Chapter 35 #2
I hurry back to my table to gather my belongings, and then I situate myself across from Quinn.
As I settle in, I realize that Ivy from three weeks ago wouldn’t have been able to do this.
Hell, Ivy from a week ago would have chickened out, but here I am.
I took another step in the right direction.
I did the uncomfortable thing, and it was worth it in the end.
And when Quinn turns the Cheetos bag in my direction and asks, “Want some?” I actually manage a laugh.
“You already know the answer,” I tell her.
I grab a handful of Cheetos as she launches into a dramatic story about one of her professors. “You came at exactly the right moment. I was just telling Remy about what a piece of shit my Lit professor is…”
And suddenly, it’s like nothing’s changed.
Except everything has.
I wasn’t going to go to the Senior Exhibition, but reconnecting with Quinn gives me the courage to attend.
I step inside the basketball stadium on Friday afternoon, surprised at the elaborate transformation it’s undergone for the showcase.
If it weren’t for the bleachers, I’d almost forget where I was.
Long rows of tables stretch across the polished floor, all of them topped with posters, laptops, and demonstrations. Seniors hover near them, either alone or in small groups, presenting their work to onlookers.
My stomach in knots, I scan the dense crowd. I’m not tall enough to find the person I’m looking for, though, so I begin my trek around the perimeter of the court.
“Ivy!” I pause at the sound of my name and turn to find Ben, Kaden, and a woman standing off to the side. Ben waves me over, and I weave through bodies in their direction. When I break free of the throng, I immediately recognize the girl beside them.
Her wavy hair is longer now, but otherwise, Audrey looks the same as in her picture. Slim, athletic build. Dark, dramatic brows. Expressive, brown eyes. In person, the resemblance to her brother is almost uncanny, though I try not to make it obvious I’m staring.
“Well, look who’s out and about,” says Ben, pulling me in for a hug. I hug him back, surprised to find myself smiling again.
“We haven’t seen you in forever,” says Kaden as I hug him, too.
“I know,” I say, hoping I look better than our last interaction. Judging by their grins and the lack of concern clouding their expressions, I must. “It’s good to see you guys.”
Ben gestures to Wes’s sister. “Audrey, this is Ivy. Ivy, Audrey. I don’t think you two have met, have you?”
I don’t expect my name to garner any recognition, but Audrey’s brows shoot up, and her lips pull into a kind smile that I don’t deserve. “No, we haven’t, but it’s great to put a face to the name.”
“It’s great to meet you, too,” I tell her, trying to hide my surprise at her words. After all I’ve put her brother through, no way was I expecting such a warm greeting. “Is, um, Leo here?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, he’s home with Micah. Traveling with a toddler is a huge pain in the ass. My parents are around here somewhere, though. You’ve met them, right?”
“Yeah, I have,” I say, wondering if she knows that Wes and I are on the outs. I’m not about to bring it up if she doesn’t.
“Did you see Doc’s presentation yet, Ivy?” asks Kaden. “The man’s a genius, but we knew that already.”
“No, not yet. I was trying to find it, but it’s packed in here.”
Ben points to a stand on the far side of the room. “It’s in the corner. He’s presenting to the judges in a few, so we should probably head over.”
We all nod in agreement, and then I follow the guys and Audrey around the perimeter of the room. As we slip into the large group crowding Wes’s table, I spot his parents up toward the front, situated beside the people holding clipboards, who I assume to be the judges.
And then Wes begins his presentation on disease pathology, explaining how a disease develops from its earliest onset to the final stages.
He then describes the meta-analysis he conducted across fifty papers.
By combining the results into a database, he was able to find common trends that led to the discovery of an early biomarker—one that could potentially help detect cancer in children.
My chest swells with pride as I watch him present, knowing that I’m likely the only one to note the subtle improvements he’s picked up from Public Speaking.
His ums and uhs are nonexistent, and he doesn’t fidget anymore.
His words are assured and well-practiced, and he makes eye contact with everyone in the crowd.
Well, except for me. It’s only at the end of the presentation, when I shift to my right out of the shadow of the person in front of me, that his eyes lock with mine.
I don’t miss the surprise that flashes across his face as he stumbles over a word, his first and only minor mistake.
He recovers quickly, his eyes holding mine for another loaded second before flicking away, and he finishes out the presentation.
When he’s done, the judges deliberate, the crowd disperses, and family and friends move forward to congratulate him.
Not me. I back away, not wanting to ruin his moment or drag the spotlight away from his project and onto our baggage.
I came here to support him, not distract him, so I wander away while everyone else shares his contagious excitement and basks in the glow of his accomplishment.
I view a few more of the presentations, but I don’t pay much attention.
I’m happy for Wes, I am, but it’s hard to watch from the wings as the show goes on without me.
I try to remind myself I’m not solely responsible for imploding the best thing that ever happened to me, but it’s hard to accept.
