“You’re right. I should’ve dressed for an Italian restaurant,” Liam admitted, pulling his leather jacket tightly closed as he nodded at a group of passing students, plastering on an awkward smile. Somewhere in the distance, slow jazz played, and the smell of fresh pastries drifted lazily down the halls. “Jesus Christ, I knew Brookfell was nice, but this is, like, nice nice. Why didn’t I listen to you, again?”

“Because you’re dumb?” Sam supplied, straight-faced and only half-serious. He smirked in satisfaction and glanced away.

Liam stuck out his tongue, but took the insult with a grain of salt. “So are you, though,” he countered. And the conversation died out, leaving them in comfortable, uncomfortable silence.

Olivia had split off to prep for the mock-debate, while his mother ventured away to find refreshments, stands scattered throughout the halls of the school. Standing solitary, alone, making little to no small talk with anyone around them, proved a perfect balm to Liam’s newfound anxiety.

When Mrs. Watson did return with drinks – lemonade in cut-glass for them, of course – she noted the time. “O’s debate is in about half an hour. Do you want me to go talk to your advisor?”

Sam grimaced and shook his head. “He probably has his hands full with Bryan Masterson and Ashley Stuart.”

Mrs. Watson’s lips pursed into a thin line as she nodded and took a sip. “Should we go to the art room, then?”

“You can, if you want,” Sam sighed. He could feel himself growing rigid, anxious, waiting for Nate to make his appearance.

Liam slapped his back. “Chillax, my dude.”

Sam sighed. “Wish it was that easy.”

“I thought it was you,” called Marissa, trotting over in an outfit that made Sam start sweating. This was what he wanted Olivia to dress in, a flowy sundress with leggings and ballet flats, but she had to be obtuse. While Olivia was dressed for Catholic school, Marissa was dressed for a casual summer dinner on someone’s private yacht. “Hi, Mrs. Watson. Good to see you, again.”

“Ms. Blythe, correct?” Mrs. Watson shook Marissa’s hand.

“Good memory,” she said with a chuckle, probably not realizing how coarse the compliment actually sounded. When Marissa glanced at Liam, her expression changed slightly. Apprehension danced in her eyes alongside suspicion. She cocked her head to the side. “Are you a new inductee?”

Sam interjected before Liam had the chance to explain his presence: “My cousin. He’s visiting from St. Louis. He didn’t know he was invited until the last second.” He prepared himself for this, and most certainly prepared for the anticipatory, “He didn’t pack something nice to wear?” question that clearly hung on the edges of her lips. “He tried.”

Liam made a sound, a sarcastic yet aghast thing, as he pressed his hand over his heart. “Excuse you, I look beautiful.”

Marissa nodded, humming in understanding, and shrugged. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Liam…?”

Eyes darting between her and his best friend, Liam gasped as realization dawned on him. He flushed red from his neck to his ears. “Oh, shit – shoot. Sorry. My bad. Liam Dvořák.”

“Ah,” Marissa replied, brighter than Sam had expected, but lasting a second too long for him to wholly believe that she wasn’t suspicious of Liam, already.

Sam knew the two didn’t like each other. In a way, he was relieved by that. Less hassle on his part.

Mrs. Watson cut the silence by asking, “What’s the musical this year? Since Sam’s not in the department, anymore –”

“The Sound of Music. I still think Sam would have been a wonderful Captain Von Trapp.”

His eyes dipped into his lemonade. “I’ll focus on wiping the floor with Mercer Prep in either soccer or debate, thank you very much.”

Marissa pursed her lips. “Boo. You would’ve been great. So serious and straight-faced.”

“I'd pay to see you in a musical,” Liam chimed in.

“You had your chance last year,” Sam reminded, “with Cinderella, and you missed it because you went with your dad to Washington.”

“D.C.?” Marissa asked. “Is your father a diplomat? An aid? A…layman?”

Liam smiled something broad and easy and said, “No, just a camper. And not D.C. Washington state.” He glanced down at her hands and scoffed quietly. “Roughed it the old fashioned way. Not a place for someone with such…pretty hands.”

Marissa frowned and glanced at Sam, searching for some kind of explanation for the barb.

Sam did not return the stare. He was watching his best friend cause minute chaos.

“I'll show you the pictures when we get home, Liam.” Mrs. Watson leaned down, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sam doesn't like how he looks in them.”

“I look like I'm at a funeral, not a ball,” Sam insisted.

“You mean you're not always at a funeral? ” the honey-colored voice asked, drifting into Sam's ears.

He instinctively flinched. He refused to search wildly, make himself look more untamed, but straightened up and shot a glance at Liam. “You said you wanted to meet Golden Boy.”

Liam's eyes lit up. “He's here?” he mouthed.

Nate Quinn floated up beside Marissa with an easy expression on his face and perceived mischief in his blue eyes. His stare landed on Sam with such intensity it made him roll his shoulders back and glower. He had his hands pressed into his pockets, letting the open blazer fall elegantly over him. Tie loose around his neck, khakis pressed and crisp, loafers glowing like polished bronze. His hair had that windswept quality, making him look like a James Van Der Beek knockoff, but at least he was easier to look at compared to Nate.

Though Sam might have been biased in that regard.

Liam squinted. “Jesus Christ, you're shiny.”

Marissa covers her lips, hiding her smirk.

Mrs. Watson turned away, masking her laugh with a cough.

Nate cocked his head to the side. “How do you mean?”

