I cross my arms on the table top and rest my head in them, wishing I could disappear. My hair falls around my face, blocking me from Grant’s gaze. I know it’s a wasted effort. I could put a cement wall between us and he’d still see right through me. He reaches over and lightly brushes the hair away from my eyes. The path that his finger has left on my forehead triggers a chill. His gaze is locked on mine, his eyes, full of worry. I know him. I know he isn’t going to give up. I have to give him something, but if I really start talking, I’ll break down.
I’m teetering. Scared. Alone.
“Fine. It’s just been a bad day already. I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say.
“Understood,” he nods. Relief fills me as he turns to face forward. He’s respectful enough to leave it alone.
Since the school year is wrapping up, there isn’t any new material to cover in class. Mrs. Drez gives us the period to review for our final or study for another class. I skim my notes for several minutes, until the painful silence between me and Grant is too much.
“Thank you, again, for the necklace. I really didn’t deserve it,” I say. My words remind me of the card. A smile tugs at his mouth.
“Yes, you do.”
“So, your mom is coming home this weekend?
“Yeah, she’ll be in tomorrow.”
“Does she know?” I ask. “I mean, does she know that you and I are friends?”
Grant nods.
“Is she okay with that?”
“Does it matter?” he asks. I wish it were that simple for me to disregard others’ opinions. He sighs. “She doesn’t care as long as I don’t interfere with her show. And if I do, well, I don’t care.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be nice to have her home.”
“Sure, I guess. What about you? You have your sister’s party tomorrow? What about tonight?”
Not going to the lake with Trevor.
“Nothing, just staying in. My dad had to leave town for work, so I’ll be home with Maisy.”
The rest of the period passes quickly. Rather than rush out of class like I typically do, I gather my things slowly. I hang back, hoping Grant won’t leave and we can walk together. Even if that’s completely crazy.
“Ready?” he asks.
We walk slowly to class. I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. Even if Trevor is around the corner, this is school. He’s not going to cause a huge scene.
“It’s too bad you have to stay home all weekend. You could have come over to meet my mom,” Grant says.
“Ha!” I laugh. “I don’t know much about your mom, but somehow, I doubt she’d be all that interested in meeting me.”
“I’m serious. With her, it’s all about who you know. And you, my dear, are practically famous!” he says with a wink.
“Hardly. And she’s been gone for a long time, right? I don’t think I should intrude.”
He stops for a moment. “You could never be an intrusion.”
The halls are congested with students hurrying to their next class. We take a more leisurely pace. When the crowd becomes too thick for us to walk side by side, Grant pauses to let me walk in front of him, his hand never leaving its protective spot on my hip.
“So, are you going to tell me what had you so upset this morning?” he asks.
“I don’t think so. It’s not worth getting into.” I glance up to gauge his reaction.
“Fair enough. As long as you’re all right.” He nudges me lightly with his broad shoulder. The goosebumps that I feel each time he barely touches me are becoming more familiar and expected.
“You know what? I really am.”
He doesn’t reply.
I stop in the hall and look up at him. His smile has faded.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
His only reply is to shake his head. The bell rings.
“We’re late,” I say.
Grant reaches for me at the same time someone unexpectedly tugs on my arm. I spin around to investigate the source.
Trevor.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yells. Trevor yanks me backward with a powerful jolt. With little effort on his part, I’m no longer standing next to Grant.
“Let go of her,” Grant says. His words are controlled but firm.
“You, stay the fuck out of it,” Trevor shoots back. There’s zero restraint in his voice.
“Let me go,” I plead. I stare at Trevor. I’m trying to see past the anger that encompasses him now. I’m trying to see the person that I’d fallen in love with. The one person that I’d given myself to. If I could just recognize that person, maybe I could relate to him well enough to get him to stop acting like this. But it’s hard to concentrate on anything while his fingers crush into my skin.
“I just want to talk to you,” he says. I can’t respond.
“I don’t think so,” Grant says. He’s beside me again.
Grant is several inches taller than Trevor and he’s glaring down at him with an intensity that I’ve never seen in him before. If Trevor doesn’t let go of me, Grant will make him. His eyes prove it.
Trevor finally relents and drops my arm. I feel it tingle and throb as the blood starts flowing through my veins again.
“Can we please go and talk. You and me?” Trevor asks. His voice is calmer now. Surely a side effect of Grant’s presence.
“Yeah, there’s no way in hell that’s going to happen,” Grant says. Trevor shoots him another challenging look.
This is not happening. This can’t be happening.
“It’s okay,” I say. This has to stop. “I’ll be okay.”
I look at Grant. He shakes his head back and forth repeatedly.
“Really,” I press.
“Syd, I can’t just—” Grant begins.
“She said she’s fine,” Trevor interrupts. His hand reaches out for mine. I don’t want to take it. I don’t want to touch him.
He doesn’t give me chills. I don’t feel protected by his touch— instead, I’ve come to fear it. But, stubbornly, I want to convince Grant that I’ll be all right. I want him to leave. I don’t want him to see this part of my life. The messy part. He’s already too involved in all of this drama as it is.