Deborah would say that I did my best given the circumstances, but it still hurts to know I failed him. Failed us.
Tired of walking in circles, I sit in the bleachers for a while and respond to a text from Noah.
When a shadow falls over me, I glance up, expecting to see Kaden or Ben.
Instead, Wes stands in front of me, looking absolutely incredible in his navy suit.
My heart stutters to a stop…and then picks up double-time.
“Hey, Poison Ivy,” he says, eyes roaming over my face, taking me in.
I’m doing the same to him, drinking in every detail like I’m dying of thirst. He’s gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him, I guess in preparation for his presentation, and for a moment, I’m filled with sorrow.
A month ago, I was aware of every small change in him.
Every minor, day-to-day difference. I knew when he shaved, when he showered, when he had a bad night’s sleep.
I’ve missed hours, days, weeks of his life, time I know I’ll never get back, and my heart sinks at the realization.
“Hi,” I say, too soft and too sad. He picks up on it instantly, his brow furrowing, and steps closer.
“I didn’t think I’d see you,” he murmurs.
Somehow, I manage a small smile. “Your project was so impressive, Wes. I’m so happy for you.”
His eyes brim with warmth as they regard me. “Thanks, Ives. It means a lot that you’re here.”
I shrug, shifting in my seat. Feeling the weight of his attention after weeks without it is overwhelming, and I find myself averting my eyes down to the ground before working my way back up to his face.
Leather shoes. Slacks. Dress shirt and jacket.
He looks exceptionally handsome today, and my face grows hot from simply being in his proximity.
“I just walked over. It’s not a big deal. ”
He levels me with that look that tells me he sees right through me. “Ivy. We both know it’s a big deal.”
The words hang in the air between us, weighted. A month ago, I was barely able to leave my room, let alone my bed.
My smile drops. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is.”
He runs a hand through his new, shorter hair, mussing it up. “I feel responsible for you dropping the class, you know. I promised I’d help you through it, and I broke that promise. I let you down. I should have done more to help you prepare. I should have been there for you.”
I shake my head, my heart squeezing. “Wes. Don’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“If it weren’t for you, I would have dropped the first week.”
He smiles sadly. “I doubt that.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’ll retake the class next year when I’m more…” I trail off, unsure of how to describe myself. “When I’m feeling better.”
He nods, his eyes roaming over me again. “You look good, Ives.”
My face warms at the compliment, even though I’m sure what he actually means is that I look better than the last time he saw me. “Thanks. Turns out eating and sleeping do wonders for your health.”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke. If anything, he looks pained. “Ivy—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off, even though I have no idea what he was about to say. I hastily change the subject. “I met your sister earlier. I was half-expecting her to give me the cold shoulder, but she was really nice.”
His brow creases. “Why did you expect her to give you the cold shoulder?”
“You know,” I say slowly. Isn’t it obvious? “Because of how I treated you.”
His frown deepens. “Ivy. You didn’t treat me poorly.”
“I did, though,” I protest. “I strung you along. I sent you all sorts of mixed messages. I picked a fight that day we broke up. I wasn’t honest with y—”
“Hey, Doc!” My words are cut off when a group of guys call his name, drawing his attention. I recognize some of them as his former teammates and know they’re waiting to congratulate him.
“Give me one sec, guys!” he calls over his shoulder before looking back at me.
“Look, we’re throwing a party at the house tonight to celebrate.
It’s invite-only, same as last time, so it shouldn’t get too crazy.
I know it’s not your thing, but I would love for you to come. We can talk more, at least.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, considering his invitation. “Wes, I don’t know…”
His eyes are open and earnest on mine. “Please, Ivy. Please come. Just for a little while. It would mean a lot.”
His admission stirs something in my chest, and before I can think it through, I find myself nodding. “Okay,” I tell him. “Okay, I’ll go.”
Those words are the key, and I finally unlock that dazzling smile, dimples and all. My chest pangs, and I’d give anything for him to wrap me in his arms and tell me that it’s all okay—that we’re okay.
“Excellent,” he says through his grin. “Find me tonight, okay?”
“I will.”
I don’t get a hug, but he does reach out to squeeze my hand before he turns away. As he gets pulled into the shuffle of guys waiting to commend him, I frown down at my palm, the skin still tingling from the warmth of his fingers.
Despite how desperate I’ve been to reconnect with him, I don’t allow myself to get excited by his invitation. Deborah’s words pop into my head, rooting me in the reality of our situation.
Is there a chance you might mend things?
How would you feel now about telling him the truth about his friend?
Do you truly think he’d accuse you of lying about something so serious?
Her questions circle my mind for the rest of the night.
I pick them apart from every angle, searching for an easy way out, even though deep down I know the truth—Wes and I can’t move forward until I’m honest with him.
Only then will I find out if I’ve lost him once and for all.
Only then will I find out if we have any sort of future.
I’m just not sure I’m ready for the answer.