10. Blake #2
Adam shrugged. “I’m not blind. I know that Addie is…pretty, or whatever. And you two fight a lot. My Intro to Psychology class suggested that’s a common method for young males to display affection or attraction.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
The last thing the world needed was Adam Barrow psychoanalyzing people’s behavior.
“I’m not five years old, Adam, pulling on her pigtails at the playground. It’s not…”
I wrinkled my nose, my brow dipping low as I struggled to put my thoughts in words.
“Be honest with me, Blake. Cards on the table.”
I cursed myself, specifically at age five, for telling him I’d never lie if he said that during a game of Uno.
Reaching down, I bought myself time as I tied my shoelace. “Yes. Of course, Addie is…pretty, or whatever.”
I used his words to avoid the ones I wanted to say—that calling Addie pretty was an insult to her, that she stood out even when she tried to blend in, and that I’d seen her as something precious, worth cherishing and protecting, more deserving of love than anything in the world for much longer than I’d been able to admit to myself.
Unable to say all that, I said the words that always followed those thoughts of her.
“You’re my best friend, Adam, and she’s your twin sister. I practically grew up at your house. You guys are…family to me.”
Adam nodded. “Increased exposure to a stimulus increases perceptual fluency, which in turn, increases positive effect.”
“What?”
He clarified. “Perceptual fluency is the ease with which a stimulus can be processed. It’s the mere-exposure effect.”
“Oh, is that all?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s normal to develop a preference for something simply because you’re familiar with it. In this case, Addie.”
“I thought the saying was familiarity breeds contempt?”
Adam frowned. “Our textbook hasn’t covered that theory.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, just as Addie walked up to join us. Her arrival saved me from going in circles with Adam. At least, verbally.
“Are we ready to do this?” I asked them.
“No,” they groaned at the same time.
I clapped them on their backs. “That’s the spirit!”
Static zipped up my palm at the brief contact with her, so I took off at a run, shaking my hand out as I jogged past. I ducked through the archway to the stadium seats, forcing my attention to the task in front of me, and I pushed my conversation with Adam to the back of my mind.
They joined me a minute later, and I nodded to Adam to go ahead and set the pace. Addie would follow behind him with me trailing after her. Adam and I had planned it that way since I didn’t want to set an unrealistic pace for the three of us.
I also wanted Addie to have one of us behind her if she needed motivation or lost her footing.
It made sense when we discussed it before. Now, I realized how often I’d adjusted things around Addie, or planned things to take care of her.
She never argued, so it caught me off guard when Adam took off down the steps and Addie didn’t take my cue to go after him.
“You go ahead,” she said, her voice breathy from exertion. “I can keep up.”
I arched a brow at her, but when she planted her hands on her hips, I didn’t argue. “If you say so.” Then, proud that she felt comfortable enough to do it herself, I winked at her. “You’ve got this, kid.”
Pressing play on my music, I slipped my earbuds in and started down the steps again. When I reached the bottom, I veered right, running across the front row of seats until I reached the next set of steps.
I didn’t push as hard as I’d done the first circuit, but as I pumped my legs, sweat beaded at my temples from the sun shining overhead.
With my head down, focused on the steps in front of me, I couldn’t gauge where Addie was. But I didn’t like that I couldn’t tell if she’d fallen behind or kept her pace.
If I’d had doubt in my answer to Adam’s question, it came when I pressed forward instead of turning back. Something I only did because, despite what I wanted to do, she wouldn’t like it if I stopped to check on her.
When I got to the top of the next row, I looped around through the concourse. Stepping back out into the sunlight to take the next flight of steps down, I searched for her, but the sun was too bright.
I shielded my eyes with my hand, but still didn’t see her. Glancing behind me, when she didn’t appear, I pulled up my watch and checked our group chat to see if she’d texted us. If she was hurt or needed to take a break, I wouldn’t leave her behind.
There was nothing.
Walking back inside the concourse and over to the archway Adam would reach next, I waited for him to get to the top. As soon as he saw me, he stopped and pulled off his headphones.
“What’s up?”
“I can’t find Addie. Did she message you?”
Adam checked his watch, scrolling through the screen and nodding. “She went home.”
“Did something happen?”
He shook his head. “She didn’t say. Just said something came up, and she’d see me later.”
Shrugging it off, Adam moved to the next flight of steps to continue on, but I froze in place. Something about her leaving bothered me. We’d been texting in the group chat all day, but she’d only messaged Adam after telling me she’d be behind me.
I had to be reading into her abrupt departure. Thrown off by her skirting our attempts to make this group activity Addie-friendly, or something. I shook my head to clear it, scolding myself for overthinking things, especially since I’d see Addie this weekend for Sunday dinner.
She’d give a perfectly reasonable explanation for where she’d gone, and everything would be fine.
Before I took off after him, Adam appeared at the top of the next row.
From farther away, I had to strain to hear him, but I could still make out what he said. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I called back, giving him a thumbs up since his headphones were in.
He said something that sounded distinctly like “keep up, loser” before disappearing.
I resumed my workout, staying focused on the movement of my body and legs, and ignoring the unease niggling at the back of my brain.
She seemed fine when she walked up to us, but maybe she’d gotten bad news and needed to run. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad, even if she’d been in enough of a rush to pull up only Adam’s name in her emergency contacts rather than our group chat.
Maybe Addie had heard from her loser boyfriend. Or worse, maybe it’d been a booty call.
But that thought still brought relief. It made sense. And I reassured myself again that she was fine.
I didn’t give it a second thought after that.
Later, I’d wish that I had.
Because as scarce as I thought she’d been before, I’d barely see or speak to her for the next two months.