The Art of Being Friends Read online

  “Not every girl,” Hunter protests, handing me some fries.

  I breathe in the salty goodness. “I don’t know. From what I’ve seen so far, it seems like you’ve got a ton of admirers.”

  Hunter gives me an unimpressed stare but is struggling not to smile. “You say admirers. I say stalkers.”

  Harlow snorts a laugh. “Like you don’t encourage them.”

  “I don’t encourage them,” he insists, collecting another burger. “They just … I don’t know … I don’t know why they’re so obsessed with me.”

  Did he seriously just almost quote Mean Girls?

  “Dude, you so did not just say that,” Harlow and I say at the same time. Then we both yell out, “Jinx!” It’s a real bonding moment, let me tell you.

  Hunter’s gaze shifts between us, a trace of a confused smile playing at his lips. “Okay, I’m so confused. What’re you two screaming about?”

  “Mean Girls,” we both say then laugh.

  His confusion only magnifies. “What?”

  “It’s a movie,” I explain. “A total chick flick. You should watch it.”

  “You think I’m the type of guy to watch a chick flick?”

  “Actually, yeah, maybe.” I say it mostly to mess with him, but he does sort of seem like the type of guy who would. “You should watch it.”

  He chuckles, rolling his tongue in his mouth. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll watch it, but only if you watch it with me.”

  “Hey.” Harlow points a finger at Hunter. “No way. You are so not trying to steal my new best friend.”

  “I’m not trying to steal her,” he assures her while smiling at me. “Raven and I are friends, though. We already decided this while you were taking the world’s freakin’ longest piss.”

  “Maybe I have a UTI?” Harlow quips then takes a huge bite of her burger.

  “TMI, little sis,” Hunter gripes. “And FYI, if you do, it’s probably from all the fucking soda you’re drinking in the morning.” He moves to hand me the burger.

  I shake my head. “I just got fries, remember?”

  “I know. And I know you said you weren’t that hungry, but I can’t let you do this the wrong way,” he explains. “The first time you eat here, you have to go all-out so you can get the full experience.”

  “I …” Shit. I don’t have enough money to cover a full meal. I can barely afford to pay for the fries without chipping in for a tip. “I … I didn’t bring enough money with me.” What I don’t say is that I’ll never bring enough money with me.

  I get three bucks a day for lunch from the money that my aunt and uncle give me from an allowance that was left for them after my parents passed away. It’s to be used to feed and clothe me. There’s hardly money, though, something my aunt and uncle like to remind me of a lot.

  “It’s okay. I got you covered,” Hunter says then winks at me.

  My discomfort grows. I really don’t like it when people try to pay for things for me. “It really is fine if I just eat fries.”

  “Let him pay for it,” Harlow chimes in. “I’ll chip in half, too, so it’s just not totally from my brother.” When I start to protest, Harlow adds, “I’ve never gotten to buy a best friend her lunch before, so if you decline, you’re totally taking this new experience away from me.” She gives me an evil grin.

  While I’m perfectly aware she’s not being completely serious, I decide to stop arguing and accept the offer. But I make a vow to figure out a way to treat them to lunch sometime and pay them back.

  “Fine,” I agree.

  Hunter smiles as he hands me the burger. Then he extends his fist toward his sister for a fist bump. “You and I make a pretty good team, little sis.”

  She taps her knuckles against his then takes a huge bite of her burger. “For sure. We should make a business of it, and our slogan can be, ‘how to bully your new best friend into eating lunch.’ ”

  I shake my head but can’t help laughing. Of course, then I take a bite of my burger, and that laugh turns into a moan as I nearly have a foodgasm.

  “Holy crap, that’s good.” I lick a droplet of fry sauce off my bottom lip and notice Hunter staring at me with a weird look on his face. “What?” I ask. “Do I have sauce on my face or something?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re good.” He stares at me for a beat longer then tears his attention off me, focusing on our phones as one of them releases a series of beeps. He scoops up his phone, looks at the screen, and then a crease forms between his brow. “That’s weird.”

  Worry stirs through me. “What is it?”

  His gaze lifts to mine. “It wouldn’t track the exact location of the phone, but it did give me an estimate.”

  “Is that not normal?” I ask as I pop a fry into my mouth.

  “Not usually. But it’s not completely abnormal,” he tells me. “What’s weird, though, is that it says the location is in Wyoming.”

  “Is that where you’re originally from?” Harlow wonders.

  A knot forms in my stomach. “I … I was born in a town there and lived there for a while.” I lived there until I had to move in with my aunt and uncle, right after I killed my parents.

  11

  Raven

  Here’s the thing about what happened to my parents. While there’s no proof that I actually killed them, there’s also no proof that I didn’t. And the only fact I can go on are little images that I vaguely remember. But most of that day and a few days before and after are nothing but a blur of emptiness. The theory is that the trauma made me forget what happened, which would be believable, except the few memories that I can recall contain images of blood staining my hands, of being near my parents’ bodies, of me holding a knife. The latter, though, no one else knows about because I’ve kept it a secret. And for a good reason, since some believe I killed my parents. In fact, I was taken to the police station when it happened and questioned multiple times, but they couldn’t find any hardcore proof, so they released me.

