Chapter 4

chapter 4

river

Mom didn’t give up her love of hiking when rattlesnakes made their way into her gear pack or stinging nettles scraped her skin raw. Dad didn’t stop coaching when his players—or their parents, more likely—threw fits on the field. We’re all forced to coexist with less than pleasant things.

Which is why I didn’t quit on the spot when Gertie told us we were catering Tate “Most Punchable Face Award” Franklin’s graduation party at his mansion in Scottsdale’s most exclusive gated community.

Tate was easily the most annoying kid in our grade. His dad had been a quarterback in the NFL, and even if Tate didn’t remind you of this fact every three seconds, there was his constant talk of trust funds and the red Corvette gifted to him on his sixteenth birthday to contend with.

Ten minutes during homeroom was more than enough with Tate Franklin. Now I have to spend the next six hours wearing a stiff white button-down and a bow tie, offering him tiny sliders on a silver platter. At least I’ll be working with Tawny. But also with Logan, who, as usual, is ignoring me.

He barely glances at me, as if I’m just a ghost carrying platters of deli rolls alongside him. All my old classmates are treating me like that, actually. Like I’m a disembodied tray offering refreshments. It’s both a relief and makes me feel like shit.

“Just four more hours, Riv.” Tawny straightens my bow tie at the refill station.

“I won’t make it,” I croak. Tawny shoots me a sympathetic look before scurrying off when an old classmate snaps his fingers at her.

“Everyone here’s an asshole,” I growl under my breath.

Logan, standing nearby, looks back at me for half a second. Just as I’m wondering if that’s a smile playing on his lips, he turns back to a cluster of girls openly ogling him.

It’s too hot today to be outside, so the party is in the house’s grand foyer, an enormous room with a double-height ceiling, marbled floors, and twin curved staircases on either side. Us servers, though, have to cut a steady path from indoors to out, a barely contained chaos. One minute I’m at the grilling station, where Gertie flips tiny burger patties. The next I’m wiping up spilled Coke off the marble floor. Everything’s a blur until I catch my name coming from a group of girls with glossy, elegant hair.

“…wouldn’t touch millions of dollars? That’s absurd.”

I blink. They’re definitely talking about me.

“It’s worse than absurd! It’s dumb.” The speaker is a tall girl who was in my gym class freshman year. “Did you see her? I’d rather die than be caught hunching around Tate’s mansion, serving all my old classmates tuna salad.” She examines her nails, her face twisted in disgust. “Like, why does she still work? What’s she trying to prove?”

“Hell,” one of the other girls says, “I’d carry tuna salad in my pocket if I got to work with him.” I watch their heads all turn toward Logan, who, admittedly, still somehow looks beautiful in a uniform that is designed—and failing—to make him look invisible.

“Tuna salad, ladies?” I say, loud and icy. I take small satisfaction in the way they whirl around, looking like deer with perfect eyeliner caught in headlights. It’s no surprise when they scatter wordlessly, not even glancing at the fish-stuffed bell peppers on the tray.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tawny says, coming up behind me, her narrowed eyes trained on the departing girls.

Before I can answer, Tate’s dad saunters over, gesturing widely with a champagne glass. “River. So good to see you.” His drawl is a little longer than usual, more syrupy. He’s clearly drunk. And clearly used to talking while drunk. He flashes us a charming smile.

“At first I was surprised when Tate requested Gertie’s for today. It’s so common…” Mr. Franklin cuts himself off, coughing into his fist. Who knew he’d have such self-awareness?

“What I mean to say is, everything is just great, and Tate is so happy. Thank you so much for your hard work today.” His glassy eyes get serious for a second. “You’re just like your mom that way.”

The back of my neck goes cold. I feel Tawny stiffen at my shoulder. How could I have forgotten? I was so caught up in my own feelings about tonight that it had completely slipped my mind.

Mom used to work for this man. She used to clean Tate Franklin’s house.

Is it poetic or pathetic that I’ve taken her place, working for the same millionaire she did?

“Your mom was our best cleaning lady,” Mr. Franklin says. “We really miss her here, you know.” There’s something almost wistful in his tone. As if catching himself, he straightens up, suddenly all business.

“She could make our silver spoons sparkle. And not once did she ever chip our antique china. Not once!” Mr. Franklin says, overly bright. “Do you even know how hard it is to find good help like that?”

The party continues raucously around us. Logan is only a few feet away, serving mini tacos to my old friends Audrey and Marissa. The piped-in music has changed from a Dua Lipa song to a sappy instrumental. Kailey Collins and her ex are making out not-so-secretly in the corner. But I barely register any of it, my anger narrowing the world to a thin point as this drunk man patters on about my missing mother’s cleaning abilities.

“If she ever comes back, make sure you let her know that I’d be open to interviewing her again for her position.”

He toasts us with his empty glass before stumbling off to the next guest.

I’m shaking with fury as I watch him go.

“What an unbelievable jerk,” Tawny spits, vibrating with anger, her hands waving about. I’m caught off guard. Tawny’s anger has always been at my mom. Never on her behalf. It’s touching, really. I guess in the Rock, Paper, Scissors of shittiness, Asshole Ex–NFL Player beats Abandoning Mother in Tawny’s eyes.

“Yeah,” I agree, but she hardly seems to hear me.

“Condescending, elitist—” On the last word she throws her hands to the side, accidentally knocking the platter of tuna salad into my chest.

Tawny’s hands fly to her mouth as I let out a low groan. A couple of girls from my Spanish class look over, snickering softly.

“Oh, River, I’m so, so sorry.” She looks miserable with regret. I sigh.

“I know. I just…Tawn, tuna fish…”

“I’ll go grab some rags.” She rushes off.

I get on my knees, pulling out napkins to scoop the tuna scattered on the floor onto my ruined platter. A shadow falls over me, and I’m suddenly swallowed by the smoky smell of palo verde bark burning on a dark Sonoran Desert night. I look up to see Logan, and God help me now that I know he smells like that.

“Rough night?” he asks, bending down to help me clean up the mess.

“Uh, yeah,” I manage, taken aback. This might be the first time Logan has said something to me that’s not work related. “You could say that.”

Logan pauses to look at me. “Seems like you’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

I swallow hard. So he has noticed. Maybe I’m not completely invisible to him after all. He reaches into his apron and pulls out a clean rag, offering it to me.

“Thanks,” I whisper, my fingers brushing against his as I take it.

I’ve never noticed before, but Logan has a small scar on his upper lip, just left of his cupid’s bow. It’s an angled divot, like a large thumbnail had pressed deep into the plush arch of that lip, and the imprint had stayed. It’s unfair, really, that anyone should look as good as he does.

He clears his throat. “Listen, Santos—” he begins, but before he can say anything else, Tate’s drunken bellow cuts through the room.

“Look who’s finally here! About time you showed up, Pierce.”

Oh no. God, please no. Haven’t I suffered enough?

I don’t know where I find the strength, but I turn around to face him. Noah Pierce.

The boy who broke my heart.