Deleted Scene from Writing the Rules
In the final draft before ARCs were sent out, there was a significant change made to Chapter 33. After Poppy had her difficult discussion with Maddie, she ran into Candace.
Mom’s still home when I make my way downstairs after taking a shower and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and sweatshirt I had in my closet.
“You’re here late,” I say.
“I work from home in the morning now so I can be here before Dylan goes to school.”
I feel relieved to hear this as I open the fridge and grab a yogurt.
“I wish I’d thought to do it a decade ago. Sometimes when I think back, I realize how many things I missed with you. You always made it so easy on us. I was thinking about our conversation about Mike last night, and I want you to know that I’m really sorry. I violated your trust, and that wasn’t right. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I want you to feel comfortable telling me what you want and what you need. You don’t have to always be my brave and independent girl, taking care of yourself all of the time.”
I take a seat at the island bar as my emotions, which are already frayed and stretched, climb into my throat. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and offer her some assurance since I can’t find words.
She kisses the side of my head. “I’m going to check on your brother.”
I take several deep breaths to dry my eyes and check the clock above the stove. It’s nearly seven. I wonder what Pax is doing. If he’s awake. If he’s feeling excited for their game tomorrow. If he misses me.
I rinse out my empty yogurt cup and toss it into the recycling bin before feeding Sampson, thinking about how I’m going to spend the weekend so I don’t focus on the landslide of feelings that keep threatening to bury me. Mom and Dylan arrive downstairs, and we make small talk about the weather and how we’re glad it’s the weekend, but the time slips away too quickly, and when Mom says she’s driving Dylan to school, my list of excuses runs out.
The weather is cold, the sky a light gray shade that is reflective of my mood. I drive to Brighton with the heater turned up, trying to get warm before the trek across campus. I consider skipping class again like I had yesterday and spending the day baking more cupcakes or getting all of my Christmas shopping done. I could go find a tree or hang lights—something that will keep me busy.
“What are you doing here?”
The question is snotty and offensive, the voice painfully familiar. I release a deep sigh and turn to face Candace. “What do you think I’m doing?” I wait for her to make another cutting remark, one that will likely stain my thoughts for the next several weeks.
“The game is tomorrow morning.”
I stare at her, trying incredibly hard to understand her point instead of walking away. “I know.”
“Then why are you here?” she says the words slowly, punctuated by sarcasm and insolence.
“Why do you care?”
Her jaw clenches. “Because he would want you there.”
“How about I contact you in another lifetime when I ask for your dating advice?”
“I’m not giving the advice for your benefit,” she says, petulance dripping from each word. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I care about Pax. He’s one of the rare good ones, and he wants you, he chose you. He needs you. Pax gets stuck in his head, and it can take him out of the game when that happens, and this game could define the rest of his life.”
I shake my head. “This is none of your business.”
“You’re right.”
If I were a cartoon character, my jaw would be scraping the ground. “At least we can agree on that.”
“Don’t let your pride get in the way of helping him. He needs you there.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Pax has been excelling at this sport long before we began dating.
“You should go,” she says. “He never broke your insane and strange rules. I saw them when I stopped by to grab a couple of things, and I asked about it. He told me they were a joke, and I called bullshit because Paxton’s a terrible liar and because no one makes rules for dating.”
They probably should, I think.
“Don’t make him pay the price for my mistake.” She stares at me for several seconds, and I think about what it would be like if I met Candace off campus without her history with Pax or Rae. Would we ever be friends?
“Stop staring at me and figure your shit out. If you don’t go, my truce with Paxton is over, and I’m going to win him back.”
No. We definitely would never be friends.
I turn back toward the parking lot and hurry across the damp grass.
“You’re welcome,” Candace yells after me.
“It’s still your fault,” I yell back, and then I break into a run.
When I make it back to the apartment, there’s a note on my door that there’s a package waiting for me at the main office. I have no doubt it’s a Christmas gift from my grandparents. Likely pajamas like they get me every year.
I unlock the door and toss the note on our kitchen table to pick up later. I’ve never been so conflicted. Why am I trusting Candace? What if she’s wrong? My shoulders sag with the relentless question that’s been fueling my doubt: what if she’s right?
I head into my room, straight into my closet, where I flip on the lights and sit in the tiny space, surrounded by clothes, books, and a full shelf of my journals—my memories.
I’ve been recording my life since I was seven. A heavy stream of consciousness, questions, thoughts, details that I’ve kept and recorded in the pages of journals, knowing that memories don’t last forever and are often missing details. I’ve long believed my life to be simple and I to be boring. Painfully normal and predictable. Now, I question why I associated so many negative thoughts toward things I now find reprieve in.
I run my fingers along the spines, feeling the words and emotions as I skim over the volumes of my life. I pull one out that was written when I was ten years old. Pax filled the pages even then. I skip ahead, finding more mentions of him as I hit journal entries from when I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen… He’s been an intrinsic part of my life for so long—much longer than I realized.
I pause to read a few memories of Rae and Dylan, my smile wide as I recall the moments painted in time. I think about Pax again and the rules and what had inspired them. My objective to become more popular and climb out of my proverbial shell and stop being an eternal introvert. I had thought the grass would be greener, the parties more fun, and my life somehow better if I had a larger social network and was more popular and confident, and what I’ve realized over the past several weeks is that I’m happy being an introvert. I’m happy being Rae’s best friend and Dylan’s sister. I like my small group of intimate friends who I know will have my back and don’t only care about me because of my association with someone else. It may not be a popular opinion, but there’s something incredibly fulfilling and shockingly wonderful found in familiarity and loyalty.
I continue to flip through pages, reading over notes and thoughts that all reveal one alarmingly clear realization: I’ve been in love with Paxton Lawson for most of my life. I’m sure of it. I carefully re-shelf the journal I’d been reading and grab my suitcase from the top of my closet. I need to pack and find a flight to freaking Vegas.
My bag weighs well over fifty pounds, I’m sure of it, but I panic packed, and that included a lot of second-guessing about what might happen once I get to Vegas and if I’ll be flying back tonight once I realize this is a mistake or if I’ll manage to get to the hotel and build enough courage to go talk to Pax and sort through this mess.