  When my aunt and uncle found out that I was under suspicion, they ate that shit up. And so did Dixie May. What I don’t get is why they hated me so much before they discovered I might have done it. Even the few times I’d met them before my parents died, they despised me.

  “So you can’t tell who sent the text then?” I double-check, trying to steer the conversation away from Wyoming and everything that happened there.

  “Not yet,” Hunter says. “Give me a few days, and I’ll probably be able to find out.”

  I could tell him not to worry about it, but now that I know it’s sent from someone in Wyoming, that eliminates the sender being Dixie May, which leaves me wondering who it is.

  “Okay. Thanks.” I collect my phone from the dash and pocket it.

  “While I work on it, I’ll have to have your phone,” Hunter informs me as he collects a milkshake from the tray and hands it to me. “So we’ll have to get together, probably after school. Tryouts are starting tomorrow, so it’ll have to be after that.”

  “It’s fine if you can’t,” I tell him then take a sip of the delicious milkshake. He’s so busy, and I’m making it worse.

  He carries my gaze. “I can. We’ll just have to do it a bit later. Maybe we can meet up for dinner or something.”

  “It sounds like a date,” Harlow remarks, dabbing her face with a napkin.

  “It’s not a date,” Hunter assures me then throws Harlow a dirty look. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna drink your entire shake.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me,” he challenges with a cock of his brow.

  Harlow glares at him but keeps her lips sealed. Hunter smirks at her then hands her the shake before returning his attention to me.

  “Let’s exchange numbers so I can get ahold of you,” he says casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

  But it is a huge deal, at least to me. I’ve never exchanged numbers with anyone before, never had any friends until now.

&nb
sp; Maybe this move isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

  I just need to make sure my past stays a secret, or else I’ll lose these friendships before they even start.

  12

  Raven

  After we finish eating, we head back to school. We’re a bit late, and normally, I’d be bothered by this and have to take a few hits before I walk into class, but I’m riding a friendship high right now, so I decide not to.

  “What class do you have next?” Hunter asks me as the three of us wander toward the entrance of the school.

  Since the bell has already rang, hardly anyone is around, except for us and a few others.

  “Bio, I think.” I dig out my schedule that I tucked inside my pocket and check. “Yep, bio.”

  “With Ms. Mellie?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  I nod as we reach the door. “Yep.”

  “Cool. I’m heading close to there. I’ll walk you.” He opens the door for me and lets me walk in. He also waits for Harlow to enter before he walks in himself.

  Harlow lets out a snort. “Wow, this gentleman side of you is new.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” he jokes. “I’m just trying to impress my new friend.” He winks at me.

  A smile tugs at my lips, but I try not to let it get too huge, not wanting to seem like a total weirdo.

  “Speaking of new friends.” Harlow faces me while retrieving her phone from her pocket. “Let’s swap digits.”

  “Good idea.” I attempt to appear as collected as possible as we trade numbers and enter them into our phones, but this is the second time I’ve done this today—and in my entire life—so I’m a little jacked up. Hopefully, they don’t notice.

  Once we’re done, she waves bye as she starts off in the opposite direction we’re heading in, calling out, “I’ll text you tonight.”

  I wave back then Hunter and I head off in the other direction.

  “I’m glad you’re going to be friends with my sister,” he says as we slowly make our way to our classes. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends, and you seem like you’re just the right amount of weird to get along with her well.” He nudges me lightly in the side while smiling at me.

  “You think I’m weird?” I question, already knowing I am.

  “From what I can tell, you are a little bit. Don’t worry; that’s a compliment.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I assure him. “You don’t seem that normal either, FYI.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” he tells me. “I’m completely and one-hundred percent weirdo.”

  I giggle at that.

  A huge smile takes over his face as he slows to a stop in front of a closed classroom door. “This is your class,” he tells me. “If you don’t want to be marked tardy, just tell Ms. Mellie that you couldn’t find the classroom because you’re new. She’s nice enough that she’ll let it slide.”

  “Okay, thanks. I will.” I move to step inside the classroom, but he captures my arm and stops me.

  “I wanted to also say that Zay …” He dithers for a moment. “I’m going to talk to him. Everything will be cool by tomorrow, okay?”

  “You don’t have to do that. He’s your friend.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” he vows, letting go of my arm and backing away. “I’ll text you tonight so we can set up a time to do that phone thing.”

  I nod, watching him walk away, feeling a bit … I don’t know, happy maybe? It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this floating feeling is.

  Of course, right before I walk into the classroom, I receive a text that makes that cloud go poof.

  Bitchy Bitch of the West: Thanks for standing me up after lunch. You’re going to regret this big time.

