THIRTEEN
THERE’S A BEAT OF SILENCE AFTER I MAKE this declaration, like they can’t believe I would be so crazy as to do something like lock them in a bathroom, like it’s so insane and incomprehensible that there’s no way it can actually be happening.
Then it hits them.
“What?” Quinn exclaims. “Aven, you’ve lost it.” She moves toward the door and tries the handle, even though she’s just seen me lock it. She holds her hand out. “Give it.”
“Give it?” I repeat.
“Yeah. Give me the key.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“No?” She turns around and looks to Lyla for help. But there’s no way I’m letting the two of them gang up on me and turn this into an “ohmygod, isn’t Aven so crazy” moment.
“No.” I shake my head. “We need to talk.”
Lyla sighs and rolls her suitcase over to the other side of the bathroom. She leans against the window ledge. “We already talked, Aven,” she says. “We talked all day yesterday.”
“Really talk,” I say. “About our fight. About what happened.”
“No way,” Quinn says. “No. I’m happy. I don’t want to start getting into all kinds of old shit.” She crosses her arms over her chest, like the conversation is done just because she’s decided it is.
“You’re happy?” I ask. “Since when?”
“Yeah,” Lyla says. “I thought you said you were so upset yesterday?”
Quinn starts to open her mouth to explain, but then shuts it. “No,” she says firmly. “This is not any of your business. I think it’s great that we were able to spend some time together yesterday without wanting to kill each other. But our friendship is over. It’s time to move on.”
I feel the tears starting to form behind my eyes again, the crushing sense of disappointment that flows through me. But maybe Quinn is right. Maybe some friendships just aren’t supposed to last forever. Maybe some friendships run their course, or end for reasons that aren’t anyone’s fault.
I’m about to think that maybe I should unlock the door and let everyone out of here when Lyla mutters, “Easy for you to say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn asks.
“I just mean that it’s probably easy for you to move on, since you’re not the one who got hurt.”
“Are you kidding?” Quinn asks. “Of course I got hurt.”
Yes! They’re talking! This might be working! “We all got hurt,” I say, in an effort to insert myself into the conversation.
“Yeah, you got hurt, but it was your own fault,” Lyla says. “You got hurt because you told my secret.”
“I was never told it was a secret,” Quinn says, turning to look at me. Lyla looks at me, too, the two of them staring at me, like I hold the key about who’s to blame.
“I don’t remember if you specifically told me not to tell anyone,” I say to Lyla honestly. “And even if you had, I probably would have told Quinn anyway, because I can’t imagine you would have meant not to tell her.”
“I didn’t mean not to tell her,” Lyla says. “But you did, and then Quinn told her mom, so you’re both to blame.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Why is what Quinn did my fault?”
“Oh, thanks a lot,” Quinn says, shooting me a dirty look. She takes a deep breath. “Look, can we not do this? Seriously, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say. “I miss you guys.” My voice is cracking on this last part, and it’s all I can do to not start crying.
Quinn and Lyla look at each other awkwardly, and I realize I’ve never told them this. At least, not recently. I’ve told them that we need to talk about what happened, that we need to process our feelings and blah blah blah. But I’ve never actually just come out and said how I feel.
Maybe that email—the one that told me I needed to tell the truth—was as much about my friendship with Quinn and Lyla as it was about Liam. And telling the truth to Liam was painful and messy and hurt like hell, but the payoff was more amazing than I ever could have imagined.
“I just really miss you guys,” I say again. “You guys were like my sisters, like my family. I haven’t had friends like you since then, and I’m not sure I’m going to ever again.” I shake my head. “And I’m not sure, but maybe . . . maybe because we hadn’t ever hurt each other before, our fight felt worse than it actually was.”
“No,” Lyla says, shaking her head. “It was really that bad.” Her voice cracks. “At least, it was for me.”
“No,” I say slowly, making sure to choose my words carefully. “You’re misunderstanding me. What I meant was it felt worse because we didn’t expect it. We thought we were the only people in each other’s lives who we’d never get hurt by, even unintentionally. So when it happened, it felt like a double betrayal.”