“You’re late for class,” I say to Grant. He continues to stare at me; his face is full of pain and doubt.
I hesitantly take Trevor’s outstretched palm, as the final sign that I’m really okay. That I’m where I want to be, and with who I want to be with. This farce hurts me more than any of the other acts I’ve had to keep up the last few months. This is the hardest to fake. I’m the only one of the three of us that knows for sure that it’s not true.
The pain in Grant’s face as he concedes and walks away rips at my heart, shreds it. Grant doesn’t turn around as he walks away from us. He backs away, like it’s against everything in him to leave me standing there. With this person he knows has hurt me. And maybe will again.
I feel myself deflate when Grant is forced to turn a corner and I can no longer see him.
But I can finally drop the act, and Trevor’s hand.
“What?” I ask. I force authority to fill my normally meek voice. But my arms, hugging my own chest in a futile attempt to conceal the fact that I’m shaking, contradicts the sound. The halls are vacant. Just me and Trevor. I’m seriously starting to doubt my decision to send Grant away.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Trevor says. His voice is shaky and tense. He looks like he might cry. But really, I’ve almost come to expect the theatrics from him.
“Okay.” Is all that I can offer in response.
“Really, Syd. I was disappointed. I’m sorry that I upset you.”
The same boyish face that I longed to forgive a year ago is back. The one who said he loved me and wiped away any doubt I had in us. How did we end up here?
“Forgive me?” He reaches out and tilts my chin up. But I pull back and look at the ground. I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t say what I need to say while I�
�m looking at him. I’m a coward.
“Look Trevor.” My voice is barely audible. “I think we may need a little—”
“No,” he cuts me off indignantly.
“Trevor—” I start again.
“No, Syd. Don’t even say it. The last thing we need is time. Or space. Or whatever generic bullshit line you’re about to feed me. Don’t do this.”
“Let’s just take the weekend…”
“Syd. I fucking love you. Don’t do this because of him.”
“This isn’t about anyone but you and me.”
A door opens and Quinn walks out, holding a long stick labeled “bathroom pass.” She stops several yards away from us and stares, eyebrows up, glaring at Trevor.
“Syd?” Her concerned eyes dart back and forth between Trevor and me. “Everything okay?”
Trevor isn’t even looking in her direction, much less bothering with the fake smile he had plastered on this morning.
“Everything’s fine, Quinnlette.” I use the name that only her older brother calls her. I know she hates it. I do it subconsciously, but she knows something is up when I do.
“Right,” she says, not buying it. She starts walking toward us.
“No, seriously, I’m just not feeling well. Trevor was about to take me home,” I say. I flash what I hope will be a convincing smile and she stops.
“Okay, well…” She gives me a long, calculating look. “I hope you feel better.”
I nod and she wanders off down the hall.
“Can we please do this later?” I ask Trevor.
He looks at me and his eyes are empty.
“Whatever you say, Sydney.” I silently grieve for the way his stunning blue eyes used to make me feel. If I could just get a fleeting glance of the guy he was before, I might second-guess my decision.
“I just think that it’s best. For now.”
“Well, if that’s what you think. I think you’re going to regret it. But, hey, your call.”
“We’ll talk in a few days?”
Nothing.
“Okay, well, I guess I’m gonna go.”
I turn away from him. I almost expect to be yanked back and told not to walk away from him. I expect to be stopped. I expect the argument to continue. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t.
I leave campus. Knowing one thing for certain.
School and gym are no longer on the agenda.
-Twenty-two—
I spend an hour arguing with Maisy, trying to explain why she cannot have her group of friends over to stay both Friday and Saturday night. She totally ignores the note from our dad and tells me that she can do whatever she wants. She makes a big production of stomping around and slamming doors before coming downstairs to find out what we’re having for dinner.
I’m upstairs trying to organize my room when the pizza arrives.
“Maisy!” I yell. “There’s money by the door, can you get that?”
I’m half under my bed trying to fish out stray shoes and other odds and ends. No response, naturally. Another knock at the door.
“Ugh,” I groan. I shove myself out from under the bed. My knee-length pajama pants and white tank top are now covered in a thick layer of dust from under my bed. I glance into Maisy’s room as I run down the hall. She’s on the phone, of course.
I yank the front door open, and then, take a quick step back. Not pizza.
Grant.
He’s leaning patiently against the doorframe, dressed casually in dark gray lounge pants and a plain v-neck t-shirt. God, he manages to look effortless and gorgeous all at the same time.
“Hey,” I say, clearly taken aback by his presence.
“Hi. Sorry to show up without calling…” He seems nervous. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that it’s kind of endearing.
I laugh to camouflage my surprise. “I just thought you were the pizza.”
“If it helps, I did bring food.” He holds up a large white paper bag. “Jules has been cooking like crazy. With mom coming in tomorrow, you know. Anyway, with you and your sister here alone, I figured you could use something to eat. But, if you have food coming…”
“Please, there’s never enough food with that kid around. That was really sweet of you.”
