Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“You aren’t serious, though, right?” Megan asked, dark eyes full of concern.
“If Ryan had cut your reading program at the library, would you two be together today?” I asked, reminding her of what could have been.
Her face fell. “Probably not.”
There’d been no need for this little meeting, but I couldn’t bring myself to kick them out either. Over the course of our friendship, we’d instituted a sort of bat signal situation where if one of us needed immediate help, everyone else dropped what they were doing to be there, whether in person or through modern day technology.
For this one—which Becca had called on my behalf—they’d all shown up at my door in person with dessert in hand. Because having the one time I tried dating go down in flames this soon called for double chocolate fudge, fresh-baked brownies.
“But that would have been Ryan’s decision,” Josie pointed out. “You said yourself, this funding thing isn’t up to Trey.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t resent him for it. Yinz know me. I’m a grudge holder.”
“It’s the Capricorn in you,” Donna said. “Won’t you feel bad if he doesn’t get what they promised him?”
Would I? I gave the question some thought and said, “No. I mean, it would suck that they lied to him, but if there’s no money, then there’s no money. The boys had a great season with the resources they have right now, and nothing says they couldn’t do it again. Most importantly, they’d have the opportunity to try. The rest of us who get cut literally have to stop entirely.”
“That’s so unfair,” Becca mumbled. “You’ve worked hard to build the drama club, and the productions are always so fun. Plus, several of your kids have gone on to actually make acting their career. Have we had one person from Carnegie High ever play in the NFL?”
“They don’t care about that,” Josie muttered, soaking a chunk of brownie in her melted ice cream. “There has to be a way to salvage this.”
“It’s too late,” I said. “If he gets the money he asked for, then I’m almost guaranteed to lose the club. But if he doesn’t get the funding and we keep dating, he’ll always wonder when something else will come along to make me walk away. I don’t regret being honest, but that honesty comes with a price. Who would want to date a person who just said I like you but not enough? I wouldn’t.”
“You might be underestimating him.” Becca set the fork down next to her half-eaten brownie. “Trey likes you for who you are, and one of your best qualities is that a person always knows where they stand with you. Besides, maybe he feels the same way. What if the play is super successful and you get extra funding, but he has to live with what he has? Do you think he’d call it off?”
I loaded up a melty bite. “No, but he’s a better person than I am.”
Which was the one thing making this easier to accept. I was never right for Trey. He was a ball of sunshine and I was a slow moving cloud. Just because he found me interesting for some unknown reason didn’t mean he wouldn’t tire of my cranky ways soon enough.
“Don’t say that,” Megan scolded. “You’re an amazing person.”
“Do you know what he said after rehearsal tonight?” I asked, ignoring the compliment. “I thought he was quiet because he was stressing over his own stuff, but then he asked if we could hold a fundraiser to save the club.” I popped the bite into my mouth and spoke around it. “He’s obviously the bigger person.”
No one spoke as they all exchanged glances. At the same time, no one would look at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I take it back,” Megan said. “You’re an idiot.”
“ Such an idiot,” Josie mumbled.
Donna snorted. “And I thought I was bad.”
“Why am I an idiot?”
“Because you’re trying to toss away the perfect guy for you over something stupid,” Becca said, lifting her fork.
“Are you calling my drama club stupid?”
They all watched me as Donna said, “You can’t live happily ever after with a drama club, Linds. So yeah. Giving up a guy like Trey over something he has no control over makes you an idiot. Especially when you know he wouldn’t do the same to you.”
What happened to taking my side? “I thought you were my friends.”
“We are,” Josie said. “That means it’s our job to tell you when you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“You did it for the rest of us,” Megan added. “When Becca nearly let Jacob go. When I wasn’t sure about Ryan.”
“When I was mad at Calvin for doing something nice for me.” Donna pointed her fork at my nose. “You’re the one who reminded me that all I wanted was a man who made my life easier, and that’s exactly what Calvin was doing.”
“You gave me crap for negotiating my relationship with Miles like a business deal,” Josie said, plopping a new brownie onto her empty plate. “Now here you are deciding whether or not to be with Trey over some work-related issue that neither of you have any say in. Shouldn’t what happens outside of school matter more?”
They weren’t listening. No matter how perfect he might be for me, I wasn’t perfect for him. I just wasn’t that person, and regardless of how I justified the decision, I was doing the man a favor. Or maybe I was doing myself one, because he’d eventually come to the same conclusion the others did. Better to get out now than to get hurt more later.
“I can’t change how I feel. The drama club is my baby, and I don’t want to lose it.”
“But you’d be okay losing Trey?” Megan asked.
Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I needed this conversation to end. “It’s better this way.”
Becca rubbed my shoulder. “Better for who, hon? Are you sure you aren’t using this funding situation as an excuse because you’re scared? I thought you really liked him.”
So what if I did? So what if he understood me like no one else ever had. If he saw the real me and didn’t run away? If he made me feel like I could have what everyone else had despite being pig-headed and cranky and messy and unlovable?
“I’m doing him a favor,” I said, fighting back the tears and failing miserably.
A pat on the shoulder turned into a group hug.
