Chapter Eight
Tyler shifts in his seat awkwardly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than on this flight with me.
That makes two of us, buddy. “That’s, uh, good to know that you get along with his friends.
” He doesn’t wait for me to ask about Delia.
Even now, he knows an update on her would be less helpful and more a papercut to the heart.
“All right, this is getting weird,” I blurt.
No time like the present to acknowledge the elephant in the too-small, very cramped room in the sky.
“We’ve got a long way to go on this flight still, so why don’t we just…
go back to doing whatever it is we planned on doing back when we expected our seatmate to be a complete stranger.
” It feels brutal to be this blunt with him, but for both of our sanities, it’s the option that makes the most sense.
Another flush from Tyler. “You’re right. A good plan.”
The plane’s engines hum in a weak attempt to fill our awkward, uncomfortable silence.
Tyler and I both do our best to ignore each other for the next hour (not that it’s working very well with the less than two inches of personal space between us in these economy seats), but there’s only so much movie watching, snacking (Tyler’s already on his third bag of plane-issued chips), and fake sleeping one can do before you finally have to succumb to making conversation.
Even Cranky Lady has nodded off against the window, so we can’t ignore each other by talking to her.
Instead, she’s snoring in a nature that isn’t very dignified, and I’m sure she’d have something to say about it if it was one of us.
As for Tyler and me, we both do a pitiful job at pretending to be preoccupied, eventually caving and facing each other once again.
“So, Mr. Two First Names.” He straightens up and shoves his crumpled-up chip bag into the back pocket of the seat in front of him, once again passive-aggressively ignoring my plea to call Jack by his name. “You’re really visiting him for no reason? Or something’s going on?”
My heart’s hammering too fast to wonder if I’m really that transparent, or if Tyler’s still able to see through me like he always has. “I’m just going to visit him because I miss him. I already told you.”
He doesn’t seem to buy it, brow furrowing. His lower lip juts out the way it always does when he’s confused—the way that makes me feel like my heart is hiccupping. “A week before spring break?”
“A week before spring break.” I grind my teeth and grip my phone tighter in my hand, wishing it wasn’t defunct on this plane so I could at least spend the rest of my flight falling into the social media vortex and avoiding this conversation.
We both know all there is to do is listen to my pre-saved podcasts or scroll through my camera roll—which is thankfully empty of any photos of us together, purged back when I was trying to heal my heart, even though I was responsible for breaking it. “Is there a problem with that?”
Tyler holds his hands up in surrender. “Nope, no problem. Just trying to make conversation, because it doesn’t sound like you to just impulsively hop on a plane and skip school.”
The exhaustion of the morning and the stress of the flight is getting to me, as well as the sharp stab in my heart from being read so well by a boy who shouldn’t know me at all anymore.
I can practically feel the frayed strands of my patience giving way.
“Well, stop making conversation about my relationship. You and I are broken up, Tyler. We’ve been broken up for a long time. ”
He looks chastened, staring down at his lap with an unreadable expression on his face. “Trust me, Ol—Olive, I know exactly how long it’s been.” The way he says it, like he’s been counting the minutes or the hours or the days, makes me inhale quickly.
“It’s been over a year, Tyler.” I try to stand firm, but my voice sounds small.
His cough interrupts me, sharp and quick. “Fifteen months. I’m well aware.”
My neck starts to feel warm and itchy, and if possible, the already cramped plane makes it harder to breathe.
I don’t even justify Tyler’s rebuttal with an answer, crossing my arms and staring pointedly at my TV screen, which silently shows the map of our plane over the United States.
Right now, we’re coasting somewhere above the Midwest, still a while to go before we hit the open ocean.
I wasn’t foolish enough back then to think that Tyler and I would return to best friendship after the breakup—that’s never, in the history of ever, worked out for anyone.
Still. I thought there would be a few weeks of total isolation and heartbreak and weirdness, and then we’d at least find our way back to each other as acquaintances, or we’d get to a shaky point where we could at least give each other small smiles in the hallway.
Where we could look back at our relationship as something that may not have worked out but was fun and nice while it lasted.
Where we could wish each other the best and move on.
I had every intention of getting to that point, but Tyler didn’t seem to be on board.
Because that last moment together in the hallway was the final time I heard from him.
In the days that followed, still reeling from the shock and hurt of everything that happened, I felt numb to it all.
And the silent, dark, cold brick that was my unused phone was another painful reminder.
Our nonstop chatter in the hallways became awkward glances darting away from each other as we carried our trays to opposite sides of the cafeteria.
Hangouts before homeroom became me skirting into the building at the last possible second so I didn’t have to awkwardly riffle around my locker pretending to be busy so I didn’t look lonely.
And even if it broke me from the inside out, I know the pain I felt then was entirely deserved.
Tyler’s voice is quiet now, breaking through my thoughts.
“It’s just…I don’t know, Ol. Skipping a week of classes before spring break to see your boyfriend who you were already going to see a week from now, anyway?
That’s not like you.” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly distressed. “None of this is like you.”
“I told you to call me Olive. I don’t use that nickname anymore.
” It’s out of my mouth like a reflex, but I immediately wish I could take it back when I see the hurt on his face.
But I’ll do anything to distract myself from the tight, squeezing feeling in my chest, knowing no amount of hoodie wearing or arm crossing is going to hide how I’m feeling from Tyler. He’s always been good at reading me.
“Just talk to me,” he pleads in a hushed voice. “I know you, Olive. I may not have dated you in over a year, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know you. It doesn’t mean I can’t tell when something’s going on.”
The gentle caring in his voice is what pushes me over the edge, makes me cave in like it always has. The words rush out before I have a chance to stop them. “I don’t understand what’s going on, Tyler. I’m not sure yet. That’s why I have to find out.”
Understanding dawns on his face. “Find out what, Olive? What are you racing toward?”
I shake my head, tugging at the uncomfortably tight seat belt in my lap. “I don’t know.” I hope I won’t end up running from something.
“Olive.” Tyler’s voice is steady as he reaches across the armrest and places the tips of his fingers on the inside of my wrist, rough skin against smooth. “Talk to me. As a…as a friend. Please.”
As a friend. It’s what I wanted, right? The place I’d hoped we’d get to after I blew everything up?
But now I’m not sure it’s possible. Still, in this moment, trapped in the sky with the boy I once loved, I find myself telling him everything, from the start.