We stand there awkwardly for a moment. Before I stop being so damn inept and invite him in. He sets the bag on the kitchen counter and opens his mouth to say something, just as there’s another knock on the door.
“Hold that thought, I’ll just be a second.” I hold my finger up and race out of the room. I cannot believe that he’s here. My heart is hammering loudly in my chest. In my ears. All through me. I pay for the pizza and pause momentarily outside of the kitchen to calm myself.
“Okay, sorry about that,” I say. I set the box on the stove. I should call Maisy down and tell her that the food is here. I should…but first, I should thank Grant, right? Manners are more important.
“So, thanks for the food. That was really thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome. Honestly, it was my excuse to come by. You left school early…” He speaks slowly, trying to gauge my reaction before finishing. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I just…needed to know if you were all right.” His hands are shoved deep in his pockets. It’s an atypical stance for him—he usually radiates confidence.
“I’m fine,” I say. I inspect my nails. That’s a safe thing to do.
“Look, I know it’s not my place, Syd. I know that you love him…I know that you want him.” His words are pained. “And I understand if you want me to leave. But I just had to see you. I had to see for myself that you weren’t hurt.”
I lean against the cool countertop, unsure how to respond. I’m not sure that I love Trevor anymore. I don’t think I want him. And here’s Grant, standing in front of me, wanting to know if I’m hurt, when he so obviously is because of me.
“I don’t have a clue what I want.”
He nods. “That’s understandable. I know you’re going through a lot, Syd. I don’t mean to be unfair, or pile anymore crap on you.” He takes a few slow steps to close the space in between us.
“You’re not,” I lie. He is. Every movement he takes away from me aches. But every step he takes toward me confuses me. My heart rate picks up again as he inches closer. He reaches for my hand and lightly strokes it with his fingertips.
“I just want you to be safe. And okay. And I can see that you aren’t.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” I can’t concentrate on anything right now. Not with him this close to me.
“What the heck?” Maisy’s voice cuts through the intensity as she stomps into the kitchen. I should have heard her coming. I jerk my hand away from Grant’s and spin toward Maisy.
“Hey, pizza’s here!” I say. My voice cracks with all of the nerves and other emotion spinning around in me.
“Obviously. Who’s this?” she asks. She nods in Grant’s direction.
“This is my friend, Grant. From school,” I say. Grant smiles politely at her, but she only scoffs in response.
“Friend. Right,” she mumbles under her breath. She pops open the pizza boxes and pokes at the pies like they’re completely foreign. “So, what’s in the bags?”
Grant doesn’t miss a beat and starts unpacking the food he brought over.
“We’ve got chicken kabobs, baked ziti, and chocolate mousse,” he says. Now he’s speaking Maisy’s language.
Maisy’s eyes light up and she abandons the cardboard pizza boxes in favor of Grant’s buffet.
“Are you staying for dinner?” I ask. Do I sound as eager as I feel?
“Only if you’d like,” he says with a handsome smirk.
“Yes, please.”
“Friends!” Maisy snorts as she piles food onto her plate.
The three of us arrange our plates on the coffee table and turn on a movie. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time that I ate a meal with Maisy. On purpose. But she and Grant are getting along great. They talk about school and the movie an
d joke. It’s more happiness than I’ve seen from her in months, and I have Grant to thank for it. I lean back against the sofa and listen and smile. Especially on Maisy’s birthday weekend, it feels like a gift.
When the movie ends, Maisy hurries to clean up her dishes and rushes out of the room to make a call.
“You don’t have to leave, Maze,” I assure her.
“I know. I have to call Darla,” she says.
“It was cool to meet you, Maisy. Happy birthday!” Grant says.
“You too, dude,” Maisy says. “And thanks. Are you going to be coming over again?”
Grant smirks. “You’ll have to ask your sister that.”
They bump fists before she turns and sprints up the staircase.
“Just give me a second.” I excuse myself to follow my sister.
“What’s up, Syd?” Maisy asks. She’s already on her bed, phone in hand.
“I just…I just don’t want you to think…” I have no idea what I’m trying to say.
“That you have two boyfriends?” she asks.
I let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh.
“Exactly.” I nod. “Grant and I are just friends.”
“Whatever, Syd. He’s cool. I like him.”
“I do, too,” I confess. Too much.
“So, he’s going to be coming over more?” she asks.
I rub my hand over the quilt on her bed. My grandmother made it for my mom a zillion years ago. What would either one of them think of what’s going on in my life right now?
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I say honestly.
“Oh.” She reaches for her phone again. “Well, your business.” She’s already scrolling through her phone. I guess that’s my cue to leave.
When I get back downstairs, I’m surprised to see Grant’s spot on the couch vacant.
My stomach drops. No way had he left without saying goodbye. I peek into the kitchen and he’s standing near the sink, drying a plate. All of the food is put away, and it looks like he’s drying the last of the dishes.
Unbelievable.
“You really didn’t need to do all of that,” I say.
He turns around and tosses the dish towel onto the counter. He pushes a piece of hair up out of his face and grins.
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