If I'm Being Honest by Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka

Author:Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2019-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

I CROSS THE FINISH LINE IN FIRST place in our Wednesday cross-country meet. For the first time I can remember, there’s no one in the stands waiting for me.

I wipe the sweat from my face, feeling it stick to me in the uncomfortable October sun. Finishing my stretches on the red rubber of the Beaumont track, I fight wishing my friends were here. It feels juvenile, and I know they have good reasons. Morgan’s out of town for the week, filming on location in Vancouver. Elle told me she had to work on her next video—which I’ll admit was an unusual excuse. She’s never skipped one of my races, not even the time she got mono. Part of me twists uncomfortably, wondering if Elle resents the time I’ve spent with Paige’s group instead of her and my other friends. I have to find a way to bring them together.

I won’t pretend I’m not a little lonely without Elle and Morgan here. I pull off my gray sweatband, a birthday gift from Andrew a couple years ago, along with the thoroughly worn Nikes on my aching feet. Wringing the band in my hands distractedly, I watch my teammates join up with family and friends for congratulatory hugs. Wrestling down resentment, I walk in the direction of the locker room, unable to keep myself from searching the bleachers in irrational expectation of finding my friends. I recognize Leila’s younger sister, who’s a sophomore, and—

Brendan?

He’s sitting on the bottom bleacher, right behind the low green chain-link fence separating the stadium concrete from red rubber. Our eyes meet, and he grins. He’s not on his phone or watching other runners. He’s sitting on his own, expectant. Like . . . he’s waiting for me.

I walk up to him. “Are you here for me?” The question comes out blunter than I intended, and I’m struck with self-consciousness. If he’s not here for me, this isn’t a good look.

“Of course not.” Brendan watches me, running a hand through his curls. “I’m a huge cross-country enthusiast. I’m amazed you didn’t know that about me.”

A winded laugh escapes me. “You do constantly surprise me.” I’m joking, yet the moment the words leave my lips, I realize how true they are. First his quiet but unwavering confidence when he was rejecting my apologies, then his sense of humor, then his easy charisma with the MIT rep.

“I stayed after school to work on The Girl’s a Sorceress,” he explains. He stands up from the bleachers, and we walk together toward the locker rooms. “I had time before my dad expects me home and decided I’d come watch. You’re fast,” he says, eyeing me. “I’m trying not to be intimidated by your obvious athleticism.”

“A girl has to do something to impress the boys who stay late to work on their video games,” I reply without thinking.

Brendan raises an eyebrow. I meet his gaze evenly. Flirting with Brendan just . . . happens, and it’s not worth fighting. It’s harmless. I know I like Andrew.

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