Millie
The weather is picture-perfect today—all blue skies, no clouds, light breeze. An ideal day to stand on a parade float in your sunglasses and wave out to everyone you’ve ever known, singing random songs at the top of your lungs.
Today I want to forget that anything bad ever happened since we got out of school. I want to shout to everyone, We are safe! It is summer, and it is fleeting and magical, and if we spend all of it worrying, we’re going to miss it!
But as we pass Hot Diggity, it’s hard to ignore what’s happened. Even though Justin’s dad paid someone to clean the window, I can still make out the graffiti someone spray-painted: Murderer!
I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile back on my face as we move forward in the parade. At the end of our route, I hop off the float, and Ethan appears, pushing his curls off his face. He brings me in for a side hug, his fingers pressing into my shoulder, and whispers, “Hey, Mill.”
“Hey,” I say, daring to look up at him, the sun casting a golden glow on his cheeks.
“Would you mind finding Trevor? I haven’t seen him all morning. I gotta go help Jordan set up the barbecue, but can you make sure he gets over there?”
“For sure,” I say, and watch Ethan jog away, looping his arm around Alex’s neck and bringing him in for a noogie even though Alex is a few inches taller. There’s a lightness between them. Good. Maybe that means Ethan is feeling calmer, more at ease.
I crane my neck to search for Trevor, but amid the sea of staffers, he’s nowhere to be found.
I dial Trevor’s number and press the phone to my ear, but after three rings, it goes straight to voicemail.
I shake my head and send him a text instead.
Barbecue at West Shore Beach. Ethan wants to make sure you got the memo.
I pocket my phone and start toward the parking lot, weaving between staffers tossing red, white, and blue confetti in the air. But just as I’m passing the alley between Little Vincenzo’s and Schmear & Co., I hear a familiar voice rising over the waves.
Trevor. But I don’t see him. Must have been a mistake. My subconscious working overtime since I’m looking for him.
Then there he is again, his voice sharp and hurried.
I can’t make out the words, but I walk in the direction of the noise, closer to the garbage cans in the alley.
I peer around the corner of the building and see him hidden behind the boats.
Trevor leans forward with his arm pressed high on the brick wall.
His mouth is twisted, and his eyes are wide and dark.
He’s tapping his back foot against the ground. Impatient.
He says something again, but I’m not close enough to make out the words, can only hear the exasperation.
He tilts his head back so his curls bounce, catching the glare of the sun.
I try to reposition myself so I can see who he’s talking to without coming into full view, but I don’t need to.
Because suddenly, she steps forward, out from behind the boats, and wraps her arms around Trevor’s neck, and when she does, it’s all I can do to hold back a gasp.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and watch as Erica angles her face up toward Trevor’s, pressing a palm to his cheek. He leans into her touch, as if she’s soothing him, as if she’s a salve. She presses her lips to his, her whole body to his, like they were born to do this.
Trevor pulls back, brings one hand to her forehead, and pushes back a piece of hair.
Erica looks up at him, her eyes focused, smiling, but then she says something I can’t hear and his demeanor changes, a storm cloud passing over his face.
Trevor throws his shoulder back, shakes his head, and starts running toward the beach, in the opposite direction of me.
I expect Erica to follow him, but she leans back against the brick wall and then slides down until she’s squatting on her heels, her face buried in her hands, the faint echo of a sob floating through the air.
I could go to her and comfort her or run after Trevor, but it’s like my body has a mind of its own, and before I can think, I’m back at my bike, spinning the dial around to enter my combination, hopping onto the seat and pedaling away as fast as I can toward the barbecue.
It takes me six whole blocks to catch my breath, to understand what I saw, and to realize, with confusion, that for some reason, my cheeks are wet and my eyes sting. I blink, wipe my forearm across my face, and shake my head as if that will stop the tears.
I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t even care.
Actually, I should be happy that Trevor has found someone to kiss in an alley, someone whose waist seems to fit perfectly in his grasp.
But then again, I should also be concerned that whatever was going on between them seems to have an ugly side, something I was never meant to see.
And yet, the only question I want an answer to is this one: How, after seventeen years of friendship, did Trevor and I reach a place where he wouldn’t think to tell me about Erica? That he would lie to me about where he’s been, what he’s been doing, who he’s been thinking about?
But just as I begin to wonder, just as the fury begins to grow, I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing to him.
Lying. And perhaps my lie has bigger and worse consequences. Because there’s no way in the world I would ever tell him about my love for Ethan, so how can I expect him to be honest with me?