Chapter 9 Now
Now
We sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other.
Between us were the two protein bars, gum, my binder full of paper, a half-dozen pens, and a book I’d checked out from the library at least two months ago and had neither returned nor read yet.
I had already gotten at least four late notices from the librarian that I ignored.
The rest of the stuff was still in my bag, unhelpful to us at the moment.
“We should save these for later,” I said, poking at a protein bar. “When we’re hungrier.”
His eyes went to the door. “We probably won’t need them. We’ll be out of here before we’re hungry.”
He said that with so much confidence it almost doused the nerves that had been buzzing through my body since being locked in here. No, the nerves started when my phone was locked up.
“But yes,” he said. “I agree. We save the food.”
“I call the book,” we both said at the exact same time.
“Oh,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Yeah, you can have it first.”
“Maybe we switch off in an hour?” I suggested.
“How will we know when an hour has passed?”
True. I still wasn’t sure exactly how many hours we had already passed in here. “Maybe we switch off after each chapter.”
He nodded. “That’ll work.”
I pushed the binder and pens toward him and picked up the book.
It was a fantasy, Beau’s favorite. But this wasn’t one I’d ever seen on his bookshelf.
In fact, I’d specifically checked it out because I wanted to read something he hadn’t.
Some weird, “in your face” move. Not that I’d planned on telling him.
And then I didn’t read it and I didn’t return it and it became a weight on my back, another thing that reminded me of him.
I took my hoodie out of my backpack, wadded it into a ball, and lay back on it.
I caught him staring at my makeshift pillow, obviously jealous that I was somewhat comfortable.
There wasn’t a big enough truce in the world that would make me want to share it.
He could figure out his own lounging arrangements.
And he did. He went back to his place on the counter, wedged himself into the corner, and rested my binder on his knees.
When he turned back the cover, like a bolt of lightning I remembered some writings I’d done months ago, venting about him and Ava and Caroline. I launched myself off the floor and across the room.
“Hold up!” I said, yanking the binder out of his grip.
His eyes went wide. “What?”
“Just need to clean this up a bit first. Why don’t you start with the book?”
“I don’t want to start with the book now. I want that.” He pointed to the binder and slid off the counter.
“You don’t. I promise.” I walked back to my spot, sat down with the binder, then held up the book, raising my eyebrows at him.
He nodded and I tossed it to him. It bounced off his fingertips and landed on the floor.
“Who’s the more athletic one, again?” I asked with a smirk.
“Rule one.”
“That was just an observation, a fact.”
“It was a terrible throw,” he muttered as he bent down and picked up the book.
But he didn’t settle back into his place, didn’t open it, just stared at me as I started at the beginning of the binder and flipped through pages.
The beginning was mostly study guides. But in some of the margins of those were words like: Beau=stupid or Glad I’m an only child or Friends suck or much more strongly worded sentiments.
I ripped out those pages and put them to the side.
Then I came to the actual binder paper with longer, angrier diatribes, about not just my friends but my parents too.
I had forgotten how much I wrote in those early days. I tore out page after page.
“Wow,” he said. “That much, huh?”
“I’m sure you have your I hate Indy journal somewhere. Most likely full of how it was my fault that you lost the love of your life.”
He didn’t deny it. For two months I’d wondered if that was true, if he blamed that on me. Now I knew. He still thought Harper was the love of his life. I ignored how that twisted my insides.
I flipped a few more pages, which were just clean white sheets.
I nodded, satisfied. Then I stacked the pages I’d ripped out into a more organized pile and looked at the trash can.
They were trash, but I couldn’t throw them away in here.
Not when Beau could easily pluck them right back out.
Or some teacher could get ahold of them.
(I’d had plenty of bad things to say about teachers too.
They were a huge part of the whole messed up situation after all.) So I slid the pages back into my bag and met Beau’s stare.
“Do you want the binder back? Or do you want to start with the book?” I asked.
He stared at me for a long moment. I dared him to say something. I wanted him to say something. He didn’t. Instead he held up the book, then hoisted himself back onto the counter.
I uncapped a pen and turned my attention to a blank page. Maybe I didn’t need the notes from my phone. Maybe I could start here from scratch, think of better memories, like a refresh. I only had so much time. And even though I couldn’t track it, I knew it was running out.