Avalon
I hate shots. I always cry like a baby. I hate getting my blood drawn too. Anything involving needles going into my skin, unless it’s for a piercing or a tattoo, makes me want to vomit. And sob.
I spent the entire ride to Opal Springs trying to convince myself I would not throw up or cry in front of Clarke. Something told me that would do nothing to help my attempts to get her to forgive me and write an album together.
A shiver ran down my spine as Dr. Harris led me toward the small office. His hand rested lightly on my back, trying to put me at ease. He was still telling me about the McGafferty boys and their frequent trips to his office.
A smile crossed his face, and I felt his eyes on me. Blinking several times, I forced myself to focus on his story, confusion clouding my brain.
“All done.”
Dr. Harris smoothed a standard Band-Aid over my shoulder and stood.
“You took that shot like a champ.”
I looked down at the spot just below my shoulder. “I didn’t even feel it,” I murmured. Lifting my head, I met his gaze with a matching smile.
“I think it was all the talking. Usually I’m terrified of needles.”
He shrugged and tossed the trash into the small bin in the corner. “I don’t think they’d keep me around if I talked any less.”
He paused, stripping off his gloves. “But I saw your face. You weren’t really listening, were you?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Was I really that easy to read? Was I really that distracted?
“I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head and staring at my hands. “I’m new here and—and I’m trying to find my footing, but…” My voice trailed off. “It’s hard.”
Dr. Harris nodded quietly and settled onto the space beside me. “Tell me about it, kid. It’ll be my turn to listen.” He nudged my shoulder. “I promise to pay attention.”
My face burned again, but beneath the embarrassment, I felt… comfortable. I rarely found the presence of a human man comforting, but something about Dr. Harris made me want to talk.
“I’m trying to make amends with someone,” I said. “Someone who seems hell-bent on not forgiving me. I don’t even think what I did was that bad, but they refuse to accept my apologies so we can move forward.”
Silence stretched for several moments. I wondered if he’d lied about paying attention—but then his low voice cut through my thoughts.
“Perhaps that’s why they won’t forgive you yet. You haven’t come to terms with what you did and how much it affected them. Place yourself in their shoes. Sit with the idea of what you did happening to you instead.”
I frowned. I’d been ghosted plenty of times. Sure, it wasn’t fun, but I eventually got over it.
But then again, I’d never been forced to see those people every day. Or share a living space. Or have dinner with their families. I had never been in Clarke’s shoes—not like this.
“How would you feel?” he asked. “Would you expect yourself to forgive and forget so easily?”
The questions burrowed deep. I shook my head. “No. I’d probably be pretty fucking pissed.”
He nodded with a smile, placing a parental hand on my shoulder. “Clarke King can be stubborn, but she’ll come around eventually. Until then, allow her to be angry with you.”
My mouth dropped as he stood with a wink. I hadn’t even mentioned names, and he already knew. Was I really that easy to read?
“You won’t tell her we had this conversation, will you?” I asked, fiddling with one of my silver rings.
Dr. Harris shook his head. “That would be a direct violation of doctor–patient confidentiality.”
The smile that spread across my face as we left the room was so big it made my cheeks ache. I was going to find my footing here in Opal Springs. I was going to make amends with Clarke. And it was clear what the first step was.
Clarke needed to know that I understood what I had done — and how badly it had hurt her. She needed to know I was okay with her being angry, and that I wasn’t going to leave again. I needed to let her be angry. To hate me.
I would ride out this storm, even if it meant spending the rest of the summer in Opal Springs.
Opal Springs was a relatively large town for what I’d imagined a small town to look like. Some things were lacking, sure, but Clarke was right—they had everything they needed. One movie theater, one full-service salon, a bed-and-breakfast, one convenience store.
“Opal Springs was built on farmland,” Clarke said as we crossed the street. “Most folks either raise and grow their own food or buy directly from those who do. Grocery stores aren’t really necessary when everyone prefers homegrown.”
I nodded. She didn’t seem angry or forced into conversation, and I didn’t want the moment to slip away. I wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could.
“Even prom dresses?” I asked, trying to imagine a teenage Clarke with wild hair and a giant puffy-sleeved dress. The image soured when I pictured her closeted, on the arm of some faceless cowboy.
A blush crept across her face as she ducked her head and opened the door to a fabric shop. “I never went to prom. Melly was sick, and I was needed at home.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You couldn’t have been spared for one night? That’s like the highlight of your high school life.”
She shrugged, the wind lifting stray strands of her golden hair. They floated around her face like something out of a movie.
“It didn’t seem important,” she said softly. “Not like Melly. Giving up my prom so she might be able to go to hers someday was worth it. I’ll never regret that.”
I’d known Clarke loved Melody fiercely—I had seen it from their first interaction—but hearing it like this made something twist inside me. Jealousy, maybe. Or longing. I’d never know what it felt like to be either girl. To be loved like that. To love like that.
But another part of me was relieved. My fucked-up decision to bail on her hadn’t ruined her ability to care for the people she loved.
She was still selfless. Still sweet. Still Clarke. Just… not with me. And I deserved that.
“You’re smiling,” Clarke said, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”
I shrugged, walking past her into the shop. “I’m just accepting that there are things within my reach that I simply cannot control.”
Confusion flickered across her face as she hurried to catch up. “What do you mean by that, Avalon?”
Pretending to study a green-and-white floral fabric, I rubbed the material between my fingers. “I think that your feelings toward me—”
“I don’t have feelings for you,” she snapped, crossing her arms.
I ignored the interruption. “Your feelings toward me, whatever they are, are a direct result of what I did.”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I cannot believe we’re doing this again. Here.” She glanced around nervously.
We were tucked into a small corner near the entrance, shielded by shelves of thread and yarn. Not truly private, but private enough.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she said. “I have things to buy and—”
I reached across the table and took her hand. We both froze. She gasped, a small, startled sound and I dropped her fingers far sooner than I wanted to.
“Then don’t talk,” I said quietly. “Just listen.”
Memories crashed over me—running through the alley with our fingers intertwined, tracing her face as she slept in my arms.
Get it together, Avalon. Please.
“I can’t control how you feel about me. And rightfully so—I did a shitty, fucked-up thing, and you have every reason to hate me. To never want to see me again. But the fact that you didn’t—even if it was for your sister—proves there’s still a chance at forgiveness.”
Clarke scoffed, arms tightening across her chest. “That proves nothing except that I’m smart enough to secure a business deal.”
Her words stung, but I pushed on.
“I’ll wait as long as you need before you can forgive me. And if you can’t do that… then maybe you could hate me a little less.”
“I don’t…” Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. She looked genuinely lost for words. A first.
“Excuse me.” She brushed past me, rounding the corner and leaving our tiny pocket of privacy behind.
I won’t lie—I had expected something. A snarky reply, a sharp insult, anything.
Half a confession was worse. I stood there, rubbing the fabric between my fingers.
I could run back to California, pretend none of this ever happened.
But I’d already invested too much time and energy into getting this far.
I had no choice but to stay. To stand my ground. To show her every apology was real. I had always been a pathological liar—it was a survival skill in my family.
But I couldn’t lie to her. Not to Clarke. So, I followed her—the way I knew I’d be doing for the rest of the summer.