You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 23

My alarm wakes me, my eyes popping open. I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, my brain hazy with sleep and the memory of what Arch and I did yesterday.

A smile curls my lips and I close my eyes, stretching my arms and legs out with a small groan. A quick knock on the door has me sitting up, pushing my hair out of my eyes as I stare at my closed bedroom door.

“Good morning, Daisy Mae,” Dad calls from the other side. “Happy Birthday.”

He sounds oddly…cheerful. Which isn’t a bad thing, it’s just unusual. Today isn’t a good day for him. For us.

Six years ago today, we lost her. The most important woman in our lives.

“Thank you,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

“I’ve made you breakfast,” he says, and I can tell he’s walking away. Most likely heading back to the kitchen. “Your favorite, so hurry up if you want to eat.”

I leap out of bed and go to my mirror, staring at myself. Do I look different? Changed? Not because I’m eighteen now, no. I feel changed because of what happened yesterday between me and Arch.

The longer I stare, the more I realize I look no different. Just the same old Daisy, my blonde hair spilling past my shoulders in a haphazard mess, clad in a thin tank top and a pair of panties because it gets hot in my bedroom, even at night.

There is nothing sexy about me that I can see, yet Arch stares at me like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. And the way he kisses me…

I touch my lips, tugging on the lower one. The same. Everything’s the same.

But I feel so incredibly different. Not like myself at all.

Wait, I take that back. I feel like myself—but a heightened version of myself. Like I’ve discovered things about me that I didn’t know existed until now.

Smiling at my reflection, I run my fingers through the ends of my hair, deciding that today is the day I wear it down. Maybe I can even curl it, if I have enough time…

“Daisy! Your pancakes are ready!” Dad calls, launching me into action.

By the time I’m entering the kitchen, Dad is already sitting at the tiny table close to the window, forking up a mouthful of pancakes, his gaze sticking on me.

“You’re wearing your hair down,” he says after he swallows.

I sit across from him and pick up the syrup, drizzling it over my stack of pancakes, careful not to add too much. “I felt like doing something different.”

If he knew I was doing this for Arch, he wouldn’t be pleased. He doesn’t like him, while I’m afraid I like Arch a little too much.

“You look pretty, sweetheart.” He studies me for a moment and I can tell by the look on his face that he’s caught up in his memories. Thinking of another time. “I can’t believe you’re eighteen.”

“I can,” I tell him with a little laugh, digging into my pancakes. I don’t want to reminisce over past birthdays or tragedy and loss. The fierce way I miss my mother is a physical ache that lives inside me, but I know she wouldn’t want me to be sad about losing her on a day that should be for me.

He smiles at my answer. “Are you feeling every one of those eighteen years?”

“I suppose.” I take another bite of my breakfast, chewing and swallowing it down. “Thank you for breakfast. It’s delicious.”

“You’re welcome.”

We eat in comfortable silence, him reading the local newspaper on his iPad and me checking social media on my phone. I follow people I go to school with but not a lot and I don’t know why I never thought of it before, but I go and check Arch’s profile.

It’s public, because of course it is, and he has an outrageous amount of followers. Over fifty thousand, which is like…crazy. Though I assume they follow him because of who he is.

A Lancaster.

I realize the follow button on his profile actually says “follow back” and I’m surprised I didn’t get a notification that he requested to follow me. I hit the button, accepting his follow and wondering if he’ll be disappointed.

My posts are boring. Mostly photos of roses or a bird sitting on a branch in a tree. Semi-artsy stuff when I thought I wanted to be a photographer for all of a minute.

There are no photos of me with friends or a past boyfriend. Oh, there’s a photo of me and my parents from the Christmas when I was eleven.

The last Christmas we got with her.

“You have plans tonight for your birthday?” Dad asks when we’re almost done with our breakfast.

I stare at him in disbelief. What friends would I celebrate with? “No.”

“Ah.” He squirms in his seat and I wonder what his problem is. “Kathy asked if I wanted to get together for dinner and I told her maybe.”

Well, at least he’s thinking of doing something else on this day versus reliving the moment that changed our lives forever.

“I can cancel on her and tell her we need to save it for another time,” he’s quick to say when I don’t respond. “We can go out instead. Just the two of us.”

And be sad all night? “You can go out with her.”

He tilts his head. “You sure about that? I don’t want to leave you alone, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay. Really. I might have plans.” I think of Arch. He doesn’t even have my phone number, so it’s not like he can text me and ask if I want to do something on my birthday. Does he even remember that it’s my birthday?

I remember how he said happy birthday in my ear yesterday afternoon after he made me come, and I’m guessing yes.

He remembers.

But that doesn’t mean he’ll want to spend his Friday night with me. I shouldn’t expect anything from him.

“You might, huh?” His smile is wide and I can tell my response pleases him. All he wants is for me to be happy. To make friends and live a normal teenage existence. Instead of the life I’m actually living, which is nothing normal.

It’s not that I think I’m special or above anyone else. I’m just introverted. Shy. I find it freaking impossible to make small talk. I wish I was better at that sort of thing. More social, more easygoing. More open and flirtatious and cute.

Like Cadence. She’s perfect. A little whiny sometimes but I don’t think any of the boys at our school mind too much. She’s beautiful and confident and has lots of friends. She’s the most popular girl at the school and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about her and felt…

Envious.

Arch used to be her boyfriend. If—somehow—Arch and I become a public thing—I can’t even imagine that happening but maybe it could—how will she react? Will she hate me?

Maybe.

Probably.

See, this is why I don’t let myself get close to anyone. Problems come with that. It’s so much easier just keeping to myself.

