekends at some point,” he says.

“What’s wrong with you dad’s off road shack?”

“The ‘for sale by owner’ sign isn’t there anymore. I think someone might’ve bought it and he hasn’t told me yet.”

“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “I stole it and tossed it into a dumpster so no one would have the number to call about it anymore.”

He smiles. “You know that’s a crime, right?”

“Are you planning to report me?”

“I might.”

He laughs. “Hypothetical question. If you got arrested for something you did, but the police weren’t convinced that you did it, what would you do?”

“Go about my life.”

“You’re supposed to wait for three options before responding, Scarlett.”

“Not when I already know the answer.” I smile. “What would you do?”

“Probably the same thing.”

We both laugh and he slides his hands under me, rolling me on top of him.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“I’m serious. You can’t laugh and you have to promise.”

“Okay, Scarlett,” he says. “I promise.”

“I dozed off during band practice today,” I say. “I had this long dream of you picking me up after school and us riding off into the sunset.”

“What exactly is funny about that?”

“We drove all the way to New York, but it took us two weeks to get there because every time we saw a sign for a beautiful hotel we stopped and you went down on me.”

“I’m not seeing what’s funny.” He trails a finger against my lips. “I think about eating your pussy all the time.”

My cheeks heat. “Oh.”

“I really need to revise the terms of us a lot sooner than ‘soon,’” he says, straining. “Please.”

“Okay.”

His fingers leave my lips and I suddenly feel bereft.

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever, communicating without saying a word, both wishing—like always—that we’d met each other first.

My phone buzzes at exactly midnight, and I lean over him to turn it off.

“Happy birthday, Easton.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.” He pauses. “My mom lied to me, to me and my dad. The entire time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just promise that you’ll never do that.”

“Tell you sorry?”

“Lie.”

I nod. “I promise.”

“Good.” He pulls me into his arms. “Go to sleep."

PART 2

THE LIES KEEP SPINNING

Question:

If you knew that you’d suffer no consequences for holding onto a secret that hurts someone you love, what would you do?

- A) Keep it to yourself. There’s no point in hurting someone for no reason.

- B) Invite them out to a public place and tell them. Honesty is always key. No matter what.

- C) Write it in a letter with as many details as possible to get it off your chest. Send it later to clear your conscience.

Answer:

A.

But not because you are concerned with hurting them.

You don’t want to hurt yourself.

SYNOPSIS

WARNING: DO NOT READ THE BLURB FOR THIS BOOK.

It's better if you go in BLIND, trust me…

But if you *have* to know what you're getting yourself into, you can read the synopsis below.

She lied to me.

Not once, not twice.

This entire time.

To her, I was the "cliche Mr. Popular," the star quarterback who owned Friday nights.

To me, she was the goth geek in the bleachers, playing clarinet in the band.

Despite our differences, I climbed through her window every night.

Even when we started college.

She was the only person who truly understood me, and I couldn't stay away from her if I tried.

Our connection was hot and toxic, but we never dared to put out the flames.

We fell too hard, too fast…

And this wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I was already dating someone else.

Her sister.

**See? That's why you shouldn't have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.*

A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.

Dear Awesome Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up I Wish I Would’ve Told You! I can’t wait for you to dive into this crazy little story!

If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

Sincerely,

PROLOGUE

ME

I  swear I didn’t mean to send him that letter.

Yes, I revised it fifty-seven times, spent eighteen days fretting over which envelope to buy, and paid for first-class postage, but I didn’t really intend to drop it into a postal box.

It was supposed to be a simple “cathartic exercise” to heal old wounds. Yet, after penning letters to every person I’d ever hurt, I set aside several blank pages for him.

I wrote down all the ways I missed him and asked if he missed me, too. I told him that whenever I’m lying in bed at night—despite whatever guy may be sharing my sheets—I can’t help but remember all the times he handled me better.

So much better.

He bent me over our high school bleachers after the home games. Made love to me in the backseat of an old-school Mustang. Devoured me in his father’s office while the mistress cooked in the kitchen downstairs.

I penned rambling paragraphs of things I never wanted to forget and others that were better left unsaid. On page seven, my teardrops marred the lines so terribly that the sentence “I was so lonely,” read like “I was so horny.”

Then again, page eight featured nothing more than a drunken drawing of the time we were thousands of miles apart during one summer, so he’ll probably interpret it the proper way.

None of those things concern me, though.

The problem is on page eleven.

Sixteen lines down, in the second to last paragraph, is a sentence that unravels every lie I’ve ever told him. It’s the one thing that will obliterate ‘us’ the moment he reads it.

The post office sent me a delivery confirmation minutes ago, so I’m standing outside our old meetup spot with gasoline and matches.

It’s almost time.

I’m prepared to set our world on fire before my words can beat me to it…

PART 1

THE LIES BEGIN…

BACK THEN

Question:

Assuming you’re a good person, if someone close to you is dating a guy you desperately want, but she isn’t willing to give him up, which of these would be your next move?

- A) Let it go. Spend your time trying to find someone else.

- B) Fight. Because you truly believe this guy belongs to you.

- C) Explain how this guy is your soulmate and hope your friend will let go of him and understand.

Answer:

None of these.

A “good person” would never be in a situation like this.

1

ME

Dear Carly Hills,

I was the one who stole your Prada purse during our junior-year class trip. I didn’t take anything out of it, though. I just tossed it into the Blackwater River because I was tired of you calling me a “Wednesday Addams looking bitch.”

Sorry.

Well, not really.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

M y date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.

We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.

“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”

I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”

“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazing strumming and fingering skills?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”

Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?

“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”

“Me too.” I nod, even though I have no intention of answering his calls after tonight.

I really need to give up on the idea of college guys being “intellectual and deep” once and for all. He’s the fifth guy I’ve dated, and although he didn't try to slip his tongue down my throat or try to impress me with a never-ending game of beer pong, his conversation was as shallow and mundane as the others.

All he did was talk about himself.

“I really need to get home.” I lean back. “I have school in the morning.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you inside?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’d hate for you to slip in all this rain.”

“I’m sure. I have to go through the back door so I won’t wake up my parents before my curfew.”

“That's the good thing about dorm rooms.” He presses a stale kiss on my forehead. “There are no parents and no one cares about curfew.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is amazing.” He wiggles his fingers. “I’ll call you on Friday so I can show you what I can do with these, okay?”

“Okay.” I vow to block his number once I get inside. “Looking forward to it.”

Stepping out into the drizzle, I wave at him before walking up my neighbor’s driveway. Then I watch until his headlights disappear around the corner before jumping the fence and running into my real backyard.

As thunder roars in the distance, I run to the oversized treehouse and unzip the duffel bag I left there hours ago.

Panicking, I pull a pair of sweatpants over my fishnet tights. Then I cover my black halter top with a hoodie.

I’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before my parents realize that the human-shaped mound on my bed is nothing more than sweaters and hoodies.

The lights in the kitchen suddenly turn on, so I slide behind the tree trunk.

Seconds later, I see my dad heading toward the fridge.

Walking like a zombie, he takes out a beer and sits at the breakfast bar. He opens a laptop and stretches his fingers, making it clear that he’ll be sitting there for a while.

Shit.

There's no way I can get through the back entrance without him spotting me, and I can’t risk getting caught sneaking out without permission again.

I’ve been grounded more than enough this year.

Thinking fast, I pick up a rock and hurl it at the parlor room window.

It misses, so I pick up another.

Then another.

It takes five tries before a rock hits the glass and ricochets off a drainage pipe.

My father immediately stands and looks around.

Come on. Come on…

He doesn’t make a move, so I pick up the biggest rock I can find and launch it.

This time, I break the glass.

My father grabs a baseball bat and runs toward the sound.

Finally!

I run to the house as fast as I can, getting soaked with each step.

My sandal strap snags on a lawn tool, and I fall face forward on the ground.

I yelp in pain as I struggle to free it from the blade, but it’s stuck, so I’m forced to leave it behind.

When I make it to the steel ivy brackets that cling to the side of the house, I hold them for dear life.

Climbing up, I make it to the second story and push up my window.

Using my bare foot for balance, I force my body over the sill and fall onto the floor.

“I made it.” I let out a sigh of relief. “I effin’ made it.”

The lights come on.

“I could’ve sworn your curfew was ten o'clock, Scarlett.” My mom is glaring at me from the bed. “Didn't we discuss this the last time I grounded you?”

I glance at the clock, tempted to tell her that it’s nine fifty-eight, but I bite my tongue.

“I also recall saying that you needed to ask to leave this house.” She crosses her arms. “You’re only seventeen years old, last time I checked. But since I clearly can't trust you, don’t make plans for the next three weekends. You're coming with me and your sister to shop for prom dresses in Nashville.”

“Can’t you drown me in our pool instead?” I roll over onto my back. “I think that would be slightly less painful for me.”

“Very funny, Scarlett.”

I groan and stand up. The mere thought of tagging along with my mom and sister for more than an hour is punishment enough.

She tosses me a dry towel and gets off my bed. “Where were you anyway?”

“Out on a date,” I confess.

“Really?” She smiles. “Who is he? Or were you with a she?”

“It was with a college guy, Mom.”

“I’m sure, hon.” She snorts. “So, you were with your weird little friend Kaizen?”

“His name is Kevin.”

“That’s what I said.” She smiles. “I like him a lot, and I love that he adores me.”

He hates you.

“Yeah, I was with Kevin,” I say, stunned that she still doesn’t know me in the slightest. I could literally tell her what I’ve been up to for the past several months and she wouldn’t believe a word.

In her eyes, I’m still the shy and awkward girl who prefers to lock herself in a room and practice music instead of making new friends.

“I was going through your closet a while ago, and it makes me wonder if you’re preparing for a slew of funerals that I don’t know about.”

“No, Mom,” I say. “I just love wearing black and grey.”

“It’s no wonder why no guys at school ever ask you out, then,” she says. “They probably think you’re the Queen of Death or something…Then again, at least you keep your makeup light and pretty.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Please walk away and don’t give me the ‘beautiful’ speech…

“You’re such a beautiful girl, Scarlett,” she says, stepping closer. “You have brains and talent, and I’m just worried that you’ll end up old, crusty, and reading romance novels to get yourself off instead of experiencing the real thing.”

“That’s not why people read romance novels…”

“Of course it is.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “They can’t find men in real life, so they have to resort to dating the ones on the page. I don’t want you to be like that. I want you to find a great guy who treats you well, takes care of you financially, and keeps your panties wet without you having to flip a page, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about sex with you…Ever.”

“I just know that you could land any guy you wanted if you were more like—”

“My sister,” I say, “I know.”

She nods, shooting me a sympathetic look. “I meant what I said about the next three weekends. Goodnight, Scarlett.”

“Goodnight.” I watch as she steps into the hallway and shuts the door.

I move closer and wait in the silence, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’s changed her old, troubling ways, but the telltale sound of her clicking through music samples begins. Then she begins speaking in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

“Soooo, I just caught one of my daughters sneaking in past her curfew, so I sat her down to have a heart-to-heart conversation. It was important that we discussed her behavior, and although I had to punish her, she'll respect me so much more as her mom for not giving her a free pass. Speaking of ‘free pass,’ when it comes to parenting teenagers…”

I put on my headphones and change clothes.