“Don’t give up, Linds,” Megan said, dabbing my cheeks with a napkin. “Fight for yourself the way you’d fight for all of us.”
I shook my head. “It’ll never work.”
“You don’t know that,” Donna argued.
Yes, I did, damn it. I’d rather part as friends than have Trey realize that I was never worth his time anyway. That I was never enough and never would be.
“It’s done,” I said, swiping the tears away. “I can’t believe I’m crying. It’s not like he’s the love of my life or something.”
“He could be,” Megan said, reaching for more napkins, “if you give him a chance.”
Snagging the rough brown paper from her hand, I blew my nose before saying, “This was a crush gone too far, that’s all. It’s good that we came to our senses now.”
“We?” Becca said. “Are you sure Trey feels the same way you do?”
The man hadn’t exactly put up a fight. “His last words were ‘I understand.’ That makes me pretty confident we’re on the same page.” No one looked convinced. “You can be skeptical all you want, but it’s over.”
“But it isn’t,” Josie said.
“Are any of you listening to me?”
“Hear me out.” She set down her fork. “You gave an if/then scenario. If that happens then this happens. But nothing has happened yet, and you don’t know how it will go. You might not lose your club, and he could get the stuff he’s asked for. You both win. Or you lose your club and he doesn’t get anything. In that case, you both lose equally. There are several ways this could turn out, but nothing is decided yet so nothing is over.”
This felt like one of those mind-numbing word problems in math class, and as an English major, math was not my forte. Then I remembered that her math was irrelevant.
“I put a condition on us dating. Why would he stick around after that?”
Becca snorted. “Have you met Trey Collins?”
“That man sticks,” Donna said. “Look at what he was willing to do just to get you on a first date.”
Granted, the man was an optimist and patient as a saint, but surely even he had limits.
“You don’t really believe he’ll go on as if nothing’s changed. What do I do then?” If this man made me go through ending us all over again, I’d never forgive him.
My four favorite faces stared back, looking way too happy.
“I guess you’ll have to date him,” Donna said.
“Oh, for sure,” Josie added.
Megan dug into her brownie. “I’m feeling much better about this now.”
Incredulous, I watched them eat their desserts as if all the problems in the world had been solved. Well, I did not feel better. I felt queasy and confused and, way deep in a far corner of my brain, a tiny but growing sense of optimism.
Heaven help me.
“They’re dropping like flies,” Georgie said, leaning back in her chair in an attempt to see into Trey’s classroom. “The only clubs left are yours, debate, and chess.”
“You’re going to tip over,” I warned, aware of the current state of the clubs in the school. “If you’re so desperate to see what he’s doing, walk over there already.”
Normally on a Friday at this time, when both me and Trey had third period free, he’d come over and hang out. But as I’d predicted, things had changed after Monday. Not that he was ignoring me or even really acting any differently. He still came to play rehearsal, still walked me to my car after, and smiled through it all.
But there was definitely a change.
He didn’t tease me as much. Never mentioned us going out. The little notes that would show up on my desk stopped, and no more texting at random times. At first I’d been sad, especially after the girls convinced me that maybe this could be salvaged. But I’d gotten what I wanted, right? Trey got the message, was good with us staying friends, and now my heart was out of danger.
Win-win.
Though none of this felt like a win.
Taking my suggestion, Georgie strolled to the door, but she’d barely stepped a foot into the hall before spinning back around. “Well, dang. He’s not in there.”
I ignored the drop in my chest. If he was there, she’d have coaxed him over and at least I’d get to see him for a few minutes. Not that I needed to see him. Just, you know, I missed him. A little.
“At least the gossip has died down,” she said, returning to her chair. “The whole staff was certain you two were an official item, and now no one knows what to believe.”
Looking up from the quiz I was grading, I asked, “What are you telling people.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She held her hands up in a show of innocence. “I’m saying I don’t know. And that isn’t technically a lie. What is going on?”
“We’re just friends.” I marked a red line through the last three answers on the paper—all of them wrong. “Coworkers and friends. That’s all we ever were.”
When no reply came, I looked up from the paper again to find her watching me with narrowed eyes. “Woman, have you forgotten what I do outside of this building? I can sniff out a romance from a mile away, so two doors down in this hallway was not a challenge. You were well past just friends. What happened?”
“We’re just better as friends,” I said with a shrug, hoping I sounded convincing. “It was a mutual decision.”
Mutual in that I said we might not work and he agreed without issue or argument. Not hurtful or disappointing at all.
“You chickened out, didn’t you?”
“There was nothing to chicken out of.”
“Bull. I saw the little notes, and I saw how you looked when he was around. You were glowing.” Georgie leaned her elbows on the desk and dropped a hand over mine so I couldn’t continue grading. “You’re running scared.”
Too exhausted to argue, I leaned back in my chair. “So what if I am? You know my history. You know how this would have turned out.”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you. Lindsey, this is a classic case of lack of communication and fear of heartbreak. I’ve written it a dozen times, and read it a million. Talk to the man.”
“And say what?”
“Tell him what you’re afraid of.”