Dad leaves the house before I do and I dash back into my bathroom, grabbing a hair tie and pulling my hair up into a high ponytail, glaring at myself in the mirror the entire time. Hating myself for wanting to change. I don’t bother putting on mascara like I’d planned. Instead, I brush my teeth, grab my stuff and leave the house, walking with determined steps toward campus.

I’m running a little later than normal and I stop short in the open doorway of my English class, surprised to see Arch is already sitting in the desk directly behind mine, having a conversation with Mr. Winston.

It’s a miracle. The bell hasn’t even rung yet.

Arch notices me the second I step into the classroom, his eyes lighting up, following my every move as I approach, despite Winston still talking to him. Arch keeps up the conversation, sitting up straighter as I settle into my desk, unzipping my backpack in my lap and pulling out my things.

He tugs on the end of my ponytail, his fingers brushing across the back of my neck, and I quickly whip around, studying him in surprise.

“Happy Birthday to my favorite person.” Arch smiles and all I can do is stare mutely back at him. As if I’ve lost all ability to speak. His smile fades and he rests his forearms on the desk, leaning closer as his voice lowers. “You okay?”

I nod slowly, touched he called me his favorite person. Touched even more that he would ask about my well-being. He knows the truth of this day and I’m glad he checked in without blatantly mentioning what happened. “I’m great,” I say, breathless.

His smile returns, fainter this time, concern lighting his blue eyes. “You sure about that?”

“It’s just another day, right?” I turn away from him, pulling a pen out of my backpack and setting it on top of my notebook. Trying to act normal, though I can feel his eyes on me. Cataloging my every move.

“Not really,” he finally says, his deep voice causing me to pause. “It’s special—the day you were born. And you’re eighteen now.”

My gaze locks with his and he’s watching me with this intensity I can feel down to my bones. “I am.”

He leans even closer toward me, his voice low when he confesses, “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

The bell rings before I can respond and Winston is already talking. Taking roll like usual, as if he gets a thrill from calling out our names. I offer up a weak here when he says my name first, still not looking away from Arch.

Only when Winston starts actually lecturing do I turn and face forward, my mind anywhere else but on what the teacher is talking about. And when I feel Arch wind my hair around his finger, I know he’s thinking about the same thing that I am.

Me. And him.

Together.

We walk together to the admin building because we always do and it doesn’t feel like we’re causing any sort of fuss. No one is paying attention to us anyway, and I prefer that. Even though it’s not Arch’s style.

In the not-so-distant past he always seemed to enjoy being the center of attention. I used to find his antics so annoying and completely over the top.

Now I feel like I’ve got him figured out—well, not completely but somewhat.

“I got you something,” he says as he rushes forward to hold the door open for me.

I murmur a thank you as I walk past him, pleased when he rushes to make sure he’s walking beside me as we head for the admin office. “What did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says with all of that quiet confidence I wished I had even an ounce of.

I hate surprises. That’s what happened when Mom died six years ago. A complete surprise. Totally unexpected.

Totally awful.

We both stop in front of the closed office door and I turn toward him, my shoulders falling. “Just tell me what it is.”

He’s frowning. “No way. Not like it’s a bad surprise, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

With a rough sigh, I push the door open, Arch trailing right behind me and I come to a stop when I see what’s sitting on top of the desk we sit at.

A miniature rose bush in a galvanized steel pot. The flowers are the beautiful pink-peachy color that was my mom’s absolute favorite.

“Oh.” My voice is soft and I rush toward the desk, picking up the pot and sniffing the tiny blooms. The familiar scent fills my senses and I set the pot back onto the desk, reaching out to trace over the petals of one of the roses. “They’re so pretty.”

“You like it?”

I turn to face Arch, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“My surprise.” He shoves his hands in his front pockets, looking…

Nervous.

“This is my surprise?” We both glance over at the pot. “I thought Vivian brought it for me.”

“Nope. This is all me. I wanted to get something bigger for you but I didn’t have much time.” He’s smiling, his hands still in his pockets, a funny light in his eyes. Reminding me of someone trying to balance on a tightrope and not sure if he’s going to tip over to the left or to the right and fall off, plunging into darkness. “I know how much you like roses, and this way, you can keep them in your house. Your room or whatever, and you don’t have to cut them off. They can grow and live inside, you know?”

My heart aches. Feels like it is going to burst out of my chest as I go to him and throw my arms around his middle, pressing my face against his chest as I murmur, “I love them. Thank you.”

His arms slowly come around me and his big hands run up and down my back, comforting me. Yet also firing me up. “You’re welcome.”

“What in the world is going on here? Oh, the roses! So beautiful!”

I jerk out of Arch’s embrace, my cheeks hot as we both turn to face Vivian, who’s watching us carefully.

“Arch got them for me,” I say, trying to play it off. Failing miserably. “For my birthday.”

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful of you, hmm?” Vivian’s gaze narrows as she studies Arch with a scrutiny I don’t think I’ve seen from her before. “How interesting, that the two of you have become—friends.”

Friends. Friends who kiss. Friends who dry hump each other because that’s what I did to Arch yesterday.

It’s what I want to do again. I’m willing to take it a step further even, and I feel bad that he didn’t get any sort of satisfaction yesterday. Though I have no idea what to do with a penis. I’ve never seen a naked one in real life before and I wouldn’t know the first thing of how to touch it.

Well, that’s not true. I’ve read plenty of romances over the last few years, and they’ve taught me a lot. Maybe I do know how to touch one.

Maybe I should test it out and see what Arch thinks.

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