As a former mommy vlogger, my mother still has a habit of every moment, no matter how mundane content. Her life revolves around what will net her the most comments and likes, and even though the world knows her as “Sweet Southern Caroline” a woman who loves baking and has a Marry Poppins approach to life, she curses like a sailor and is more of a “Cool Mom.” (Oh, and the only thing I’ve ever seen her bake is a pre-package cookies,)

Thanks to all the money she made off her former “Caroline and the Twins” YouTube channel, we changed our last names and moved from our trailer park in Ohio to an estate in The South. We live in a fancy suburb where everyone owns at least four acres, and attend a school system that ranks in the top five of the nation.

It’s supposed to feel like a “prize,” but the past few years have felt more like a punishment…

BY THE TIME I open the door, my mom is long gone, so I head downstairs to the kitchen. I'm hoping I can persuade my dad to make her cancel the cruel and unusual shopping punishment, but he's not sitting at the bar anymore.

I pour myself a glass of milk and chug it down. As I’m opening a bag of Oreos, I hear a high-pitched laugh coming from outside.

Ugh, Tully…

Even though we were born six minutes apart, me and my sister couldn’t possibly be any more different. I analyze our birth certificates and call the hospital for verification on our birthday every year.

We tolerate each other's presence like strangers who share a long transatlantic flight. Cordial when we cross paths, a light conversation here and there, but never anything beyond the surface.

Her dreams of being a top influencer have come true, and she has ten million followers who buy into the sugarcoated version of her life, numerous sponsors who’ve already paid her way to college, and most importantly, a mother who knows exactly how to help her build her “brand.”

Peering through the blinds, I see that she’s not alone. She’s sitting next to her boyfriend, Easton Rush.

I suck in a breath at the sight of him in a white T-shirt that clings to his muscles, at his perfect pearly white smile that makes my heart race.

He’s the star player of the football team, the sexiest guy to ever exist in this small town. With his sinewed muscles, stunning ocean blue eyes, and a face courtesy of a maker who said, "Give me fucking perfection,” he makes grown women give him a second glance.

Leaning against his shoulder, Tully holds up her cell phone.

“So, we just got back from Gayle’s Diner and I bought a ton of stuff that I’m making him try tonight,” she says. “Since everyone swears by the waffle bites and custom creams, I can’t wait to see what he thinks!”

She runs a hand through his ink-black hair before turning off the video. Then she looks at him. Do you want to eat chocolate or vanilla first?”

“Chocolate.”

“Vanilla it is, then.”

He smiles and picks up a tiny silver tin, while Tully places a spoonful of cream onto his tongue.

I watch as she films him trying flavor after flavor, forcing my blood to boil with every dollop.

Every time she playfully runs her fingers through his hair, I think about my fingers touching him there better.

Each time he laughs, I can hear the strain and the fakeness. Not the authentic full-throated one he has with me.

And in the rare moments that he places his fingers under her chin to adjust the angle of the camera, I think about where those fingers have tried to go with me, where they’ve trailed against my skin and made me lose all consciousness.

I hate this feeling, and I know that I should stop watching and walk away, but I can’t.

I hate dating other guys, searching for someone who can make me feel even a tenth of what Easton does.

Stepping back, I return to my room and lock the window. I draw the blinds shut and close the curtains. Then I curl into a ball on my bed, put in my earbuds, and ignore the wetness that stains my pillowcase.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, but later I hear a familiar sound outside my window.

Tap! Tap! Tappp!

It’s him, but I don’t move.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I remain still.

I feel my phone vibrating next to my head, and then he taps again, but I can’t face looking at him tonight.

I just can’t.

In addition to accepting that the college boys aren’t worth my time, I need to accept that none of them will ever be able to wean my heart away from the boy who’s owned it for over a year.

2

ME

Dear Heather Adair,

I once saw you shaving your head in the locker room before school, but I didn’t think anything of it…Until I caught you doing it again. I also found out that the “clinic in Memphis” you incessantly mentioned (whenever you weren’t in class for days here or there) doesn’t exist. You didn’t need to fake cancer to make friends. Everyone liked you already.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“P lease tell me that there are some mornings when you wake up and say, ‘There’s no way I’m related to my identical twin sister.’” My best friend Kevin plops down next to me in the cafeteria.

“I say that every morning. Why do you ask?”

“Because apparently, she’s kicking off her homecoming campaign today and it’s far worse than what she did last year.”

“Nothing is worse than last year, Kevin.” I shake my head at the thought. “Nothing.”

“Want to bet me one of your cherry sour belts?”

I hold up the packet of my favorite candy, unsure of if a bet is worth that much.

Last year, my sister enlisted the help of every cheerleader, basketball player, and football player to fill our school’s hallways with pink and white “Tully Crane for Queen” balloons.

Her post about it went viral within an hour.

She won the crown unanimously.

“She’s going with a Cinderella theme this time,” Kevin snatches the candy away from me. “She’s also bribing people for votes.”

“She thinks she’s too good to beg,” I say. “There’s no way.”

“Speak of the devil.” He smiles. “See for yourself.”

I look over my shoulder as Tully steps into the cafeteria, dressed in a sparkling pink ball gown that exposes the top of her C-cup breasts. At her side are two of her friends, dressed like fairy godmothers and waving glitter wands.

She’s always been a master when it comes to commanding attention, and this moment is no exception. Everyone is staring at her like she’s some type of celebrity and she’s loving every second of it.

“Are you voting for her?” I ask.

“No, I’m voting for Chelsea Hilton.”

“The girl who outed you in middle school?”

“She did me a favor.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I never vote. I’m sure she’ll win regardless.”

“Oh, me too. I just have to do my part in making sure it won’t be unanimous this time.”

I laugh as Tully makes her way to our table.

“Good afternoon, Sir Kevin and Lady Scarlett!” She pulls a handful of glitter from her purse and tosses it over us. “The homecoming season is officially upon us.”

Her godmother friends hold out two bright pink lollipops that feature her face, but neither me nor Kevin make a move to grab them.

“Make your senior year un-dull by voting for your girl, Tulles!” She smiles. “A vote for me would not only be tasty, but it also won’t be waste-y!”

We stare at her.

“Ugh. Just vote for me, okay?” She lowers her voice. “Why haven’t you responded to my text message yet?”

“My phone’s in my locker,” I say. “I didn’t know you sent me anything.”

“Well, I did. So, hurry up and read it. It’s important.”

“Why can’t you tell me what it is now?”

“Because it’s personal, Scarlett.” She clasps my hand and looks into my eyes. “It’s life or death level important, and I desperately need your help.”

From her touch, I can feel her pulse racing, and for a split second, it feels like we're seven-year-old girls again, partners in crime, willing to do whatever for each other without question.

Back when we were friends…

She lets go and clears her throat. “Since you’re editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook, I expect you to name me as Most Likely to be a Supermodel. It’s only fair since that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Tully, I’ve told you before that’s not a real category.”

“Well, make it one.” She scoffs. “If you want people to pay for a yearbook, you need to make sure people like me are featured as much as possible. No one cares about anything else.”

Welp. At least she ruined the sister moment quicker than usual this time.

“Okay, onto the next set of voters.” She serves me and Kevin a princess wave before walking away. Her minions follow her lead to bribe more peasants.

“Okay, remind me.” Kevin sighs. “How many days do we have left until graduation?”

“Two hundred and sixty seven days and three hundred eighty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes,” I say. “Do you want to know the seconds?”

AFTER FIFTH PERIOD, I pull my cell phone from my locker and check the text messages.

TULLY

Okay sooooo when Mom & Dad go to Aunt Jane’s wedding, I’m throwing a house party. Since you’re good at decor and shit, I’ll need you to help set up so it can be amazing.

Oh, and we should consider this as our early birthday party sooo I guess you can invite your friends too! (Just a few though…)

I roll my eyes.

I should’ve known it wasn’t really life or death.

The locker on my left suddenly slams shut and a familiar, intoxicating woodsy pine scent I love surrounds me. It’s the scent that clings to all my sheets, the one that lingers for weeks and makes me wish it never had to leave.

Easton…

I avoid looking at him and rummage in my locker, pretending to search for something.

I can feel him staring, then glaring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but I don’t.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he says, his voice low.

I say nothing. I flip through a chemistry book. Then I pick up a pen and click it a few times.

“I know you hear me talking to you…”

I hum a Chopin refrain and rotate the violin case behind the clarinet.

My heart is beating so loudly that I’m convinced he can hear it.

“Scarlett…” He slips an arm around my waist and spins me around.

As he releases me, I feel the urge to press my hands against his chest, to kiss his lips and tell him how much I missed him last night, but I don’t.

I can’t…

“Is there something I can help you with this afternoon, Easton Rush?”

“I believe so,” he says. “I have a problem.”

“You only have one?”

“I wanted to see a certain someone last night.” He paused. “But her window was locked.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “It was.”

“I guess I must’ve forgotten to leave it open.”

“You also ignored all ten of my calls.”

“You should’ve gotten the hint after the fifth one.”

“Why do you have to do this shit to me every week?” He gazes at my lips. “Does arguing with me every other day turn you on?”

“Even if it did—and it doesn’t—it’s not like there’s anything you could do about it.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I’m coming over around seven tonight. I need you to leave the window open.”

“I might not be there.” I cross my arms. “I have a date.”

“With who?”

“A guy I can actually go out in public with,” I say. “He’s also in college, so he’s far more mature. He knows all about classical music and shit.”

“So do I, Scarlett.”

“Not like he does. He’s on another level than you.”

“He plays piano?”

“He does. Far better than you’ll ever be able to.”

A slow smirk crosses his lips, as if he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He moves his head closer, nearly pressing it against my forehead, making my breath catch in my throat.

“Why do you keep wasting your time going out with these guys who aren’t me?” He loops a finger under my necklace, lifting the petal-shaped charm he gave me last month. “It’s not like you’re sleeping with them.”

“I’m not sleeping with you either.”

“Until you come to your senses.”

“Are you planning on asking my sister to join us, then?”

“I haven’t fucked your sister.” He looks offended. “You know better than that.”

“Does she?”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just in a relationship with her.”

“We’re not discussing this right now.” He looks like he wants to kiss me right here, like he wants to silence the heavy beating in my chest once and for all, but he can’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

Too much is at stake.

“Easton!” One of his teammates calls from down the hall. “Come on, man! We’re running late!”

He steps back, looking me over one last time. “Leave your window unlocked for me tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Try me and fucking see…”

3

ME

Dear Aidan Mills,

I cheated off all your papers in AP History class, and I’m really sorry about that… I don’t know why Mr. Meyers gave me higher grades than you.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

T he worst part of marching band rehearsal is being forced to wear our full cotton uniforms in the sweltering Southern heat. Then again, maybe it’s the fact that our band practices are open to the public. And since there’s not much to do in our small town, random people show up to watch and shout commentary from the bleachers.

If I hear someone shout, “What’s Tully Crane doing down there in the band?” one more time, I’m going to scream…

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major whistles. “All halt!”

I stop marching in unison with everyone else. Then the whistle sounds again, commanding us all to face forward.

“Trumpets, you came in a half rest late during the fight song, but the tubas thankfully saved your asses!” He yells from a ladder. “Woodwinds, perfect as always.”

I force a smile. It’s not like we get a prize for consistency.

“We need to be one hundred percent in sync for our first Friday night,” he says. “It’s the season opener, and you know the media will be watching our football team like hawks so we need to put on our best show.”