Lyla nods. She starts to cry, tears streaming down her face. “I just felt like you guys didn’t care about me at all, like you just told my secret and didn’t understand why I felt the way I did. You guys acted like I was being stupid.”
Quinn reaches over and takes a paper towel out of the dispenser and hands it to Lyla. Then she walks over to her and puts her hand on her shoulder. I walk over and take Lyla’s other shoulder, and we stand there and just let her cry for a while. Because the thing is, as much as Quinn and I were hurt by all of this, this is mostly about Lyla. She’s the one who was hurt the most.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” I say. “I’m so, so sorry, Lyla. You have to know that if I knew what was going to happen, I never would have told Quinn.”
“And I never would have told my mom,” Quinn says.
“I know,” Lyla says. “I know you wouldn’t have.” She blots her eyes with the paper towel, smudging it with her mascara.
“Then why were you so mad?” I ask quietly. “If you knew we didn’t do it on purpose?”
She thinks about it. “I guess I was just so angry,” she says. “I was so angry at my parents for putting me in that weird position, of making me choose between them.” She shakes her head. “And I just felt like I was bottling everything inside, and it just . . . it wasn’t fair, but it needed a place to go. And so I put it on you two.”
We all fall silent for a moment, considering. “Are you guys mad at me?” Lyla asks.
“No!” I say quickly. “I’m not mad at you, Lyla. That’s totally understandable.”
“I just wish you would have talked to us about it instead of shutting us out,” Quinn says. “We were your best friends. I wanted to talk to you so bad, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her voice is filled with emotion, remembering. “Every time I’d see you in the halls at school I’d get so sad, missing you, thinking about you going through everything alone.”
“I know,” Lyla says. “I wish I would have talked to you guys. I’m starting to think I have a problem with facing things head on. It’s like I have to just keep moving forward, pretending I’m right even when I know I’m not. It’s like what happened with Derrick.”
“What happened with Derrick?” I ask curiously.
“We broke up.”
“How come?” Quinn asks.
“It wasn’t working,” Lyla says. “And I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t see it. And I just kept going with it, trying to pretend everything was fine, when it wasn’t. And I think I did the same with you guys. I had shut you out, and it was more important for me to convince myself I was right so I wouldn’t have to deal with my feelings around it.” She shakes her head and wipes her eyes again, then tosses the paper towel into the trash can. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I feel like I’m not making any sense.”
“No, it makes perfect sense,” Quinn says. “It’s like you make a decision, you go on a path, and then it’s just easier to keep going on that path instead of actually dealing with anything real. I was doing the same thing.”
“You were?” Lyla asks curiously. “With what?”
“Stanford,” Quinn says. “I thought it was
all I wanted, and now . . . well, now I don’t.”
“Wow,” I say, kind of shocked. As long as I’ve known her, Quinn has wanted to go to Stanford. For her to say she’s not sure about that, well . . . it must have been some journey to get there.
“Yeah,” Quinn says softly. She takes in a deep breath. “So what about you?” she asks me. “Have you ever kept doing something that you knew was wrong, just because it was easier?”
“Liam,” I say automatically. “I never told him how I felt, and this whole time I just kept being friends with him.” I feel my cheeks redden as I think about earlier, kissing him, his hands in my hair, his lips on mine. “Until this weekend.”
“Ohmygod,” Lyla says, turning to me. “You told Liam you liked him?”
I nod.
“And?” Quinn prompts.
“And we’re kind of together now.”
They two of them squeal and hug me, and for a second, it feels like old times.
“Did you tell him because of your email?” Quinn asks as she pulls away.
“Yes.” I nod.
“My email’s the reason I don’t want to go to Stanford anymore,” Quinn admits.
“My email’s the reason I broke up with Derrick,” Lyla says. “And why I’m kind of hooking up with Beckett Cross.”
We all stare at each other.
“So we all did what our emails told us,” I say.
Three nods.
“So even though we hadn’t even spoken in years, major things in our lives happened because of each other,” I say excitedly. “Don’t you guys see? It’s like our connection can’t be broken.”
