Chapter Thirteen #2
I groaned, already frustrated by this conversation. With a strong surge of resentment, I wished I was still back at Black Bass talking to Steph instead.
Steph was excited about Trevor. She’d told me to go for it. Chelsea, however, was looking at me with disappointment, as if I were a camper she’d caught sneaking out.
I felt a sharp wave of resentment at how straitlaced she was.
She always, always had to be responsible, and pragmatic, and—boring.
I wished, more than I ever had before, that she was willing to have a little bit of fun.
I thought about the Chelsea who’d come out, for a short while, at the Night Before—the girl who’d stolen champagne and taken off her dress and jumped in the water with the rest of us.
I wanted to be talking to that Chelsea right now. But I didn’t know if she was even in there.
“Does he know what? You want me to ask him permission to talk to another guy? You sound insane.” I hated how angry I was, but I couldn’t help it. Chelsea didn’t feel like my best friend; she felt like my keeper. I didn’t like it at all.
“Don’t be mean. I’m just saying. He’s not going to like it,” Chelsea said.
She was speaking calmly, certainly more calmly than me, but I could hear the clear note of judgment.
If there were pearls around her neck, she’d be clutching them.
“I know he wants to get back together with you. You know it, too.”
“Why does that matter?” I said, my voice rising involuntarily.
I locked eyes with Kendall, who was reading a book on the edge of the dock with her toes barely dipped in, and her eyebrows jumped into her hairline.
I forced a smile and waved at her until she went back to reading.
“I don’t care that he wants to get back together, because I don’t.
And if he’s waiting around for me to change my mind, he needs to get over it. ”
“And you think having some fling with Trevor is the best way to help him get over it?”
“It’s not a fling, Chels. Fine, maybe I like him, but—”
“Oh, so you’re serious about this? And how’s that going to work?” She put a hand on her hip, then flipped one of her braids over her shoulder. “What, are you going to follow him around to odd jobs? Live in a van, maybe? Sounds awesome.”
Now she was the one being mean. I was so tired of my life, and my future, being everyone else’s goddamn business.
“Listen,” she said, before I could argue. “I like Trevor. I do. I understand the appeal. He’s great at his job, and the kids love him. But he’s leaving at the end of the summer. Then he’ll be on to the next thing, the next girl. And you’ll be here. Wes will be here.”
Chelsea was right, but only about some of it.
Trevor Townsend was not the kind of guy who liked long-term plans—he’d told me as much himself, the other night.
And as much as we’d been dancing around each other, touching each other’s knees on dark beaches, there was still so much I didn’t know about him.
“You know he’s already got another job lined up for September,” she said, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Wes mentioned it to me yesterday. He’s working at some brewery in Atlanta for a bit, and then he’ll probably hike the Appalachian Trail, or something.
He’s a walking question mark, Greer. He’s not serious. ”
“Well, maybe I’m not looking for something serious. Maybe I’m just seeing what happens.”
She furrowed her brow, incredulous. “Greer Olsen, just seeing what happens? Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Can’t you just be excited for me? Steph was.”
It was quiet between us for a long moment, and I found myself wishing I was anywhere but here, having this conversation.
A bird chirped from somewhere. “Acadian flycatcher,” she said automatically, like the sound itself was a question on a pop quiz.
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes at her.
“You seem different lately. Not like yourself. Maybe you should, I don’t know, take some space from her.”
I made a face, surprised. “From Steph?”
She shrugged, looked up at the sky. “Ever since she got here, everything you’ve done has been to impress her. It’s just a little…obsessive, I guess.”
I closed my eyes, annoyed and embarrassed. Yes, I’d been spending a lot of time with Steph. Honestly, with all our late nights together, I’d spent far more time with her this summer than I had with Chelsea. But people are allowed to change and grow and want different things.
The girl you meet when you’re a baby doesn’t have to be your best friend forever.
“Honestly, you sound like the obsessed one right now. Maybe you should develop some hobbies other than caring about who I’m friends with, or who I’m dating.”
Chelsea’s mouth fell open in surprise. Closer now, the flycatcher chirped louder, as if it were reprimanding me for being a bitch.
Immediately, I regretted the words. Before I could even begin to formulate an apology, she spoke. “You know what, I’m getting a little hot,” she said, rising brusquely. “We can talk about this later.”
“Fine,” I said hollowly, though she’d already walked away.