“One of the flute player’s shoe strings is untied!” Someone from the bleachers yells. “She also missed a step when y’all were playing Sweet Caroline!”

I bite my tongue and look to the sidelines.

I spot one of my cutest classmates—Edward Johns—wrapping an arm around his long-term girlfriend. He’s kissing her cheek and whispering something against her skin, making her cheeks flush pink.

Everyone knows that she belongs to him, that there’s no point in trying to steal her way. The two of them are an unbreakable unit, just like Easton and Tully. Where one goes, the other follows. If you see one, the other is a few feet away.

What I wouldn’t give for me and Easton to have that.

In public.

I could add up all our private moments, and they would pale in comparison to what everyone else sees with him and Tully. What their millions of followers obsess over daily on social media.

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major’s whistle sounds, forcing me to look away from what I desperately want.

As I march into the next formation, I decide that I don’t feel like settling for sloppy seconds today. I’m not the slightest bit worried about Easton’s threat from earlier.

I’m spending the night at Kevin’s house.

Easton will just have to deal with it…

4

EASTON

Later that night

T he crescent shaped night-light in Scarlett’s room isn’t glowing for me. It’s her silent signal that lets me know that she’s home, that I’m welcome to come into the place that’s become my refuge over the past year and a half. The place that makes me forget just how fucked up my life is in the dark corners no one else can see.

Maybe she’s sleeping.

I cross the backyard and climb the ivy brackets that hang under her window. Then I tap on the glass.

No answer.

I tap again, a bit harder this time.

Nothing.

Peering inside, I spot her curled under my grey blanket, so I send her a text.

Hey. I’m here. Open your window.

You know I don’t sleep well without you…

The bulge on her bed doesn’t move, so I call her.

“Hey there,” she answers on the first ring.

“I’m here. Open the window for me.”

“Okay, hold on.” She pauses. “I just did. Anything else?”

“Stop fucking with me Scarlett.” I roll my eyes. “Get out of bed and open the window.”

“I’m literally staring out of an open window right now, Easton.”

“The window in your bedroom.”

“Oh.” There’s a smile in her voice. “That window. Well, that’s kind of impossible for me to do right now unless you want to tell me how to bend time and space.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time….”

“I’m at Kevin’s house,” she says. “We’re working on a group project.”

“You two don’t have any classes together last time I checked.”

“It’s a duet for the band.”

“He plays the trombone,” I say. “I doubt there’s a clarinet duet with that.”

“Shows how much you know about music.” She’s definitely testing me. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good night.”

She hangs up before I can say another word, and I call her again, but she doesn’t answer.

Grabbing the edge of the pane, I attempt to push it up in hopes that maybe she left it unlocked, but it doesn’t budge.

I’m tempted to break the damn glass, but a loud rustling below breaks my thoughts.

“Easton? Is that you?” It’s Tully.

Shit. I turn around and stare at her. I’ve never been caught coming here before.

“My room is on the other side, genius!” She smiles. “You clearly got knocked around too hard at practice today. Come down before Scarlett wakes up and pepper sprays you.”

“Right.” I climb down, and she immediately hugs me.

“You know, you don’t have to go all ‘Romeo & Juliet’ to convince me to finally fuck you, Easton.”

“Come again?”

“I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all, but don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough for sex?” She stands on her tiptoes, threading her fingers through my hair. “Everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway, so I don’t see why you’re dragging out the inevitable. I’ve never gone this long without a guy fucking me…”

I blink.

To every other guy at school, Tully is the epitome of the phrase “sexy as fuck.” Her dark brown hair is always pulled into a perfect high bun and she knows exactly how to make minds wander with her collection of tightly-fitted dresses and skirts.

When we started dating the summer before our junior year, I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that we didn’t have much in common except popularity, but I figured we could still have fun together.

We created a joint TikTok account and started posting random “When your boyfriend plays football and you’re a cheerleader” type of things, and then one night we went viral.

Then we went viral again.

And again and again.

Before we knew it, the joint account had three million followers and sponsors lining up to pay us money that I desperately needed.

It was easy money, I enjoyed being around her, but then her sister was paired with me for an AP English project, and within seconds of her saying, “I hope you don’t think I give a fuck that you’re Mr. Popular because you’re just as average as all these other guys.” I liked her.

“I have my reasons,” I finally say to Tully.

“Care to share at least one of them?”

“They’re complicated.”

“Of course.” She smiles, pressing a kiss on my cheek. “I’m making spiked hot chocolate with my mom’s brandy since I need to get some sleep. Want some?”

“Sure,” I say. “Double the shots in mine…”

5

ME

Dear Harriet Rayner,

There were so many days when I wished we could’ve been friends since we shared a love of all things goth and gore. I was thrilled that you invited me to your exclusive Halloween dinner, but there’s a reason why I never showed…I discovered that you were @MissGreyHighAnonymous who spread rumors on social media about everyone at our school. You hurt a shit ton of people, including me.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“D o you really need to rehearse that concerto again?” Kevin crosses his arms in the living room.

“I do, if I want to make sure it’s perfect in time for my recital.”

“I mean, do you need to rehearse it here?” He laughs, gently prying the violin bow from my fingers. “It’s been perfect for the past several weeks. Trust me.”

“Sounds like you’re about to kick me out.”

“I’m not.” He sets my bow on the mantle. “But I’d like to watch our show with the pizza instead of your music. No offense.”

“None taken.” I place the violin into its case and crack open a soda. “You don’t have to pretend like you haven’t watched the next episode without me, by the way.”

“Good!” He laughs. “I’ll still rewatch it with you, though.”

The doorbell rings and he picks up the remote.

“You’re turn to pay for our nourishment,” he says. “I paid the last two times.”

“Of course.” I grab a few bills from my purse and head to the door.

The pizza guy isn’t waiting for me when I open it, though.

It’s Easton.

What the…

“Hello, Scarlett.” He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. “Is now a good time?”

“A good time for what?”

“For us to have a conversation,” he says. “You clearly wanted to try me by not being at home, so I came here to talk.”

I step back, somewhat stunned by the darkness in his eyes. We’ve made each other mad before, but I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Make sure he gives us extra parmesan packets!” Kevin calls out. “The crushed red peppers, too!”

“So, is now not a good time?” Easton says.

“It’s really not.” I motion for him to lower his voice. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We’re talking now.” He grabs my hand again, pulling me to the far side of the porch.

“Easton, I swear to God, I—” My sentence ends on his lips, and my back hits the hot bricks.

He grips my hips as he kisses me harder, making me lose my breath. Then he bites down on my bottom lip.

“I know you’re trying to make a point about us,” he whispers against my mouth, “so congratulations. You’ve made it.”

“What I’m doing right now has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay.” He kisses me again, making me regret not letting him in last night. “You also know what tomorrow is for me.”

I say nothing.

“And regardless of how mad you are at me, I know you would never pull this shit on that day. Or am I wrong?”

I say nothing, because he isn’t. Because even during our worst moments, he’s always been there if I needed him.

A red car suddenly pulls into the driveway and the delivery guy steps out.

We watch him walk toward us with a pizza bag.

“Two extra large pepperoni pizzas, a medium order of breadsticks, and a large coke, right?” He steps in front of us.

“Yes.” I finally turn away from Easton. “With parmesan and crushed red pepper packets.”

“Got it. It’s forty two dollars and fifty two cents.”

I hold out the money, but Easton pushes my hand away.

“I’ve got it,” he says, paying for it. “You can keep the change.”

The delivery guy smiles and then tilts his head to the side. “Easton Rush?”

“Yes.”

“Aw man. My dad talks about you all the time.” He hands me the food. “And my little sister is obsessed with ya’lls TikTok account, Tully. Your name is Tully, right?”

“Yeah.” I feign a smile. “Thanks.”

“Good luck this season dude!” He walks away without another word, and Easton waits until he pulls away before pressing a kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more, but Kevin suddenly calls my name.

“Scarlett, are you dying out there or something?” He calls. “Scarlett?”

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’ll um…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Easton presses one final kiss on my lips before walking away.

6

EASTON

I  park my car outside the school gym at five thirty in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I know better than to try.

Stepping out, I grab my bag and head toward the side door.

Since joining the football team, I’ve become friends with the chief janitor and he always texts to see if he needs to leave an entrance open for me.

I twist the knob and it gives way, but before I can disappear into the locker room, a familiar voice drifts down the hall.

“Is that you, Reed Hinson?” It’s my coach.

“No, Coach.”

“Then who the hell is it?” He shouts louder. “This complex is off limits until seven o’clock unless you’re on my staff or a team captain!”

I roll my eyes and head to his doorway.

“It’s me, Coach.”

“Oh.” He puts on his glasses. “Fate must be on my side today. Have a seat so we can talk.”

I hold back a sigh. “Can this wait until later, Coach?”

“No.” He points to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I set down my bag and oblige.

He stares at me for several moments, rocking back and forth in his squeaky chair.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll hurry up and say something, but all he does is rock.

“If you’re not about to say anything, can I—”

“Are you using the best brand of condoms?” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Are you covering your cock properly while you’re screwing these girls or what?”

I should’ve just stayed in my car…

“You do know what condoms are, don’t you son?” He narrows his eyes. “I gave you my sex talk when you were a freshman, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately. With all due respect though, Coach, where the hell is this coming from?”

“I was like you back in my day.” He clasps his hands. “I mean, I wasn’t the top ranked high school quarterback in the nation or anything, but I was popular enough to make the sports news. Very popular. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does…”

“You know what doesn’t feel good?” He stops rocking and leans forward. “A surprise baby by some gold digger who knows, just knows, you’re destined to do big things in college and will be huge in the NFL. I don’t want that to happen to you, so I want you to make sure you’re wrapping it up.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not only do I want you to wrap it up,” he says, “But I want you to make sure you carry something around whenever you’re done and put it to use.”

He opens his drawer and pulls out a small stack of red packets. “These will fit in your wallet behind the condoms.”

“What are those?”

“Hot sauce packets,” he says. “Whenever you take off a condom, squeeze some of this into it so the girl can’t go behind your back and put your semen to use.”

What the fuck?

I stand to my feet. “I’m good, Coach.”

“No, trust me.” He pushes the packets closer. “The closer you get to announcing whatever college you’re attending in the spring, the closer the gold diggers are to sinking their claws into your future.”

“I’m going to leave now.”

“I smelled the scent of female desperation in the air once this school year started, once ESPNU started running those long promos on you.” He’s officially talking to himself, not me. “The stench is unmistakable.”

“Are you taking new meds, Coach?”

“I don’t want to be invited to your baby shower for at least ten years,” he says, staring into space. “I wish I could go back in time and have someone say that to me…”

I turn around and head to the door.

“Wait, Easton!”

I look over my shoulder. “Yes, Coach?”

He picks up a blue envelope and holds it out for me. “Happy birthday son. I never forget.”

“Thank you.” I take the envelope from him and leave his office, shutting the door behind me.

“Easton?” Someone else calls my name.

Fuck… I turn around and spot the offensive coordinator. “Yes, Mr. Hinson?”

“I wanted to make sure I caught you before I looked at some film.” He hands me a small gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He pats my shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not the next best All-American quarterback. You have an incredible game, a beautiful supportive family, and good looks and shit, too.”

I nod. “Will do, sir.”

Turning away before I can be distracted again, I walk down the hall and into the team’s state of the art locker room.