  13

  Hunter

  I end up having to meet Diane by myself since Jax and Zay are still stuck in in-school suspension. To say I’m not thrilled would be the understatement of the year. But at least the diner is relatively busy. That means I can get in and out super-fast, and Diane can’t stop me. Not without causing a scene. And if she did and word got back to my father …

  Yeah, she’s not going to cause a scene.

  I order a drink and a piece of pie before finding a booth in the far back corner. I’ve already messaged Diane that I’m here, and she replied that she’d be here in just a few.

  I’m sitting there, bored out of my mind, when I decide to text Raven to distract myself. Not that I think she’ll reply since she’s in class.

  Me: How’s my favorite new friend?

  Weirdly, she responds within seconds.

  Raven: I’m not doing great at all.

  Me: What’s wrong?

  Raven: Well, when I signed up for classes, everything was full except for beginners art. So here I am, sitting at a table with a pencil and am supposed to be trying to draw a vase, but mine looks like a taco.

  I’m mid-drink as I read this, so soda sprays all over the table when I laugh. I grab a couple of napkins, wipe up the mess, and reply back.

  Me: I seriously just spit my soda out all over the table. How in the heck can you make a vase look like a taco?

  Raven: By having zero art skills. You know that saying: I have two left feet. Well, I think I have two left hands or something.

  I smile.

  Me: Well, it’s a good thing you have two friends who are awesome artists.

  Raven: Yeah, but you can’t really teach art, can you? You’re just kind of born with that skill.

  Me: That might be partly true, but we can help you improve, at least enough that your vase won’t look like a taco anymore.

  Raven: Thank God, because I seriously spent the last fifteen minutes convincing myself that it won’t be that bad if I fail out of art.

  Me: You won’t fail. I promise. Harlow and I’ve got your back.

  It takes her a moment to respond.

  Raven: Thanks. I appreciate everything you guys have done for me. It’s been nice not to have to go through my first day of school completely friendless.

  She’s said a couple of things that have made me question if she had friends before. And this message only makes me wonder that more. How, though? How can such a beautiful, amusing girl not have any friends?

  I’m about to reassure her that she won’t be friendless anymore when a shadow falls over the table. I stiffen as a folder is tossed onto the table in front of me.

  Sucking in a breath, I glance up at Diane.

  She’s smiling, not in a friendly way, though; more like how a monster smiles at their prey.

  “That’s the file on the new sheriff,” she states, strangely not taking a seat. “It’s the info your father has managed to collect on him so far. There’s not much and even less information about his family.” She places a hand on top of the folder, leaning down toward me. “You’re to find out as much as you can about everyone he’s close to then report back to me, understand?”

  “Yep.” I manage to keep an even tone as I grab the folder and yank it out from underneath her hand, causing her to stumble a little.

  Glaring at me, she smooths her hands over her hair. “Careful how you treat me.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “I’m the one who tells your father whether or not you’re doing a good job …” She traces her finger along my cheek and whispers, “I can either make you look terrific or make it look like you don’t respect him, that you’re the epitome of your mother.”

  I jerk back, shock whipping through me. “What?”

  She gives me a cruel smile. “What? Did I say something that confused you?”

  “You …” I swallow hard, balling my hands into fists. “Why did you bring up my mother? And why did you make it sound like …?” Like my father did something to her.

  “Did I?” she questions, tapping her finger against her lips. “I don’t remember doing so.”

  I want to wring her neck, not just for now, but for everything she’s done to me. But if I do, she’ll tell my father
and I’ll be punished. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let this go.

  She knows something about my mom, and I’m going to find out what.

  Grinning at me one last time, she turns to leave. “Text me tonight with an update,” she calls out over her shoulder. “Or I’ll pay you a visit at your house tonight.” She strolls away, past the booths, and exits the diner.

  I release a shaky breath, fighting back every instinct I have to chase after her and drag the truth from her stupid lips. If I’m going to get the truth out of her, I need to come up with a plan. But first, I need to look into this, because the last thing I need is to have her showing up at my house tonight.

  I open the file and start sifting through the few papers inside it. The waitress shows up eventually with my slice of pie and a drink. Whoever was looking into the town sheriff before me either didn’t do a good job or the sheriff has done a fantastic job at keeping information on him a secret. There’s hardly anything in here. Just some details about his position at his old job, where he moved from—basic stuff like that. But something does capture my attention. A few names on the paper or one in particular.

  Ravenlee Wilowwynter.

  The sheriff is her uncle. Why did I not put this together before?

  Maybe because I was so caught up in the beautiful new girl with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. And as I continue to sort through the papers, I soon discover why. Or at least one of the reasons.

  Raven’s parents were murdered. That’s why she’s living with her aunt and uncle.

  When I can’t find any of the details of what happened, I find a note implying that the police briefly thought Raven had something to do with it. Not that I believe it. The police get stuff wrong all the time. Still, I turn to searching the internet on my phone for more information. But nothing shows up. It’s almost like someone has wiped the information clean.