She must have spiked her morning coffee. “Not going to happen.” I brushed her hand away and went back to the quiz. “Don’t you have your own papers to grade?”
“I love you, woman, but you’re frustrating as hell. Those idiots in the past were just that—idiots. You were not the problem. You were never the problem. Trey is a good guy, and he really likes you.”
I had proof to the contrary.
“He didn’t argue,” I mumbled, head down.
“What?”
“He didn’t argue, okay?” Why couldn’t people mind their own business? “I suggested that we might not work and that was it. No discussion or argument or anything. Just done. So he clearly isn’t that interested. Can we drop it now?”
After a tense pause, she shook her head. “Hold up. You suggested that the two of you might not work, and that means it’s done? That’s not done, girlfriend.”
I think I knew whether or not I was still dating someone. “Yes, it is, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Trey doesn’t know,” Georgie whispered.
“Doesn’t know what?”
“That you think you’re not dating anymore.”
Heaven save me from the most annoying friends on the planet. I let the girls get my hopes up. No way was I doing that again.
“Let me say this very clearly. That. Ship. Has. Sailed. Not only has it sailed, it’s been torpedoed into smithereens. There is no dating. There is no me and Trey. You can whip up whatever fictional scenario you want in that overactive imagination of yours, but it will still be just that. Fictional.”
A knock sounded at the door and both Georgie and I turned to find Trey lingering in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Can I talk to you for a second?”
A slew of profanity raced through my brain. How long had he been there? How much did he hear?
“I need to get back to my room anyway,” Georgie said, shooting me a holy crap look.
“You don’t have to go,” Trey said. “I just wanted to let Lindsey know that I won’t be able to make rehearsal tonight.”
Nothing like proving my point and crushing my spirit at the same time. “That’s fine,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
“I’ll be there for the trial run on the backdrop on Monday, though.”
“No worries.” Brain only half working, I said, “Have a good weekend.” As if we didn’t have four more classes to go and he wouldn’t be right across the hall for all of them.
As if reading my mind, he said, “I’ll still be here the rest of the day.”
“Of course. Right. Yeah.”
Georgie took pity on me. “I was just telling Lindsey that she should come down to my room so I can show her my new… purse.” Without warning, she dragged me out of my chair. “We better go before the period ends.”
Trey was forced to back into the hall as she pulled me through the doorway and down to her room. As soon as we were inside, I jerked my hand away. “What was that?”
“I panicked,” she whispered, out of breath. “What do you want from me?”
“I thought you were the expert in these situations.”
“I’m only an expert on paper. Give me three drafts and I’d have written a much better ending to that scene.”
Hand pressed to my forehead, I paced between two rows of desks. “How much do you think he heard?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The man is impossible to read. He must be really good at poker.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall and we both raced to her desk. “Where’s the damn purse?” I whispered.
“There is no purse,” she whispered back. “I made that up.”
“What are you two whispering about?” came a voice from the doorway, making us both jump out of our skin.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Trey.
We spun to find Ronald Devonshire lingering just inside the room in his typical dapper vest and perfectly pressed pocket square. He taught Finance next door, and as far as I remembered did not have third period free.
“Nothing,” Georgie said. “Don’t you have a class?”
“I do. And I’d appreciate it if you two wouldn’t run past my door like two teeny-boppers chasing their celebrity crush through an airport.”
Who said teeny-boppers anymore?
“We apologize,” I said. “Georgie saw a bug.”
Ronald stepped farther into the room, hand flattened on his chest. “In the hall? How big was it?”
“It was huge,” Georgie replied. “And furry. You should go back to your room and close the door to make sure it doesn’t get in.”
Eyes on the hall, he nodded. “They need to get an exterminator in this place.”
“They do,” I agreed, as if there really had been a creepy crawly in the hallway. “Someone should send an email about that.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, as I knew he would. Ronald wasn’t known as head of the faculty complaint department for nothing. “This school is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Properly distracted, our visitor left the room. The moment the click of his closed door floated down the hall, Georgie burst out laughing.
“This isn’t funny,” I pointed out. “We’re acting like exactly what he called us. Teeny-boppers.”
“Who says that?” Georgie asked, quelling the laughter.
“Old people.”
She sobered immediately. “Ronald is two years younger than I am.”
Oops. “Focus on the real issue here. Do you think Trey heard what I said? Not that he doesn’t know what’s going on with us, but I wouldn’t want him to be hurt by hearing that. What if he’s skipping rehearsal to avoid me?”
Dropping into her chair, she tapped the desk. “Maybe he didn’t hear anything. Something probably came up this afternoon that he can’t get out of, that’s all. He said he’ll be there on Monday, right?”
Moderately appeased, I nodded. “He did. I really hope we can still be friends.”
“You don’t want to be just friends, though, do you?” she asked.
“What I want and what needs to happen aren’t the same thing.” Georgie opened her mouth—presumably to argue my statement—when the bell rang, cutting her off. “Time for class,” I said, turning to leave.
“Lindsey,” she called, as the sound of chaos filled the hallway. “It’s never too late to write a different ending.”
A nice thought, but this ending wasn’t going to change.