I check all the rows to make sure I’m the only person here. Then I open my bag and take out a framed picture that I can only face once a year.

My mother used to come here with me during this ungodly hour, armed with cupcakes and candles like I was still in kindergarten. She’d also bring along a piano keyboard and request that I play a Chopin piece from memory.

Even though I’d long given up a chance at being a musician, she was proud of me for choosing “a sport that might actually pay your bills someday.”

I run my finger along the edge of her face.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes me put away the frame. Before I can ask who else is interrupting my morning, my father rounds the corner, holding up a brown bag.

“I hope you won’t mind that I came here,” he says. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I motion for him to sit next to me.

I don’t mention that he reeks of alcohol.

“Your mother was a really great woman.” He hands me a box of waffles. “Loyal to a fault.”

“She never lied to me.” His voice cracks. “Not one time.”

“She didn’t lie to me either.”

“Very loyal.”

“Yes,” I say. “Very loyal.”

We eat our food in silence, swallowing it down with our forced lies.

We’ve never discussed the truth.

It hurts too damn much…

My mother died on her way to our family vacation last year.

She was in the passenger seat of a red Corvette that didn’t belong to my father.

It was our church pastor’s.

The accident report revealed that they were half-naked, that the backseat floor was littered with condoms.

At the hospital, the doctors gave me a plastic bag of her things, and while I was texting her friends and families the news, I realized that most of the names in her phone belonged to other men with nicer cars than Corvettes.

My life had already been hanging by a thread, but that was the week it finally snapped.

The same week I met Scarlett…

“Well…” My father downs the last bite of his waffle and stands to his feet. “I know I’m not her, but Happy Birthday son. I’ve got to get my rehab meeting. I’m one hundred percent sober now, you know.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “I know.”

Later that afternoon

Are you at home yet?

SCARLETT

I will be in an hour. Late practice. Some idiot decided to play a game with the fire alarm today.

How unfortunate…You’re the only person who hasn’t wished me ‘Happy Birthday’ today.

SCARLETT

Because you told me that you prefer to celebrate it on a different day…Have you changed your mind about that?

Not at all. Call me when you’re heading home.

I TOSS my football pads on the floor before slumping onto the living room couch. Trying to kill time, I flip through the channels, but nothing catches my attention.

I scroll down my contacts and call my best guy friend Jeremiah.

“What’s up, Shitface?” he answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?”

“Terribly.” I shut my eyes. “I’m wishing you were kissing me right now.”

He laughs. “I hope you’re not trying to use the birthday sympathy card to get out of going with me to the gulf this weekend.”

“Never.”

“Good. What do you really want then?”

“A distraction,” I admit. “At least half an hour if you can…”

“Of course.” There’s a smile in his voice. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to tell you just how overrated you are.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re not as attractive as everyone claims,” he says. “There are plenty of other actors in Hollywood who look far better.”

“Are you saying I look good enough to belong in Hollywood, though?”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Laughing, I shut my eyes and lean back on the couch, listening to him serve me lies until I fall asleep.

I’M DREAMING of throwing epic passes at The University of Alabama’s stadium when something wet touches my thigh.

Confused, I look up at the sky, but it’s bright blue. No sign of an oncoming storm anywhere.

“Easton! Easton!” The crowd cheers my name as my teammate rushes into the end zone.

The wetness touches my thigh again, leaving a strange trail, and I open my eyes.

Scarlett is kneeling between my legs, her fingers pressed against my briefs.

She looks up at me and I smile.

Then I realize she’s Tully.

What the…

“Hey there.” She smiles and presses another kiss against my skin. “Happy birthday.”

Fuck. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you a birthday blowjob.” She smiles. “Don’t you want one?”

Only if it was from your sister. I clear my throat before those words slip from my mouth.

“Exactly.” She presses her palms on my knees. “Lay back and let me finish.”

“No, don’t.” I clasp her wrists and stand up, moving around her. “I just want to be alone today.”

“Ugh. Seriously?” She opens a bag, pulling out a champagne bottle and some type of dessert tray. “I bribed a guy to get us some top shelf alcohol and I even bought you birthday candles to go with this custom cookie cake.”

I sigh. “I really just want to be alone today, Tully.”

“But I’m your girlfriend.” She stands.

“I’m aware,” I say. “It’s not personal.”

“It feels like it.” She walks over to me. “Why can’t I be here with you? Like, on all days, why not today?”

“Tully…”

“Save it.” She looks into my eyes. “When you stopped letting me come over months ago because you claimed you didn’t sleep well with me in your bed, I bought that.”

“That’s the truth.”

“When you said, ‘I feel like we need to work on being better friends in our relationship’ I bought that bullshit, too.”

“That’s still the truth…”

“What about my truth, then?” Her voice cracks. “Like, I get the social media thing with the sponsors can be annoying, but we both signed all those deals and they pay us pretty well.”

“It has nothing to do with social media, Tully.”

“I also understand that you’re under a lot of stress since every college is trying to sink their claws into you, and everyone in this town thinks you’re some sort of celebrity, but…What about me?” She sighs. “What happened to the guy I was dating last year?”

I swallow, knowing that she could never handle the honest truth. She’s a drama queen through and through, and the only people who exist in her world are those who serve her best interests.

“I don’t really have anyone close in my life,” she says. “My mom loves her vlogging shit more than anything, my dad loves that money, and my friends are…” Her voice trails off. “I have friends, and I want to have you, too.”

I hold back a sigh.

She didn’t mention Scarlett.

She never does…

“I’ll let you have your birthday because well, it is your birthday.” She presses her hand against my chest. “But we need to talk within the next few days because I need to know that you still like me as much as I like you.”

She kisses my cheek. “Save the champagne and cookies for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, stopping myself from making a promise I don’t want to keep.

I grab her hand and lead her outside, to the silver BMW she supposedly “shares” with Scarlett. I’ve yet to see Scarlett behind the wheel.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, shutting the door.

“I’ll hold you to that.” She blows me a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

I stand in my driveway long after she’s gone, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I grab the keys to my dad’s car and head to the only place I want to be.

7

ME

Dear Elliot Tipton,

In debate class, you once argued that “parents who put their kids on the internet for content are selfish people who fuck them up for life.” I told you how wrong you were, how I grew up in a family like that and I turned out just fine.

You were right, though….

One hundred percent.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

I  look like a poor version of Little Bo Peep.

All I’m missing is a flock of sheep and a golden herder stick.

“Stop frowning, Scarlett!” My mom fluffs the white petticoat under my pink dress. “This is a thirty-thousand-dollar period piece. You should be thrilled to wear something so beautiful.”

“The corset is too tight, Mom,” I say. “I can barely breathe.”

“Nonsense!” She grabs the strings and pulls them in even tighter. “Now, let’s see what we can do about these wayward ruffles.”

I suck in what will probably be the last breath of my life, and wince as she stabs my skin with a pushpin.

Since I had the misfortune of beating Tully home from school today, I’m standing in for her latest sponsorship fitting.

“We’re sensing that the Renaissance era will be making a fashionable comeback in the near future, and your daughter’s online persona truly fits in line with our brand.” A woman in a light lavender suit, who looks like she’s descended from English royalty, sips tea in our living room.

“She has such lovely posture and bone structure.” The woman smiles at me. “That dress truly comes to life on you, Miss Crane.”

“Say, thank you very much, Scarlett.” My mother chides.

“Thank you, Miss. Very much.”

“Pardon me asking.” The woman sets down her tea cup and walks over to us. “But are you sure you don’t want to join your sister for this campaign? I know you don’t have as many followers as she does, but if you both did videos on her account, I’m sure our marketing department would negotiate a higher payout.”

“She’s not interested.” “I’m not interested.” My mother and I say in unison.

“Not even for triple the amount?” She smiles.

“No.” “She’ll think about it.” We speak in unison again, but our answers aren’t in sync this time.

“I thought so.” The woman smooths the lace sleeves of my dress. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as social media, influencers, or lifestyle bloggers.”

“I’m sure life was much better back then…”

“You kids these days can completely bypass college and build immense wealth with the tap of your fingertips,” she continues. “You can make connections all around the world without ever leaving your living room.”

“They have no idea how good they have it.” My mother chimes in. “I’m hoping Scarlett eventually takes advantage of her good looks and charm.”

“I hope so, too.” The woman picks up a footstool and motions for me to step on top of it. “Let’s finish the rest of the fitting, shall we?”

I tune out their conversation as they poke and prod me with needles and make notes on measuring tape.

When they’re done, I head upstairs with the contract and slip into my bedroom.

Easton is already inside, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Something funny, Birthday Boy?” I ask.

“I’m not used to seeing you in bright pink.”

“Oh.” I look down at the dress. “Don’t get used to it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Being a stand-in for Tully.” I shrug. “I was planning to call when I finished and got out of this thing.”

“Let me help you.” He walks over and motions for me to turn around.

Staring at him through the mirror, I watch as he unzips the side of my dress. He slides his finger along the sash that’s tied at the front and slowly loosens it.

With his eyes on mine, he saves the pearl necklace I’m wearing for last, unclasping it and pressing a kiss against the back of my neck.

Every nerve in my body comes to life, my heart skips a beat.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me there,” I say.

“You’re right.” He kisses my neck again. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s against my ‘I don’t want to go there with you’ rules.”

“You were supposed to rewrite some of those…” He lets the pearls drop to the floor. “When exactly are you getting around to that?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised.”

He sighs and gently grabs my waist, spinning me around to face him.

“I hate that I didn’t meet you first,” he says.

“Would that have changed anything?”

“Yes.”

I want to believe that, but hypotheticals have never been my strong suit. It’s hard for me to see the shades in anything; it’s always black and white.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses my lips.

Then he lets me go and I change into my set of pajamas.

I climb into bed first and he follows, pulling me against his chest.

He toys with the strands of my hair, and I inhale his scent.

“We need to find a new meetup spot for our weekends at some point,” he says.

“What’s wrong with you dad’s off road shack?”

“The ‘for sale by owner’ sign isn’t there anymore. I think someone might’ve bought it and he hasn’t told me yet.”

“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “I stole it and tossed it into a dumpster so no one would have the number to call about it anymore.”

He smiles. “You know that’s a crime, right?”

“Are you planning to report me?”

“I might.”

He laughs. “Hypothetical question. If you got arrested for something you did, but the police weren’t convinced that you did it, what would you do?”

“Go about my life.”

“You’re supposed to wait for three options before responding, Scarlett.”

“Not when I already know the answer.” I smile. “What would you do?”

“Probably the same thing.”

We both laugh and he slides his hands under me, rolling me on top of him.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“I’m serious. You can’t laugh and you have to promise.”

“Okay, Scarlett,” he says. “I promise.”

“I dozed off during band practice today,” I say. “I had this long dream of you picking me up after school and us riding off into the sunset.”

“What exactly is funny about that?”

“We drove all the way to New York, but it took us two weeks to get there because every time we saw a sign for a beautiful hotel we stopped and you went down on me.”

“I’m not seeing what’s funny.” He trails a finger against my lips. “I think about eating your pussy all the time.”

My cheeks heat. “Oh.”

“I really need to revise the terms of us a lot sooner than ‘soon,’” he says, straining. “Please.”

“Okay.”

His fingers leave my lips and I suddenly feel bereft.

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever, communicating without saying a word, both wishing—like always—that we’d met each other first.

