Page 33 of Only Ever You

“Hey,” he says to Isla. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”

“No, you’re not.” She flashes him a smile and then peers at Sienna. “What did you want to discuss with Michael?”

“His birthday party,” she chirps. “I promised to help him.”

If my stomach sank any lower, it’d be on the ground. When did I tell her I wanted her help?

Isla’s small smile grows, and my heart stutters. I’ve known her since we were little, and this is the fakest smile I’ve ever seen on her.

“If you’re helping him, I’m sure the party will be a success.” She snags her book and her cup from the table and stands. “Sorry, I forgot a book in my locker. I better get it before class starts.”

She locks eyes with me, and the pain and anger swimming in her gaze make my heart split in two. There’s another emotion there too, one I can’t name, and it’s all directed at me. In this moment, it’s like our lifelong friendship is collapsing, and I have no idea how to make it stop.

“Good luck with party planning, you two.” She twirls, her skirt flipping around her, and strides away.

This is a fucking disaster.

CHAPTER NINE

do you like isla?

MICHAEL

Sixteen years old

Dad stands beside me, arms crossed, pretending he’s not amused by the chaos unfolding in our backyard.

Steam rolls off the pool, the heated water the only reason half the hockey team willingly jumped in, since the bite of the November air is a little harsher than usual. Ash yells, “Bro, it’s like a hot tub!” before cannonballing in and drenching the concrete.

A group of girls are sprawled across the sunbeds, wrapped in towels after their quick swim. A couple of my classmates are acting like fools on the dance floor, which is really just the part of the patio Dad cleared to set up speakers. They are jumping around to some punk rock mash-up I made.

At the buffet table, the appetizers have been mostly demolished, and a trail of brownie crumbs marks the path of whoever stole the last one. Mom keeps weaving through the crowd with a tray, offering food like we’re starving athletes who haven’t eaten in days.

I should be excited. Carefree. Instead, my mood is in fucking shambles.

Dad clears his throat. “Are you having fun?”

Shrugging, I take a sip of my drink—homemade lemonade with mint.

“You could’ve chosen anything you wanted for today, and you picked a pool party. Yet, instead of hanging out with your guests, you’re brooding in our kitchen.”

“I’m not brooding,” I say, though my rough tone belies my words. “The party is great. Mom outdid herself. Everybody out there is having a blast.”

He huffs and turns to look at me. “Kid, that’s not what I’m asking.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Are you having fun?”

My chest tightens, but I nod. “I am.”

He zeroes his gaze on me, lips pursed. “Does this sullen attitude have anything to do with Isla not being here yet?”

It has everything to do with Isla, but I have no idea how to tell my dad that.

“No, not really. She had a competition today, but she promised to come after.” I lift my cup to my lips and lower it immediately. “But things kind of aren’t great between us. I dunno…”

“What happened?”

I lock eyes with him and shrug. “I don’t know. She’s been distant lately. When I text her, sometimes it takes her a whole day to reply. Yeah, we’re both busy, but that’s not new. We’ve always found time for each other before.” My shoulders sink. “Now? She’d rather hang out with Turner or stay home.”

“Is she dating Turner? Could be why she prefers his company over yours.”