Waving his hands around, as if to dispel the awkward comment like a bad smell, Liam leaned forward. “Sorry. Bad habit of mine. When I'm...like, stunned or frustrated, I forget words. Say stuff without thinking.”

“That's a habit?” Sam asked, smirking. “I thought it was just you.”

Liam nudged his shoulder. “Shut up, man.”

The sight was strange, made all the stranger by Nate's eyes darting between the two, trying to piece together whatever their relationship was. Uncertainty danced in his eyes, replaced quickly by surprise, even something akin to disbelief. Nate leaned forward and offered Liam his hand. “I don't think we've been introduced,” he said, words as easy as pouring glue out of its container. “I'm Nate. Nate Quinn.”

“Oh, I already –”

Sam elbowed him in the side.

“Ow. Okay. Fine.” Liam raised his hands in defeat and returned the shake. “Liam Dvořák.”

“He's Sam's cousin,” Marissa added.

Nate replied with a cooing sound that set Sam's nerves on edge. “I can see the resemblance.”

Liam's light expression fell in small ways the longer his gaze switched between Sam and Nate.

“Ha ha.” Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to Liam. “Well, you've met.” He hoped Liam could tell how he felt, based on the shortness of his words.

“Mrs. Watson,” Nate continued, taking hers for a shake. “Good to see you, as well.”

“Good to see you, as well, Mr. Quinn. And congratulations to you on winning soccer regionals last year. I assumed my son hadn't passed along the congratulations.”

Nate glanced away, feigning shyness, covering his face and pursing his lips. The sight made Sam want to vomit. “He did, but it means more coming from you.”

He didn't pass along the congratulations because he knew Nate would run a thousand miles with it. Just like this.

“Oh, you're sweet,” Mrs. Watson said, her words pressing thin with minor impatience. She glanced around the hallway before reaching out for Marissa. “Sweetheart, can you remind me where the ladies room is? I want to go before Sam's sister's mock debate.”

“Of course,” Marissa replied, snaking her hand through Mrs. Watson's and taking the charge down the corridor towards the science wing.

Nate tucked his hands back into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels with a nonchalant smile that Sam wanted to smack off his stupid face, before turning back to them. “So how do you actually know each other?” There was no accusation, no suspicion. Nate knew, and Sam hated him for it.

Yet Sam relented, inhaling as he pressed his fingers between his brows. Nate: 1; Sam: 0. “I don't have to answer anything if I don't want to.”

“That's not very friendly of you,” Nate pointed out.

“Yes, well. Many things about me aren't friendly when it comes to you.”

Nate sighed, head cocked to the side, grinning. “I see you're in a good mood, today.” He meant it lightly, genuinely.

Irritation danced over Sam's skin.

“Is it bad I kind of really like you pissed off?” Liam whispered, leaning into both teens purview. “Like, I don't want it at me. Just to watch you be mad at other people. It's awesome.”

“You're lucky I'm never mad at you, you dumb potato,” Sam sighed. “Quinn, this is my friend.”

“You have a friend?” Nate asked curiously. He flapped his hands together in a halfhearted clap, smiling like a overjoyed mother. “I'm so proud of you, darling. You're growing up.”

Liam shrugged and made an awful face, something crossed between shy and constipated. “My dude, he's my friend, but I'm his best friend,” he said nonchalantly, nudging Sam in the side.

“Shut up,” Sam chuckled, feeling that coil inside him start to unravel. “If I remember correctly, you started this.”

“You were reading a book. At recess. Loser,” Liam shot back, grinning. “How was it my responsibility to know that you sucked at kickball?”

“I was reading a book, for starters.” Sam's head spun, and his stomach threatened to upend the too-garlicy lasagna from it. He wanted that ease that came from hanging with Liam, but could not stand the idea that Nate was watching this all play out.

But Liam reached his arm into the air and wrapped it around Sam's neck. “Yeah, well. Ancient history, now, my dude.” He held up a signal of the horns and stuck his tongue through his teeth, as if this was some animalistic display to prove their closeness. “Best friends.”

Nate's expression was not what Sam expected. There was a tenseness in it, minor but clearly evident by the lack of part in his smile. His hands stayed planted in his pockets, and the casual rocking backwards and forwards had ceased. Almost as if seeing that Sam had friends at all was an affront to God.

Sam shied out from under Liam's arm and nodded. “Would you kindly...I don't know, go away? We're going to watch my sister for her mock debate when my mom gets back.”

“I was just heading off,” Nate replied with his hands raised. He waved it dismissively as he stepped forward. “I wanted some snacks before watching it.” He cocked his head to the side, locking eyes with Liam. “Nice to meet you, Liam Dvořák. Always good to see you, Sam.”

“Fuck off, Nate.” He crossed his arms tight, frowning, shivering as Nate footfalls was lost in the noise. A moment later, he sighed, turned to Liam, and said, “So. You met Golden Boy.”

“I don't like him.” His face was twisted, confused, confounded. His eyes searched the space between the linoleum tiles. “He, just...I don't know. He tries, like he was scared I wasn't going to be his friend. It's like he wants to be liked, but isn't actually likable.”

“Welcome to my world,” Sam sighed, spying his mother at the end of the corridor and pulling Liam along. “It's like staring into the sun every day, but the sun is an asshole and tries to outdo you.”

“I don't regret it. I said I'd meet him, and I did.” Liam shook his head. “Don't think I want to see him again, though.”

Sam grunted, glancing over his shoulder. “You and me both.”