My phone buzzes at exactly midnight, and I lean over him to turn it off.

“Happy birthday, Easton.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.” He pauses. “My mom lied to me, to me and my dad. The entire time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just promise that you’ll never do that.”

“Tell you sorry?”

“Lie.”

I nod. “I promise.”

“Good.” He pulls me into his arms. “Go to sleep."

PART 2

THE LIES KEEP SPINNING

Question:

If you knew that you’d suffer no consequences for holding onto a secret that hurts someone you love, what would you do?

- A) Keep it to yourself. There’s no point in hurting someone for no reason.

- B) Invite them out to a public place and tell them. Honesty is always key. No matter what.

- C) Write it in a letter with as many details as possible to get it off your chest. Send it later to clear your conscience.

Answer:

A.

But not because you are concerned with hurting them.

You don’t want to hurt yourself.

SYNOPSIS

WARNING: DO NOT READ THE BLURB FOR THIS BOOK.

It's better if you go in BLIND, trust me…

But if you *have* to know what you're getting yourself into, you can read the synopsis below.

She lied to me.

Not once, not twice.

This entire time.

To her, I was the "cliche Mr. Popular," the star quarterback who owned Friday nights.

To me, she was the goth geek in the bleachers, playing clarinet in the band.

Despite our differences, I climbed through her window every night.

Even when we started college.

She was the only person who truly understood me, and I couldn't stay away from her if I tried.

Our connection was hot and toxic, but we never dared to put out the flames.

We fell too hard, too fast…

And this wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I was already dating someone else.

Her sister.

**See? That's why you shouldn't have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.*

A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.

Dear Awesome Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up I Wish I Would’ve Told You! I can’t wait for you to dive into this crazy little story!

If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

Sincerely,

PROLOGUE

ME

I  swear I didn’t mean to send him that letter.

Yes, I revised it fifty-seven times, spent eighteen days fretting over which envelope to buy, and paid for first-class postage, but I didn’t really intend to drop it into a postal box.

It was supposed to be a simple “cathartic exercise” to heal old wounds. Yet, after penning letters to every person I’d ever hurt, I set aside several blank pages for him.

I wrote down all the ways I missed him and asked if he missed me, too. I told him that whenever I’m lying in bed at night—despite whatever guy may be sharing my sheets—I can’t help but remember all the times he handled me better.

So much better.

He bent me over our high school bleachers after the home games. Made love to me in the backseat of an old-school Mustang. Devoured me in his father’s office while the mistress cooked in the kitchen downstairs.

I penned rambling paragraphs of things I never wanted to forget and others that were better left unsaid. On page seven, my teardrops marred the lines so terribly that the sentence “I was so lonely,” read like “I was so horny.”

Then again, page eight featured nothing more than a drunken drawing of the time we were thousands of miles apart during one summer, so he’ll probably interpret it the proper way.

None of those things concern me, though.

The problem is on page eleven.

Sixteen lines down, in the second to last paragraph, is a sentence that unravels every lie I’ve ever told him. It’s the one thing that will obliterate ‘us’ the moment he reads it.

The post office sent me a delivery confirmation minutes ago, so I’m standing outside our old meetup spot with gasoline and matches.

It’s almost time.

I’m prepared to set our world on fire before my words can beat me to it…

PART 1

THE LIES BEGIN…

BACK THEN

Question:

Assuming you’re a good person, if someone close to you is dating a guy you desperately want, but she isn’t willing to give him up, which of these would be your next move?

- A) Let it go. Spend your time trying to find someone else.

- B) Fight. Because you truly believe this guy belongs to you.

- C) Explain how this guy is your soulmate and hope your friend will let go of him and understand.

Answer:

None of these.

A “good person” would never be in a situation like this.

1

ME

Dear Carly Hills,

I was the one who stole your Prada purse during our junior-year class trip. I didn’t take anything out of it, though. I just tossed it into the Blackwater River because I was tired of you calling me a “Wednesday Addams looking bitch.”

Sorry.

Well, not really.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

M y date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.

We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.

“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”

I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”

“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazing strumming and fingering skills?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”

Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?

“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”

“Me too.” I nod, even though I have no intention of answering his calls after tonight.

I really need to give up on the idea of college guys being “intellectual and deep” once and for all. He’s the fifth guy I’ve dated, and although he didn't try to slip his tongue down my throat or try to impress me with a never-ending game of beer pong, his conversation was as shallow and mundane as the others.

All he did was talk about himself.

“I really need to get home.” I lean back. “I have school in the morning.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you inside?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’d hate for you to slip in all this rain.”

“I’m sure. I have to go through the back door so I won’t wake up my parents before my curfew.”

“That's the good thing about dorm rooms.” He presses a stale kiss on my forehead. “There are no parents and no one cares about curfew.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is amazing.” He wiggles his fingers. “I’ll call you on Friday so I can show you what I can do with these, okay?”

“Okay.” I vow to block his number once I get inside. “Looking forward to it.”

Stepping out into the drizzle, I wave at him before walking up my neighbor’s driveway. Then I watch until his headlights disappear around the corner before jumping the fence and running into my real backyard.

As thunder roars in the distance, I run to the oversized treehouse and unzip the duffel bag I left there hours ago.

Panicking, I pull a pair of sweatpants over my fishnet tights. Then I cover my black halter top with a hoodie.

I’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before my parents realize that the human-shaped mound on my bed is nothing more than sweaters and hoodies.

The lights in the kitchen suddenly turn on, so I slide behind the tree trunk.

Seconds later, I see my dad heading toward the fridge.

Walking like a zombie, he takes out a beer and sits at the breakfast bar. He opens a laptop and stretches his fingers, making it clear that he’ll be sitting there for a while.

Shit.

There's no way I can get through the back entrance without him spotting me, and I can’t risk getting caught sneaking out without permission again.

I’ve been grounded more than enough this year.

Thinking fast, I pick up a rock and hurl it at the parlor room window.

It misses, so I pick up another.

Then another.

It takes five tries before a rock hits the glass and ricochets off a drainage pipe.

My father immediately stands and looks around.

Come on. Come on…

He doesn’t make a move, so I pick up the biggest rock I can find and launch it.

This time, I break the glass.

My father grabs a baseball bat and runs toward the sound.

Finally!

I run to the house as fast as I can, getting soaked with each step.

My sandal strap snags on a lawn tool, and I fall face forward on the ground.

I yelp in pain as I struggle to free it from the blade, but it’s stuck, so I’m forced to leave it behind.

When I make it to the steel ivy brackets that cling to the side of the house, I hold them for dear life.

Climbing up, I make it to the second story and push up my window.

Using my bare foot for balance, I force my body over the sill and fall onto the floor.

“I made it.” I let out a sigh of relief. “I effin’ made it.”

The lights come on.

“I could’ve sworn your curfew was ten o'clock, Scarlett.” My mom is glaring at me from the bed. “Didn't we discuss this the last time I grounded you?”

I glance at the clock, tempted to tell her that it’s nine fifty-eight, but I bite my tongue.

“I also recall saying that you needed to ask to leave this house.” She crosses her arms. “You’re only seventeen years old, last time I checked. But since I clearly can't trust you, don’t make plans for the next three weekends. You're coming with me and your sister to shop for prom dresses in Nashville.”

“Can’t you drown me in our pool instead?” I roll over onto my back. “I think that would be slightly less painful for me.”

“Very funny, Scarlett.”

I groan and stand up. The mere thought of tagging along with my mom and sister for more than an hour is punishment enough.

She tosses me a dry towel and gets off my bed. “Where were you anyway?”

“Out on a date,” I confess.

“Really?” She smiles. “Who is he? Or were you with a she?”

“It was with a college guy, Mom.”

“I’m sure, hon.” She snorts. “So, you were with your weird little friend Kaizen?”

“His name is Kevin.”

“That’s what I said.” She smiles. “I like him a lot, and I love that he adores me.”

He hates you.

“Yeah, I was with Kevin,” I say, stunned that she still doesn’t know me in the slightest. I could literally tell her what I’ve been up to for the past several months and she wouldn’t believe a word.

In her eyes, I’m still the shy and awkward girl who prefers to lock herself in a room and practice music instead of making new friends.

“I was going through your closet a while ago, and it makes me wonder if you’re preparing for a slew of funerals that I don’t know about.”

“No, Mom,” I say. “I just love wearing black and grey.”

“It’s no wonder why no guys at school ever ask you out, then,” she says. “They probably think you’re the Queen of Death or something…Then again, at least you keep your makeup light and pretty.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Please walk away and don’t give me the ‘beautiful’ speech…

“You’re such a beautiful girl, Scarlett,” she says, stepping closer. “You have brains and talent, and I’m just worried that you’ll end up old, crusty, and reading romance novels to get yourself off instead of experiencing the real thing.”

“That’s not why people read romance novels…”

“Of course it is.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “They can’t find men in real life, so they have to resort to dating the ones on the page. I don’t want you to be like that. I want you to find a great guy who treats you well, takes care of you financially, and keeps your panties wet without you having to flip a page, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about sex with you…Ever.”

“I just know that you could land any guy you wanted if you were more like—”

“My sister,” I say, “I know.”

She nods, shooting me a sympathetic look. “I meant what I said about the next three weekends. Goodnight, Scarlett.”

“Goodnight.” I watch as she steps into the hallway and shuts the door.

I move closer and wait in the silence, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’s changed her old, troubling ways, but the telltale sound of her clicking through music samples begins. Then she begins speaking in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

“Soooo, I just caught one of my daughters sneaking in past her curfew, so I sat her down to have a heart-to-heart conversation. It was important that we discussed her behavior, and although I had to punish her, she'll respect me so much more as her mom for not giving her a free pass. Speaking of ‘free pass,’ when it comes to parenting teenagers…”

I put on my headphones and change clothes.

As a former mommy vlogger, my mother still has a habit of every moment, no matter how mundane content. Her life revolves around what will net her the most comments and likes, and even though the world knows her as “Sweet Southern Caroline” a woman who loves baking and has a Marry Poppins approach to life, she curses like a sailor and is more of a “Cool Mom.” (Oh, and the only thing I’ve ever seen her bake is a pre-package cookies,)

Thanks to all the money she made off her former “Caroline and the Twins” YouTube channel, we changed our last names and moved from our trailer park in Ohio to an estate in The South. We live in a fancy suburb where everyone owns at least four acres, and attend a school system that ranks in the top five of the nation.

It’s supposed to feel like a “prize,” but the past few years have felt more like a punishment…

BY THE TIME I open the door, my mom is long gone, so I head downstairs to the kitchen. I'm hoping I can persuade my dad to make her cancel the cruel and unusual shopping punishment, but he's not sitting at the bar anymore.

I pour myself a glass of milk and chug it down. As I’m opening a bag of Oreos, I hear a high-pitched laugh coming from outside.

Ugh, Tully…

Even though we were born six minutes apart, me and my sister couldn’t possibly be any more different. I analyze our birth certificates and call the hospital for verification on our birthday every year.

We tolerate each other's presence like strangers who share a long transatlantic flight. Cordial when we cross paths, a light conversation here and there, but never anything beyond the surface.

Her dreams of being a top influencer have come true, and she has ten million followers who buy into the sugarcoated version of her life, numerous sponsors who’ve already paid her way to college, and most importantly, a mother who knows exactly how to help her build her “brand.”

Peering through the blinds, I see that she’s not alone. She’s sitting next to her boyfriend, Easton Rush.

