Chapter Seventeen
OfficialEndeavourHigh: During homeroom this week, your teacher will be reminding you all of what a library study room is and is not used for. There’ll be a form that requires your signature.
“I’ve realized something.”
I’ve gotten into the habit of calling Esha on my way to Lowry’s class.
It’s a long drive, mostly because I always get caught in what our small town considers rush-hour traffic: I get stuck behind all the morning school buses.
Plus, I’m eighteen. So, now it’s actually legal for me to talk on the phone while driving.
“Realized what?” Esha’s voice sounds far away; I can tell she’s using speakerphone.
“I think I’ve been mean to Hayes this year.” There’s an autumnal coolness in the air this morning, and my deep exhale fogs up the window. The chill is kind of nice, so I don’t have the heat on. It’s invigorating.
“What? Mean how?” There’s a rustling noise that’s probably her rolling around in her bed.
She doesn’t have a class until eleven. My phone sits in its special little dock on the dashboard.
My dad bought it for me because he knows I’m both overly chatty and bad at navigating even with GPS.
He thought keeping the phone stationary would reduce the distraction, and it’s worked so far, I guess.
“I’ve just … hated him.” I shrug and shiver all at once. “Mostly for one thing, which he did technically apologize for.”
“Nova,” she scoffs, rustling around again.
FaceTime request; I don’t look away from the road as I accept.
There’s her face—those doe eyes of hers can execute one hell of a glare.
“You’ve never hated anyone in your life.
You’re a very competent, intelligent person, but that’s one thing you’re just not capable of.
And you haven’t been mean to him. You’ve annoyed each other, and you’ve competed, and there’s been friction, but you were never mean.
You’re allowed to be irritated by other people. ”
I start to argue, because it really felt like I hated him. And she can’t tell me I didn’t hate him, right? “But I—”
“No, Nova. Listen.” She takes a deep breath.
She’s getting annoyed with me. I can hear it in that rush of air.
“Maybe you were snarky sometimes, or, I don’t know …
less than friendly. Maybe you bought into the petty rivalry.
And you were rightfully pissed when he pulled a stunt to embarrass you.
But can you honestly say you’ve ever hated him? Like, hated him?”
“I mean … no?” I say it like it’s a question, not a statement. “I guess not.”
I roll up to a red light at the biggest intersection in town.
Maybe she’s right: Maybe I’ve never actually hated anyone.
Maybe I don’t know what hate truly is. I know I hate when people dog-ear books.
And I hate those heartbreaking ASPCA commercials that make me cry, even though they probably raise a lot of money for a good cause. And I hate capitalism.
But I don’t know if I ever felt that way about Hayes.
“Okay. Great. Thank you. We can agree that you’re not a bad, hateful person. And that he was equally provocative and competitive. And if you’re starting to bridge the gap and learn to respect each other because of this shitty, shitty class, then good … at least it’s doing something for you.”
My laugh fills the otherwise empty car, and I draw a tiny heart in the driver’s-side window with my fingertip. I point to it, so Esha knows it’s for her. The light finally turns green.
“I just feel bad,” I admit quietly, driving.
It’s like I’m talking to no one, just confessing my sins to the tiny bits of fabric peeling off my steering wheel.
“Lately, it’s like I’m actually seeing him for real.
And I see that he’s … grown up a lot. And he’s kind.
And sort of funny. And I don’t know how I didn’t notice. ”
All this time, I’ve been sticking pins in a Hayes-shaped voodoo doll, mentally, and whether or not he ever felt the sting, I meant it. Maybe it’s time to stop meaning it. Maybe it’s time to move on.
“Nova …” Esha sighs. “Where is this coming from, anyway?”
“I don’t know. He keeps working with me and validating my ideas, and he told me—several times—that I’m brilliant.” I shake my head and hit the brakes to avoid the truck that stopped short in front of me.
“Okay. Great. He can see what’s blatantly in front of him: your enormous brain.
” She disappears, obviously standing up to get ready and leaving her phone on her bed.
“But I’m going to ask you something: Has he ever really apologized?
Without his parents and the principal behind him?
Has he promised not to do something worse this year when you’re competing again? ”
My stomach flips at the thought of something worse.
He wouldn’t, right? But Esha’s words ring true. He’s never apologized on his own, just me and him. And he’s never said he wouldn’t try again to undermine me.
“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” she asks. She’s picked the phone back up now, I can tell. I don’t respond, and she keeps talking anyway. “I was trying to explain this earlier, when he showed up sitting next to you on your bench, but I think I’m gonna have to be more direct.”
“Explain what?” I ask. I’ve parked to the best of my ability, which is still not great. It’s peaceful on campus, so early the streetlights are still on.
“I’m your best friend, and I know what you’re actually like when you let your guard down. When you’re around me and your family.”
I laugh, just a tiny puff of air in the quiet.
“When you’re with him, I’m beginning to see that person. You’re starting to let your guard down with him. You take your mask off.”
I don’t know about that. I certainly don’t feel relaxed around him. I do feel … different, though. In a way that has so far defied explanation.
“Okay,” I close my eyes. Clench my fists. Count backward from ten. This is something I usually do in the early mornings before classes start. Maybe it’s my way of putting on that mask Esha’s talking about. “But what does all of that even mean?”
She’s just going to have to come right out and say it.
“I think it means you like him.”
At that moment, a fist raps on the hood of my car.
I jump high enough that my head actually smacks the ceiling. Thankfully it’s padded. My brain is kind of important to me.
As I rub the ache forming in my skull, I see Hayes standing there. He leans against the side of the car, like he’s waiting for me.
“But you have to be careful. What he did hurt you so badly when you didn’t like him. Imagine what he could do to you if he knew you felt something soft for him.”
I’m so startled by Esha’s words and the pounding in my head and the way Hayes is looking at me that I don’t even answer.
“Morning, Novella!” he yells.