Never Getting Back Together

TWO

My boots are so heavy they might as well be filled with cement. I struggle to the pool's surface, dress tangling around my thighs.

I am going to murder Kelvin Jones.

My head breaks the water, and I gasp, sucking in air. Water flies in all directions as I flail my arms like a drunken ballerina. I've been borderline obsessed with these vintage, second-hand boots ever since I first spotted them in the window of Miss Jenny's Boutique. But now I realize they're death traps. The longer I'm in the water, the more of it they absorb. They're getting heavier by the second.

I'm so mad; my hands shake as they thrash through the water. But what pisses me off most is that I should have been expecting Chance and Kelvin to pull something like this. It's like high school all over again. Just with their ringleader, Ty, mysteriously absent.

I reach down, desperately tugging at one of my boots. My foot manages to slip free, but my head submerges again in the process, and I inhale half the pool.

The hot-pink pool light sears my eyes. Spots dance in my vision as I surface, coughing up a lungful of water. "Kel...cough...vin! You're...cough...dead!"

But between my splashing and the verbal smack-down Liv's serving him, Kelvin can't hear me. He's standing at the pool's edge with Chance, hunched over and laughing so hard it looks like he's about to pee himself.

Ooooh. White, hot fury floods through me. I finally wriggle out of my other boot and focus all my energy on flinging it over my head at Kelvin. I hear a wet whump followed by his yelp of surprise before my head bobs back under the choppy waves I've created with all my thrashing. Well, if I'm about to drown, at least I'll die having exacted my revenge.

The tang of chlorine burns my nose. I fight back to the surface, heaving in gulps of the heavy air. Without the cinder blocks strapped to my feet, I can finally kick my legs. My dress appears to be in cahoots with my homicidal footwear, though. It drags in the water, trying to pull me back to the depths.

Everyone has gathered around the pool. Most of them are clearly Team Kelvin, laughing right along with him. But a few people are hovering around the ledge like they might actually care whether I sink into an early grave. None of them bother getting in to help me, though.

I growl in frustration and embarrassment. Thrusting my arms out in front of me, I send a wave of water toward Chance and Kelvin. It doesn't come close to hitting them, and they just laugh harder.

They'd better be able to run. Because if I ever make it out of this pool, I swear to the lord above, it's the death for both of them.

I stretch out my fingertips, but I'm still shy of reaching the edge. Giving one final kick, I propel myself forward. Before I can grasp the concrete, though, a hand wraps around my upper arm, pulling me to safety.

I cling to the ledge, bare legs dangling in the water. My dress floats around my hips, and I'm positive my banana-yellow underwear is on full display. I'm having a hard time caring, though. Because that hand is still on my arm. I know that hand—long fingers, warm skin, and nights spent getting lost in the back of a pickup truck.

The knees of his faded blue jeans are damp from where he's kneeling next to the pool. My eyes travel up, taking in his wavy dark hair, strong jaw, and lips like a fairy tale. The cut of his shoulders is much broader than the last time I saw him. Heart walloping against my sternum, I force myself to meet his deep brown gaze. It's first love and heartbreak, and a rush of emotions so complicated and intense it makes my stomach swoop like I'm a passenger on a plummeting airplane, bracing for the inevitable impact of the crash.

"Ty." His name is familiar on my tongue, cinnamon and honey.

"Quinn, are you okay?" His voice thrums through me like someone plucked the strings of my heart. He places his hands on my waist, easily lifting me from the water. "What happened?"

"I'm fine." I tug at the sopping-wet hem of my dress. It's like I've got a weighted blanket hanging from my shoulders. "Your idiot friends thought throwing me in the pool would be fun."

"Seriously?" Ty's eyes widen as he turns to Kelvin and Chance. "You two must have a death wish." He nods toward Liv. Her arms are crossed over her chest, fingernails digging into her skin like it's taking every ounce of self-control she possesses not to throttle them.

The corner of Ty's mouth twitches, sparking the temper I'm barely keeping in check. Of course, he'd find this situation entertaining. He always had to be the class clown. The funny guy. This is exactly the kind of thing he used to do when we were together. He'd pull some stupid prank for a laugh, no matter the consequences. Forget the fact that I have a dumb chronic condition that makes me low-key allergic to just about everything, including chlorine.

"It's not funny," I snap, twisting out of his grip.

Ty's attention flicks back to me. His lips part in surprise. "Hey, I didn't say it w—"

"And I don't need Liv to fight my battles for me. I'm not weak." I rub my fingertips across my face, trying to scrub away the streaks of mascara staining my cheeks.

I might have been sick back when Ty and I dated, but that was before I got my diagnosis for MCAS—Mast Cell Activation Syndrome—and got my life under control. I'm not that girl anymore. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.

"I know that." His eyes skate over my body. "You look good, Quinn. Healthy."

The logical part of my brain recognizes that he means that as a compliment. Unfortunately, the logic train left the station the second Kelvin launched me into the pool. Seeing Ty for the first time since we broke up with makeup running down my face when he looks like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad isn't helping either.

"I look good? I look like a cat someone drowned in the bathtub." My hands curl into fists as water runs down my arms, pooling on the patio.

Ty darts a glance around the party. I'm aware that all our former classmates are staring at us, hanging on our every word. Their laughter and chatter from earlier has come to a crashing halt.

Ty and I seeing each other for the first time in years is headline-worthy news in Rosedale. But the weight of everyone's attention only makes me angrier. Luckily, being mad is easier than trying to sort through my mess of emotions over being this close to Ty after all these years. I cling to that anger like a life jacket.

"So, did you put your boys up to this?" I demand, shoving away the wet strands of hair that stick to my neck.

"Are you kidding?" Ty throws his hands up, clearly exasperated with me. "Quinn, I just got here. I was trying to help you."

"Well, it isn't like you haven't done anything like this before." I blink my eyes, the chlorine already making them itch. This argument feels all too familiar. Like we're following a script we wrote back in high school and haven't figured out how to edit.

Ty barks out a humorless laugh, scrubbing his palms over his face. "You can't seriously still be mad at me. That was years ago, Quinn."

"And yet, you still haven't apologized."

Ty risked my entire future with the last prank he pulled when we were together. Time might have a way of making past hurts feel less significant, but that's only until they come storming back into your life and plucking you out of swimming pools. I don't think I even realized how mad I still am until I saw him tonight.

Ty bites his lips together like he's thinking hard about the next words that are going to come out of his mouth. He leans toward me, and I can smell his cologne, crisp and woodsy. He drops his voice, "You need to calm down so we can talk, okay?"

I don't know how much Ty pays UCLA for tuition, but whatever it is, it's too much. He's obviously learned nothing in the last three years if he thinks telling someone to 'calm down' is a smart thing to do.

I glance from his face—just inches from my own—to the heels of his own worn leather boots. He's standing directly in front of the pool's edge. Ty's eyes narrow in suspicion as I flash him a smile as sweet as the sugar I can't eat. I set a hand in the center of his chest. It's much more muscular than I remember. So I put all my strength into it as I shove him backward into the water.