I suck in a breath at the sight of him in a white T-shirt that clings to his muscles, at his perfect pearly white smile that makes my heart race.

He’s the star player of the football team, the sexiest guy to ever exist in this small town. With his sinewed muscles, stunning ocean blue eyes, and a face courtesy of a maker who said, "Give me fucking perfection,” he makes grown women give him a second glance.

Leaning against his shoulder, Tully holds up her cell phone.

“So, we just got back from Gayle’s Diner and I bought a ton of stuff that I’m making him try tonight,” she says. “Since everyone swears by the waffle bites and custom creams, I can’t wait to see what he thinks!”

She runs a hand through his ink-black hair before turning off the video. Then she looks at him. Do you want to eat chocolate or vanilla first?”

“Chocolate.”

“Vanilla it is, then.”

He smiles and picks up a tiny silver tin, while Tully places a spoonful of cream onto his tongue.

I watch as she films him trying flavor after flavor, forcing my blood to boil with every dollop.

Every time she playfully runs her fingers through his hair, I think about my fingers touching him there better.

Each time he laughs, I can hear the strain and the fakeness. Not the authentic full-throated one he has with me.

And in the rare moments that he places his fingers under her chin to adjust the angle of the camera, I think about where those fingers have tried to go with me, where they’ve trailed against my skin and made me lose all consciousness.

I hate this feeling, and I know that I should stop watching and walk away, but I can’t.

I hate dating other guys, searching for someone who can make me feel even a tenth of what Easton does.

Stepping back, I return to my room and lock the window. I draw the blinds shut and close the curtains. Then I curl into a ball on my bed, put in my earbuds, and ignore the wetness that stains my pillowcase.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, but later I hear a familiar sound outside my window.

Tap! Tap! Tappp!

It’s him, but I don’t move.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I remain still.

I feel my phone vibrating next to my head, and then he taps again, but I can’t face looking at him tonight.

I just can’t.

In addition to accepting that the college boys aren’t worth my time, I need to accept that none of them will ever be able to wean my heart away from the boy who’s owned it for over a year.

2

ME

Dear Heather Adair,

I once saw you shaving your head in the locker room before school, but I didn’t think anything of it…Until I caught you doing it again. I also found out that the “clinic in Memphis” you incessantly mentioned (whenever you weren’t in class for days here or there) doesn’t exist. You didn’t need to fake cancer to make friends. Everyone liked you already.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“P lease tell me that there are some mornings when you wake up and say, ‘There’s no way I’m related to my identical twin sister.’” My best friend Kevin plops down next to me in the cafeteria.

“I say that every morning. Why do you ask?”

“Because apparently, she’s kicking off her homecoming campaign today and it’s far worse than what she did last year.”

“Nothing is worse than last year, Kevin.” I shake my head at the thought. “Nothing.”

“Want to bet me one of your cherry sour belts?”

I hold up the packet of my favorite candy, unsure of if a bet is worth that much.

Last year, my sister enlisted the help of every cheerleader, basketball player, and football player to fill our school’s hallways with pink and white “Tully Crane for Queen” balloons.

Her post about it went viral within an hour.

She won the crown unanimously.

“She’s going with a Cinderella theme this time,” Kevin snatches the candy away from me. “She’s also bribing people for votes.”

“She thinks she’s too good to beg,” I say. “There’s no way.”

“Speak of the devil.” He smiles. “See for yourself.”

I look over my shoulder as Tully steps into the cafeteria, dressed in a sparkling pink ball gown that exposes the top of her C-cup breasts. At her side are two of her friends, dressed like fairy godmothers and waving glitter wands.

She’s always been a master when it comes to commanding attention, and this moment is no exception. Everyone is staring at her like she’s some type of celebrity and she’s loving every second of it.

“Are you voting for her?” I ask.

“No, I’m voting for Chelsea Hilton.”

“The girl who outed you in middle school?”

“She did me a favor.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I never vote. I’m sure she’ll win regardless.”

“Oh, me too. I just have to do my part in making sure it won’t be unanimous this time.”

I laugh as Tully makes her way to our table.

“Good afternoon, Sir Kevin and Lady Scarlett!” She pulls a handful of glitter from her purse and tosses it over us. “The homecoming season is officially upon us.”

Her godmother friends hold out two bright pink lollipops that feature her face, but neither me nor Kevin make a move to grab them.

“Make your senior year un-dull by voting for your girl, Tulles!” She smiles. “A vote for me would not only be tasty, but it also won’t be waste-y!”

We stare at her.

“Ugh. Just vote for me, okay?” She lowers her voice. “Why haven’t you responded to my text message yet?”

“My phone’s in my locker,” I say. “I didn’t know you sent me anything.”

“Well, I did. So, hurry up and read it. It’s important.”

“Why can’t you tell me what it is now?”

“Because it’s personal, Scarlett.” She clasps my hand and looks into my eyes. “It’s life or death level important, and I desperately need your help.”

From her touch, I can feel her pulse racing, and for a split second, it feels like we're seven-year-old girls again, partners in crime, willing to do whatever for each other without question.

Back when we were friends…

She lets go and clears her throat. “Since you’re editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook, I expect you to name me as Most Likely to be a Supermodel. It’s only fair since that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Tully, I’ve told you before that’s not a real category.”

“Well, make it one.” She scoffs. “If you want people to pay for a yearbook, you need to make sure people like me are featured as much as possible. No one cares about anything else.”

Welp. At least she ruined the sister moment quicker than usual this time.

“Okay, onto the next set of voters.” She serves me and Kevin a princess wave before walking away. Her minions follow her lead to bribe more peasants.

“Okay, remind me.” Kevin sighs. “How many days do we have left until graduation?”

“Two hundred and sixty seven days and three hundred eighty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes,” I say. “Do you want to know the seconds?”

AFTER FIFTH PERIOD, I pull my cell phone from my locker and check the text messages.

TULLY

Okay sooooo when Mom & Dad go to Aunt Jane’s wedding, I’m throwing a house party. Since you’re good at decor and shit, I’ll need you to help set up so it can be amazing.

Oh, and we should consider this as our early birthday party sooo I guess you can invite your friends too! (Just a few though…)

I roll my eyes.

I should’ve known it wasn’t really life or death.

The locker on my left suddenly slams shut and a familiar, intoxicating woodsy pine scent I love surrounds me. It’s the scent that clings to all my sheets, the one that lingers for weeks and makes me wish it never had to leave.

Easton…

I avoid looking at him and rummage in my locker, pretending to search for something.

I can feel him staring, then glaring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but I don’t.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he says, his voice low.

I say nothing. I flip through a chemistry book. Then I pick up a pen and click it a few times.

“I know you hear me talking to you…”

I hum a Chopin refrain and rotate the violin case behind the clarinet.

My heart is beating so loudly that I’m convinced he can hear it.

“Scarlett…” He slips an arm around my waist and spins me around.

As he releases me, I feel the urge to press my hands against his chest, to kiss his lips and tell him how much I missed him last night, but I don’t.

I can’t…

“Is there something I can help you with this afternoon, Easton Rush?”

“I believe so,” he says. “I have a problem.”

“You only have one?”

“I wanted to see a certain someone last night.” He paused. “But her window was locked.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “It was.”

“I guess I must’ve forgotten to leave it open.”

“You also ignored all ten of my calls.”

“You should’ve gotten the hint after the fifth one.”

“Why do you have to do this shit to me every week?” He gazes at my lips. “Does arguing with me every other day turn you on?”

“Even if it did—and it doesn’t—it’s not like there’s anything you could do about it.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I’m coming over around seven tonight. I need you to leave the window open.”

“I might not be there.” I cross my arms. “I have a date.”

“With who?”

“A guy I can actually go out in public with,” I say. “He’s also in college, so he’s far more mature. He knows all about classical music and shit.”

“So do I, Scarlett.”

“Not like he does. He’s on another level than you.”

“He plays piano?”

“He does. Far better than you’ll ever be able to.”

A slow smirk crosses his lips, as if he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He moves his head closer, nearly pressing it against my forehead, making my breath catch in my throat.

“Why do you keep wasting your time going out with these guys who aren’t me?” He loops a finger under my necklace, lifting the petal-shaped charm he gave me last month. “It’s not like you’re sleeping with them.”

“I’m not sleeping with you either.”

“Until you come to your senses.”

“Are you planning on asking my sister to join us, then?”

“I haven’t fucked your sister.” He looks offended. “You know better than that.”

“Does she?”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just in a relationship with her.”

“We’re not discussing this right now.” He looks like he wants to kiss me right here, like he wants to silence the heavy beating in my chest once and for all, but he can’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

Too much is at stake.

“Easton!” One of his teammates calls from down the hall. “Come on, man! We’re running late!”

He steps back, looking me over one last time. “Leave your window unlocked for me tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Try me and fucking see…”

3

ME

Dear Aidan Mills,

I cheated off all your papers in AP History class, and I’m really sorry about that… I don’t know why Mr. Meyers gave me higher grades than you.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

T he worst part of marching band rehearsal is being forced to wear our full cotton uniforms in the sweltering Southern heat. Then again, maybe it’s the fact that our band practices are open to the public. And since there’s not much to do in our small town, random people show up to watch and shout commentary from the bleachers.

If I hear someone shout, “What’s Tully Crane doing down there in the band?” one more time, I’m going to scream…

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major whistles. “All halt!”

I stop marching in unison with everyone else. Then the whistle sounds again, commanding us all to face forward.

“Trumpets, you came in a half rest late during the fight song, but the tubas thankfully saved your asses!” He yells from a ladder. “Woodwinds, perfect as always.”

I force a smile. It’s not like we get a prize for consistency.

“We need to be one hundred percent in sync for our first Friday night,” he says. “It’s the season opener, and you know the media will be watching our football team like hawks so we need to put on our best show.”

“One of the flute player’s shoe strings is untied!” Someone from the bleachers yells. “She also missed a step when y’all were playing Sweet Caroline!”

I bite my tongue and look to the sidelines.

I spot one of my cutest classmates—Edward Johns—wrapping an arm around his long-term girlfriend. He’s kissing her cheek and whispering something against her skin, making her cheeks flush pink.

Everyone knows that she belongs to him, that there’s no point in trying to steal her way. The two of them are an unbreakable unit, just like Easton and Tully. Where one goes, the other follows. If you see one, the other is a few feet away.

What I wouldn’t give for me and Easton to have that.

In public.

I could add up all our private moments, and they would pale in comparison to what everyone else sees with him and Tully. What their millions of followers obsess over daily on social media.

“At-ten-tion!” The drum major’s whistle sounds, forcing me to look away from what I desperately want.

As I march into the next formation, I decide that I don’t feel like settling for sloppy seconds today. I’m not the slightest bit worried about Easton’s threat from earlier.

I’m spending the night at Kevin’s house.

Easton will just have to deal with it…

4

EASTON

Later that night

T he crescent shaped night-light in Scarlett’s room isn’t glowing for me. It’s her silent signal that lets me know that she’s home, that I’m welcome to come into the place that’s become my refuge over the past year and a half. The place that makes me forget just how fucked up my life is in the dark corners no one else can see.

Maybe she’s sleeping.

I cross the backyard and climb the ivy brackets that hang under her window. Then I tap on the glass.

No answer.

I tap again, a bit harder this time.

Nothing.

