CHAPTER 2 #3
“I thought I saw you two over by the art store.” A weird note crept into Dalton’s voice, but I refused to look up at his expression to see what it was.
Refused. I shouldn’t have been curious. I shouldn’t have been desperate to see it.
“Nellie’s not with you today? You’re missing one part of your trio. ”
Instead, I focused on Jamie, who had a calm expression. “Oh, this is just our adventure today.”
There was something strange about the way he phrased it. He didn’t tell Dalton about Nellie’s perfect attendance. No, he framed it in a specific way. Just our adventure.
“I bet you’re excited for graduation, Daisy,” Dalton said to me, leaning down enough that I could see his chin from the corner of my eye.
Too close. The scent of his cologne tickled my nose, but it was enough to shatter something in me—he even smelled the same. “You’re off to NYU in the fall, right?”
Hearing the college name on his lips was what did it. Much how Penn had reared up screaming after I’d thrown water onto her sleeping figure, that was how I felt now.
He couldn’t have known I hadn’t gotten in, but in that moment, it felt like he did. There was no condescension in his eyes, nor in his voice, but for how certain he’d been I wouldn’t get in last year, his belief now didn’t make sense.
It’s a little silly to hear you talk about NYU like you’ll go, he’d said to me. I need someone in my life with more ambition.
Even thinking those words had my heart breaking all over again.
I was immediately very glad I’d given the napkin to Jamie and Dalton couldn’t see it on the table.
Despite absolutely everything—the way things ended, the way he’d broken my heart, and the way he showed up now with no mercy—something in my chest pulled, like there was a tether between us that suddenly yanked taut.
There was one other thing I’d wished for Dalton Giovanni. One thing I’d prayed for in secret nearly every night.
That he’d crawl home and beg me back.
And then, underneath the table, I felt it.
Jamie’s foot slid softly against mine, the toe of his sneaker brushing against the side of my shoe. It drew my attention to him. His eyes behind his glasses were locked on me, his thoughts as clear in my head as if he’d spoken aloud.
Don’t do it, Daisy.
Out of everyone in the world, James Brighton could read me the best.
Guilt and shame drenched me, with embarrassment hot on their heels.
Without thinking, I stood from the picnic table, bringing my ice cream soup with me.
Dalton leaned back, startled, and I held my cup so tightly in my hand that my nails nearly cut through the Styrofoam.
Dalton’s gaze was open, almost pleased, as if we were old friends running into each other and catching up.
As if nothing had happened between us at all.
My heart twinged again, and I realized the ache was coming from all the small little tears in it. The places that hadn’t fully healed from when he’d forced me to piece it back together.
“Screw you,” I said.
And then threw my ice cream soup onto his linen shirt.
Dalton cursed, trying to skitter back out of the blast zone, but I moved too fast. The Styrofoam cup and plastic spoon both clattered to the ground, and he held his arms out, as if unable to believe what I’d just done.
I didn’t linger at the sight. I practically fled back to the parking lot Jamie’s car was in. My racing pulse left me lightheaded, the adrenaline rushing through my veins shaking me to my core.
Don’t turn around, I told myself, chanting the mantra with all the desperation in the world. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
A second later, Jamie came up alongside me, once again grabbing my hand and squeezing it tight. “I’m proud of you,” he said when we’d gotten a good distance away. “Did you take inspiration from Beck dumping his drink on Nellie?”
“Maybe.” Jamie’s words made me feel worse.
I’m proud of you. He only said that because he didn’t realize how close I’d been.
I gripped Jamie’s palm, grounding myself to the moment, to the sidewalk, to keep me from feeling like I was free-falling.
“You were chummy. Oh, Dalton, oh, I’m so glad you’re home, oh—”
“Shut up,” Jamie told me lightly. “You know I hate him as much as you do. More, even. If you hadn’t dumped your ice cream all over his stupid Gilfman shirt, I would’ve.”
Don’t turn around.
I didn’t believe Jamie for a second. He was a peacemaker. In fact, I was surprised he wasn’t scolding me for my insane action, but then again, he was right about that part. He did hate Dalton Giovanni more than me.
Because, despite everything, I didn’t think I hated him at all.
“I’m telling you,” I said, and lost my internal battle.
Unable to fight the pull anymore, I looked back at the ice cream parlor where we’d left Dalton behind.
He’d gotten napkins from one of the dispensers and was dabbing—uselessly—at his shirt.
My chest squeezed painfully, body willing me to go back. “Bad luck.”
Jamie gave my hand a pulse, as if knowing where my thoughts were and encouraging me on anyway. “Yeah, fine,” he agreed. “Bad luck.”