Quinn looks at me skeptically. “Please don’t tell me you actually believe that,” she says, like she thinks it’s akin to me admitting I still believe in Santa Claus. Again, she looks to Lyla again for help, but Lyla just shrugs.
“Don’t look at me,” Lyla says. “It’s as good of an explanation as any.”
I smile at her, and Quinn’s face softens. “Ah, what the hell,” she says. “Our connection was strong.”
“Don’t you see?” I say. “It’s a sign we have to be friends again.”
“I don’t know,” Lyla says. “So much has happened.”
“But if we don’t try,” Quinn says slowly, thinking about it, “then aren’t we doing just what we said we didn’t want to do anymore? Keeping things the same because we’re afraid to be crazy, or trust, or tell the truth?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s mentioned the three things we agreed to do in the emails we sent all those years ago. She remembered. And she’s right.
“She’s right,” I say, turning to Lyla.
“I know,” Lyla says, and her tears are back, making her eyes shiny again. “I know she is. And I just . . . I miss you guys so much. And I’m so sorry.”
We all start crying then, and our arms are around each other, and it feels like everything’s different but also the same.
“So can we try to be friends again?” I ask.
“Yes,” Lyla says.
“Yes,” Quinn says.
“It won’t be easy,” I warn them. “We’re going to have to talk more, and we’re all going to be going to college soon. . . .”
“We can get through it,” Lyla says. “My new promise to myself is to try to be happy. And you guys make me happy.”
“That’s what you wrote on your paper?” I ask, shocked. “The new ones we wrote yesterday? That you wanted to be happy?”
Lyla nods.
“That’s what I wrote, too,” I say.
“Me too,” Quinn says.
I squeal and do a little jump. “See?” I say. “The three of us are connected! Just like I said.”
Quinn shakes her head, but she’s laughing. “If I agree with that, will you let us out of this bathroom?” She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like old gym socks.”
“Only if you guys agree to come over to my house after school tomorrow,” I say. “We can catch up and I’ll make my mom whip up a plate of her nachos.”
“Ooh,” Lyla says, moaning in pleasure. “I almost forgot about your mom’s nachos.”
“And can we have those chocolate shakes she makes?” Quinn asks. “The ones with the double fudge ice cream?”
“Of course,” I say, heading over to unlock the door.
I hold it open for them, and the three of us pass through it and out into the hallway.
I know it’s not going to be easy. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, and I’m not the same girl I was two years ago. Hell, I’m not the same girl I was two days ago. And neither are Lyla and Quinn.
But maybe that’s what makes friendships so important. They help you grow and change and give you someone to lean on while you’re doing that. At least, the good ones do. It just took us a little while to figure that out.
I push myself in between Quinn and Lyla, linking my arms through each of theirs. It’s the way we used to walk down the halls in junior high, just to annoy people.
“Oh God,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes. But there’s a smile on her face.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yup,” Lyla replies, and the three of us start walking toward the front door. We’re ready. Ready for the future, ready for each other, ready for the promise of happiness.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAUREN BARNHOLDT is the author of the teen novels The Thing About the Truth, Sometimes It Happens, One Night That Changes Everything, Two-way Street, Right of Way, and Watch Me. She is also the author of the middle grade novels The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney, Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better, Four Truths and a Lie, Rules for Secret Keeping, Fake Me a Match, and the Girl Meets Ghost series. She lives in Waltham, Massachusetts. Visit her online at www.laurenbarnholdt.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY LAUREN BARNHOLDT
Heat of the Moment
One Moment in Time
From This Moment
The Thing About the Truth
Sometimes It Happens
One Night That Changes Everything
Two-way Street
Right of Way
Watch Me
The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney
Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better
Four Truths and a Lie
Rules for Secret Keeping
Fake Me a Match
Girl Meets Ghost
The Harder the Fall
Ghost of a Chance
CREDITS
Cover photo © 2015 by Cavan Images / offset.com
Cover design by Annemieke Beemster Leverenz
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
FROM THIS MOMENT. Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Barnholdt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress catalog card number: 2014959382
ISBN 978-0-06-232143-5 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © June 2015 ISBN 9780062321442
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FIRST EDITION
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From This Moment Page 19