Peering inside, I spot her curled under my grey blanket, so I send her a text.

Hey. I’m here. Open your window.

You know I don’t sleep well without you…

The bulge on her bed doesn’t move, so I call her.

“Hey there,” she answers on the first ring.

“I’m here. Open the window for me.”

“Okay, hold on.” She pauses. “I just did. Anything else?”

“Stop fucking with me Scarlett.” I roll my eyes. “Get out of bed and open the window.”

“I’m literally staring out of an open window right now, Easton.”

“The window in your bedroom.”

“Oh.” There’s a smile in her voice. “That window. Well, that’s kind of impossible for me to do right now unless you want to tell me how to bend time and space.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time….”

“I’m at Kevin’s house,” she says. “We’re working on a group project.”

“You two don’t have any classes together last time I checked.”

“It’s a duet for the band.”

“He plays the trombone,” I say. “I doubt there’s a clarinet duet with that.”

“Shows how much you know about music.” She’s definitely testing me. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good night.”

She hangs up before I can say another word, and I call her again, but she doesn’t answer.

Grabbing the edge of the pane, I attempt to push it up in hopes that maybe she left it unlocked, but it doesn’t budge.

I’m tempted to break the damn glass, but a loud rustling below breaks my thoughts.

“Easton? Is that you?” It’s Tully.

Shit. I turn around and stare at her. I’ve never been caught coming here before.

“My room is on the other side, genius!” She smiles. “You clearly got knocked around too hard at practice today. Come down before Scarlett wakes up and pepper sprays you.”

“Right.” I climb down, and she immediately hugs me.

“You know, you don’t have to go all ‘Romeo & Juliet’ to convince me to finally fuck you, Easton.”

“Come again?”

“I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all, but don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough for sex?” She stands on her tiptoes, threading her fingers through my hair. “Everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway, so I don’t see why you’re dragging out the inevitable. I’ve never gone this long without a guy fucking me…”

I blink.

To every other guy at school, Tully is the epitome of the phrase “sexy as fuck.” Her dark brown hair is always pulled into a perfect high bun and she knows exactly how to make minds wander with her collection of tightly-fitted dresses and skirts.

When we started dating the summer before our junior year, I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that we didn’t have much in common except popularity, but I figured we could still have fun together.

We created a joint TikTok account and started posting random “When your boyfriend plays football and you’re a cheerleader” type of things, and then one night we went viral.

Then we went viral again.

And again and again.

Before we knew it, the joint account had three million followers and sponsors lining up to pay us money that I desperately needed.

It was easy money, I enjoyed being around her, but then her sister was paired with me for an AP English project, and within seconds of her saying, “I hope you don’t think I give a fuck that you’re Mr. Popular because you’re just as average as all these other guys.” I liked her.

“I have my reasons,” I finally say to Tully.

“Care to share at least one of them?”

“They’re complicated.”

“Of course.” She smiles, pressing a kiss on my cheek. “I’m making spiked hot chocolate with my mom’s brandy since I need to get some sleep. Want some?”

“Sure,” I say. “Double the shots in mine…”

5

ME

Dear Harriet Rayner,

There were so many days when I wished we could’ve been friends since we shared a love of all things goth and gore. I was thrilled that you invited me to your exclusive Halloween dinner, but there’s a reason why I never showed…I discovered that you were @MissGreyHighAnonymous who spread rumors on social media about everyone at our school. You hurt a shit ton of people, including me.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

“D o you really need to rehearse that concerto again?” Kevin crosses his arms in the living room.

“I do, if I want to make sure it’s perfect in time for my recital.”

“I mean, do you need to rehearse it here?” He laughs, gently prying the violin bow from my fingers. “It’s been perfect for the past several weeks. Trust me.”

“Sounds like you’re about to kick me out.”

“I’m not.” He sets my bow on the mantle. “But I’d like to watch our show with the pizza instead of your music. No offense.”

“None taken.” I place the violin into its case and crack open a soda. “You don’t have to pretend like you haven’t watched the next episode without me, by the way.”

“Good!” He laughs. “I’ll still rewatch it with you, though.”

The doorbell rings and he picks up the remote.

“You’re turn to pay for our nourishment,” he says. “I paid the last two times.”

“Of course.” I grab a few bills from my purse and head to the door.

The pizza guy isn’t waiting for me when I open it, though.

It’s Easton.

What the…

“Hello, Scarlett.” He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. “Is now a good time?”

“A good time for what?”

“For us to have a conversation,” he says. “You clearly wanted to try me by not being at home, so I came here to talk.”

I step back, somewhat stunned by the darkness in his eyes. We’ve made each other mad before, but I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Make sure he gives us extra parmesan packets!” Kevin calls out. “The crushed red peppers, too!”

“So, is now not a good time?” Easton says.

“It’s really not.” I motion for him to lower his voice. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We’re talking now.” He grabs my hand again, pulling me to the far side of the porch.

“Easton, I swear to God, I—” My sentence ends on his lips, and my back hits the hot bricks.

He grips my hips as he kisses me harder, making me lose my breath. Then he bites down on my bottom lip.

“I know you’re trying to make a point about us,” he whispers against my mouth, “so congratulations. You’ve made it.”

“What I’m doing right now has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay.” He kisses me again, making me regret not letting him in last night. “You also know what tomorrow is for me.”

I say nothing.

“And regardless of how mad you are at me, I know you would never pull this shit on that day. Or am I wrong?”

I say nothing, because he isn’t. Because even during our worst moments, he’s always been there if I needed him.

A red car suddenly pulls into the driveway and the delivery guy steps out.

We watch him walk toward us with a pizza bag.

“Two extra large pepperoni pizzas, a medium order of breadsticks, and a large coke, right?” He steps in front of us.

“Yes.” I finally turn away from Easton. “With parmesan and crushed red pepper packets.”

“Got it. It’s forty two dollars and fifty two cents.”

I hold out the money, but Easton pushes my hand away.

“I’ve got it,” he says, paying for it. “You can keep the change.”

The delivery guy smiles and then tilts his head to the side. “Easton Rush?”

“Yes.”

“Aw man. My dad talks about you all the time.” He hands me the food. “And my little sister is obsessed with ya’lls TikTok account, Tully. Your name is Tully, right?”

“Yeah.” I feign a smile. “Thanks.”

“Good luck this season dude!” He walks away without another word, and Easton waits until he pulls away before pressing a kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more, but Kevin suddenly calls my name.

“Scarlett, are you dying out there or something?” He calls. “Scarlett?”

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’ll um…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Easton presses one final kiss on my lips before walking away.

6

EASTON

I  park my car outside the school gym at five thirty in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I know better than to try.

Stepping out, I grab my bag and head toward the side door.

Since joining the football team, I’ve become friends with the chief janitor and he always texts to see if he needs to leave an entrance open for me.

I twist the knob and it gives way, but before I can disappear into the locker room, a familiar voice drifts down the hall.

“Is that you, Reed Hinson?” It’s my coach.

“No, Coach.”

“Then who the hell is it?” He shouts louder. “This complex is off limits until seven o’clock unless you’re on my staff or a team captain!”

I roll my eyes and head to his doorway.

“It’s me, Coach.”

“Oh.” He puts on his glasses. “Fate must be on my side today. Have a seat so we can talk.”

I hold back a sigh. “Can this wait until later, Coach?”

“No.” He points to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I set down my bag and oblige.

He stares at me for several moments, rocking back and forth in his squeaky chair.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll hurry up and say something, but all he does is rock.

“If you’re not about to say anything, can I—”

“Are you using the best brand of condoms?” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Are you covering your cock properly while you’re screwing these girls or what?”

I should’ve just stayed in my car…

“You do know what condoms are, don’t you son?” He narrows his eyes. “I gave you my sex talk when you were a freshman, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately. With all due respect though, Coach, where the hell is this coming from?”

“I was like you back in my day.” He clasps his hands. “I mean, I wasn’t the top ranked high school quarterback in the nation or anything, but I was popular enough to make the sports news. Very popular. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does…”

“You know what doesn’t feel good?” He stops rocking and leans forward. “A surprise baby by some gold digger who knows, just knows, you’re destined to do big things in college and will be huge in the NFL. I don’t want that to happen to you, so I want you to make sure you’re wrapping it up.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not only do I want you to wrap it up,” he says, “But I want you to make sure you carry something around whenever you’re done and put it to use.”

He opens his drawer and pulls out a small stack of red packets. “These will fit in your wallet behind the condoms.”

“What are those?”

“Hot sauce packets,” he says. “Whenever you take off a condom, squeeze some of this into it so the girl can’t go behind your back and put your semen to use.”

What the fuck?

I stand to my feet. “I’m good, Coach.”

“No, trust me.” He pushes the packets closer. “The closer you get to announcing whatever college you’re attending in the spring, the closer the gold diggers are to sinking their claws into your future.”

“I’m going to leave now.”

“I smelled the scent of female desperation in the air once this school year started, once ESPNU started running those long promos on you.” He’s officially talking to himself, not me. “The stench is unmistakable.”

“Are you taking new meds, Coach?”

“I don’t want to be invited to your baby shower for at least ten years,” he says, staring into space. “I wish I could go back in time and have someone say that to me…”

I turn around and head to the door.

“Wait, Easton!”

I look over my shoulder. “Yes, Coach?”

He picks up a blue envelope and holds it out for me. “Happy birthday son. I never forget.”

“Thank you.” I take the envelope from him and leave his office, shutting the door behind me.

“Easton?” Someone else calls my name.

Fuck… I turn around and spot the offensive coordinator. “Yes, Mr. Hinson?”

“I wanted to make sure I caught you before I looked at some film.” He hands me a small gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He pats my shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not the next best All-American quarterback. You have an incredible game, a beautiful supportive family, and good looks and shit, too.”

I nod. “Will do, sir.”

Turning away before I can be distracted again, I walk down the hall and into the team’s state of the art locker room.

I check all the rows to make sure I’m the only person here. Then I open my bag and take out a framed picture that I can only face once a year.

My mother used to come here with me during this ungodly hour, armed with cupcakes and candles like I was still in kindergarten. She’d also bring along a piano keyboard and request that I play a Chopin piece from memory.

Even though I’d long given up a chance at being a musician, she was proud of me for choosing “a sport that might actually pay your bills someday.”

I run my finger along the edge of her face.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes me put away the frame. Before I can ask who else is interrupting my morning, my father rounds the corner, holding up a brown bag.

“I hope you won’t mind that I came here,” he says. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I motion for him to sit next to me.

I don’t mention that he reeks of alcohol.

“Your mother was a really great woman.” He hands me a box of waffles. “Loyal to a fault.”

“She never lied to me.” His voice cracks. “Not one time.”

“She didn’t lie to me either.”

“Very loyal.”

“Yes,” I say. “Very loyal.”

We eat our food in silence, swallowing it down with our forced lies.

We’ve never discussed the truth.

It hurts too damn much…

My mother died on her way to our family vacation last year.

She was in the passenger seat of a red Corvette that didn’t belong to my father.

It was our church pastor’s.

The accident report revealed that they were half-naked, that the backseat floor was littered with condoms.

At the hospital, the doctors gave me a plastic bag of her things, and while I was texting her friends and families the news, I realized that most of the names in her phone belonged to other men with nicer cars than Corvettes.

My life had already been hanging by a thread, but that was the week it finally snapped.

The same week I met Scarlett…

“Well…” My father downs the last bite of his waffle and stands to his feet. “I know I’m not her, but Happy Birthday son. I’ve got to get my rehab meeting. I’m one hundred percent sober now, you know.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “I know.”

Later that afternoon

Are you at home yet?

SCARLETT

I will be in an hour. Late practice. Some idiot decided to play a game with the fire alarm today.

How unfortunate…You’re the only person who hasn’t wished me ‘Happy Birthday’ today.

SCARLETT

Because you told me that you prefer to celebrate it on a different day…Have you changed your mind about that?

Not at all. Call me when you’re heading home.

I TOSS my football pads on the floor before slumping onto the living room couch. Trying to kill time, I flip through the channels, but nothing catches my attention.

I scroll down my contacts and call my best guy friend Jeremiah.

“What’s up, Shitface?” he answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?”

“Terribly.” I shut my eyes. “I’m wishing you were kissing me right now.”

He laughs. “I hope you’re not trying to use the birthday sympathy card to get out of going with me to the gulf this weekend.”

“Never.”

“Good. What do you really want then?”

“A distraction,” I admit. “At least half an hour if you can…”

“Of course.” There’s a smile in his voice. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to tell you just how overrated you are.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re not as attractive as everyone claims,” he says. “There are plenty of other actors in Hollywood who look far better.”

“Are you saying I look good enough to belong in Hollywood, though?”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Laughing, I shut my eyes and lean back on the couch, listening to him serve me lies until I fall asleep.

I’M DREAMING of throwing epic passes at The University of Alabama’s stadium when something wet touches my thigh.

Confused, I look up at the sky, but it’s bright blue. No sign of an oncoming storm anywhere.

“Easton! Easton!” The crowd cheers my name as my teammate rushes into the end zone.

The wetness touches my thigh again, leaving a strange trail, and I open my eyes.

Scarlett is kneeling between my legs, her fingers pressed against my briefs.

She looks up at me and I smile.

Then I realize she’s Tully.

What the…

“Hey there.” She smiles and presses another kiss against my skin. “Happy birthday.”

Fuck. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you a birthday blowjob.” She smiles. “Don’t you want one?”

Only if it was from your sister. I clear my throat before those words slip from my mouth.

“Exactly.” She presses her palms on my knees. “Lay back and let me finish.”

“No, don’t.” I clasp her wrists and stand up, moving around her. “I just want to be alone today.”

“Ugh. Seriously?” She opens a bag, pulling out a champagne bottle and some type of dessert tray. “I bribed a guy to get us some top shelf alcohol and I even bought you birthday candles to go with this custom cookie cake.”

I sigh. “I really just want to be alone today, Tully.”

“But I’m your girlfriend.” She stands.

“I’m aware,” I say. “It’s not personal.”

“It feels like it.” She walks over to me. “Why can’t I be here with you? Like, on all days, why not today?”

“Tully…”

“Save it.” She looks into my eyes. “When you stopped letting me come over months ago because you claimed you didn’t sleep well with me in your bed, I bought that.”

“That’s the truth.”

“When you said, ‘I feel like we need to work on being better friends in our relationship’ I bought that bullshit, too.”

“That’s still the truth…”

“What about my truth, then?” Her voice cracks. “Like, I get the social media thing with the sponsors can be annoying, but we both signed all those deals and they pay us pretty well.”

“It has nothing to do with social media, Tully.”

“I also understand that you’re under a lot of stress since every college is trying to sink their claws into you, and everyone in this town thinks you’re some sort of celebrity, but…What about me?” She sighs. “What happened to the guy I was dating last year?”

I swallow, knowing that she could never handle the honest truth. She’s a drama queen through and through, and the only people who exist in her world are those who serve her best interests.

“I don’t really have anyone close in my life,” she says. “My mom loves her vlogging shit more than anything, my dad loves that money, and my friends are…” Her voice trails off. “I have friends, and I want to have you, too.”

I hold back a sigh.

She didn’t mention Scarlett.

She never does…

“I’ll let you have your birthday because well, it is your birthday.” She presses her hand against my chest. “But we need to talk within the next few days because I need to know that you still like me as much as I like you.”

She kisses my cheek. “Save the champagne and cookies for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, stopping myself from making a promise I don’t want to keep.

I grab her hand and lead her outside, to the silver BMW she supposedly “shares” with Scarlett. I’ve yet to see Scarlett behind the wheel.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, shutting the door.

“I’ll hold you to that.” She blows me a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

I stand in my driveway long after she’s gone, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I grab the keys to my dad’s car and head to the only place I want to be.

7

ME

Dear Elliot Tipton,

In debate class, you once argued that “parents who put their kids on the internet for content are selfish people who fuck them up for life.” I told you how wrong you were, how I grew up in a family like that and I turned out just fine.

You were right, though….

One hundred percent.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

I  look like a poor version of Little Bo Peep.

All I’m missing is a flock of sheep and a golden herder stick.

“Stop frowning, Scarlett!” My mom fluffs the white petticoat under my pink dress. “This is a thirty-thousand-dollar period piece. You should be thrilled to wear something so beautiful.”

“The corset is too tight, Mom,” I say. “I can barely breathe.”

“Nonsense!” She grabs the strings and pulls them in even tighter. “Now, let’s see what we can do about these wayward ruffles.”

I suck in what will probably be the last breath of my life, and wince as she stabs my skin with a pushpin.

Since I had the misfortune of beating Tully home from school today, I’m standing in for her latest sponsorship fitting.

“We’re sensing that the Renaissance era will be making a fashionable comeback in the near future, and your daughter’s online persona truly fits in line with our brand.” A woman in a light lavender suit, who looks like she’s descended from English royalty, sips tea in our living room.

“She has such lovely posture and bone structure.” The woman smiles at me. “That dress truly comes to life on you, Miss Crane.”

“Say, thank you very much, Scarlett.” My mother chides.

“Thank you, Miss. Very much.”

“Pardon me asking.” The woman sets down her tea cup and walks over to us. “But are you sure you don’t want to join your sister for this campaign? I know you don’t have as many followers as she does, but if you both did videos on her account, I’m sure our marketing department would negotiate a higher payout.”

“She’s not interested.” “I’m not interested.” My mother and I say in unison.

“Not even for triple the amount?” She smiles.

“No.” “She’ll think about it.” We speak in unison again, but our answers aren’t in sync this time.

“I thought so.” The woman smooths the lace sleeves of my dress. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as social media, influencers, or lifestyle bloggers.”

“I’m sure life was much better back then…”

“You kids these days can completely bypass college and build immense wealth with the tap of your fingertips,” she continues. “You can make connections all around the world without ever leaving your living room.”

“They have no idea how good they have it.” My mother chimes in. “I’m hoping Scarlett eventually takes advantage of her good looks and charm.”

“I hope so, too.” The woman picks up a footstool and motions for me to step on top of it. “Let’s finish the rest of the fitting, shall we?”

I tune out their conversation as they poke and prod me with needles and make notes on measuring tape.

When they’re done, I head upstairs with the contract and slip into my bedroom.

Easton is already inside, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Something funny, Birthday Boy?” I ask.

“I’m not used to seeing you in bright pink.”

“Oh.” I look down at the dress. “Don’t get used to it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Being a stand-in for Tully.” I shrug. “I was planning to call when I finished and got out of this thing.”

“Let me help you.” He walks over and motions for me to turn around.

Staring at him through the mirror, I watch as he unzips the side of my dress. He slides his finger along the sash that’s tied at the front and slowly loosens it.

With his eyes on mine, he saves the pearl necklace I’m wearing for last, unclasping it and pressing a kiss against the back of my neck.

Every nerve in my body comes to life, my heart skips a beat.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me there,” I say.

“You’re right.” He kisses my neck again. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s against my ‘I don’t want to go there with you’ rules.”

“You were supposed to rewrite some of those…” He lets the pearls drop to the floor. “When exactly are you getting around to that?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised.”

He sighs and gently grabs my waist, spinning me around to face him.

“I hate that I didn’t meet you first,” he says.

“Would that have changed anything?”

“Yes.”

I want to believe that, but hypotheticals have never been my strong suit. It’s hard for me to see the shades in anything; it’s always black and white.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses my lips.

Then he lets me go and I change into my set of pajamas.

I climb into bed first and he follows, pulling me against his chest.

He toys with the strands of my hair, and I inhale his scent.

“We need to find a new meetup spot for our weekends at some point,” he says.

“What’s wrong with you dad’s off road shack?”

“The ‘for sale by owner’ sign isn’t there anymore. I think someone might’ve bought it and he hasn’t told me yet.”

“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “I stole it and tossed it into a dumpster so no one would have the number to call about it anymore.”

He smiles. “You know that’s a crime, right?”

“Are you planning to report me?”

“I might.”

He laughs. “Hypothetical question. If you got arrested for something you did, but the police weren’t convinced that you did it, what would you do?”

“Go about my life.”

“You’re supposed to wait for three options before responding, Scarlett.”

“Not when I already know the answer.” I smile. “What would you do?”

“Probably the same thing.”

We both laugh and he slides his hands under me, rolling me on top of him.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“I’m serious. You can’t laugh and you have to promise.”

“Okay, Scarlett,” he says. “I promise.”

“I dozed off during band practice today,” I say. “I had this long dream of you picking me up after school and us riding off into the sunset.”

“What exactly is funny about that?”

“We drove all the way to New York, but it took us two weeks to get there because every time we saw a sign for a beautiful hotel we stopped and you went down on me.”

“I’m not seeing what’s funny.” He trails a finger against my lips. “I think about eating your pussy all the time.”

My cheeks heat. “Oh.”

“I really need to revise the terms of us a lot sooner than ‘soon,’” he says, straining. “Please.”

“Okay.”

His fingers leave my lips and I suddenly feel bereft.

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever, communicating without saying a word, both wishing—like always—that we’d met each other first.

My phone buzzes at exactly midnight, and I lean over him to turn it off.

“Happy birthday, Easton.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.” He pauses. “My mom lied to me, to me and my dad. The entire time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just promise that you’ll never do that.”

“Tell you sorry?”

“Lie.”

I nod. “I promise.”

“Good.” He pulls me into his arms. “Go to sleep."

PART 2

THE LIES KEEP SPINNING

Question:

If you knew that you’d suffer no consequences for holding onto a secret that hurts someone you love, what would you do?

- A) Keep it to yourself. There’s no point in hurting someone for no reason.

- B) Invite them out to a public place and tell them. Honesty is always key. No matter what.

- C) Write it in a letter with as many details as possible to get it off your chest. Send it later to clear your conscience.

Answer:

A.

But not because you are concerned with hurting them.

You don’t want to hurt yourself.

Table of Contents

I Wish I Would’ve Told You

Contents

Dedication

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue – Me

Part 1 – Back then

1 – Me

2 – Me

3 – Me

4 – Easton

5 – Me

6 – Easton

7 – Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue – Me

Part 1 – Back then

1 – Me

2 – Me

3 – Me

4 – Easton

5 – Me

6 – Easton

7 – Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue – Me

Part 1 – Back then

1 – Me

2 – Me

3 – Me

4 – Easton

5 – Me

6 – Easton

7 – Me

Part 2

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue – Me

Part 1 – Back then

1 – Me

2 – Me

3 – Me

4 – Easton

5 – Me

6 – Easton

7 – Me

Part 2