Chapter Eleven September 1 #2
She knows their name and mine; we’ve had two classes together. She’s just getting off on making me squirm. Isn’t it enough that she has John?
Andie straightens from her sinking position, narrowing her eyes at Avery. “And what’re you named after? Envelopes?” Andie laughs at her own joke before winking at me and slinking back down.
Avery and I exchange strained glances. She leans back in her seat, then whispers something to her friend.
As if the night couldn’t get any worse, Theo walks by. It’s my first time seeing him tonight and his gaze widens at my presence. Almost immediately, his eyes move off mine and land on Andie. He heaves a loud, dramatic sigh.
“Is she going to be okay?” he asks, as if I’m her keeper. I guess, in this situation, I am.
“Is there somewhere she can rest inside?” I ask, hopeful the two of us can stow away in a room until Georgie shows up.
I’m going to have to bring Andie home with us.
Her parents can’t see her like this. My parents might not notice.
They’ll probably be in bed. As for why I’m with her, well, I’ll just have to work on an excuse later.
A lie is not an excuse.
“Yeah, come with.” His smile is sympathetic and his tone comforting. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
“Can you help me?” I ask, nodding to Andie’s limp body.
Together we lift Andie off the sofa. Avery’s tense face eases into a Cheshire cat–like smile and she says to Theo, “Tell John I’m looking for him.” I make fleeting eye contact with her, my heart dropping at her words, before heading inside Theo’s bungalow.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask as we walk through the quiet, dark halls of his home. It’s cozy and modest from what I can see.
“Greece. She’s there with her sisters.” Theo opens a door. “You can chill in my room.” Once inside, he very quickly grabs a plastic wastebasket and places it next to his bed.
“Thanks,” I say, as I lay Andie down gently and take off her shoes.
Theo’s bedroom is almost immaculate. It’s weird being in a guy’s room.
Knowing this is where he gets dressed and undressed every day and every night.
I think about him stepping out of his shower and entering his room in only a towel.
His body dripping wet. His black hair hanging in front of his face.
His kind brown eyes glistening. Like they were when we talked about his dad.
My thoughts switch to him sitting on the floor of his bedroom, curled up, heaving sobs.
I don’t even know how to fantasize properly.
“So, you’re on your own, then?” I ask Theo. “My parents would never.”
“It’s two weeks. I have family around in case of emergency or whatever.” The ease of conversation we experienced in John’s garage all those months ago no longer exists. I don’t take full blame for that. He was a dick, although he’s being less of one now.
I turn Andie on her side, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Without saying another word, Theo leaves.
I sit on the edge of the bed, running my hands over my face. Tonight was supposed to be fun. At least that’s what Andie promised. A chance to put our tenth-grade selves on people’s radar.
But I don’t want to be on anyone’s radar. After falling hard for John and getting rejected, my heart can’t take being put through the wringer again. If I can’t handle a crush, there’s no way I’d survive a real relationship.
Why does everything always have to be so meaningful for me? Here I am, almost fifteen, and I still haven’t been kissed. I’ve been waiting for that perfect moment, the perfect person, but I’m starting to think it was all an excuse to avoid experiencing something real.
Or maybe I’m just too afraid to learn that perfect moments don’t exist.
A gentle knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Lennon?” a familiar voice whispers, my name sounding like a tortured song as it travels to me.
I clear my throat and quickly stand, running a hand through my hair and down my body. “Yeah?”
The door cracks open and John hesitantly steps through it. “Is it okay?” he asks before walking farther into the room. Despite how much he’s hurt me, he’s still always so considerate and polite.
“Andie’s asleep,” I say quietly as my heart drums against my rib cage.
He nods and we remain standing across from one another, the distance at once intimate and infinite.
“Theo told me you were in here,” he says.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I’m just surprised you…never mind.”
“Finish that thought.” He says it sweetly, and I feel myself reverting to that little girl with a crush. A crush that almost crushed me.
“I just figured if you knew I was somewhere, you’d go running the opposite direction.”
John shakes his head. “Why would you think that?” His question sounds sincere, but the fact that he’s asking it causes a spike to my blood pressure.
“Do you remember the last time we spoke?” I ask, my feet firmly planted as John takes another, slightly less hesitant step toward me.
“That was a while ago. You still thinking about it?”
I can’t tell if he means for his words to come out like that.
Like, if I’m still thinking about that day, that moment, him, then that would be pathetic.
Clearly, he hasn’t had that last interaction of ours etched on his mind.
Or maybe enough time has passed, and he figures it doesn’t matter anymore.
That I don’t matter anymore. But if that’s true, then why is he here right now? And why is he looking at me like that?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“Like what?” His eyes narrow.
“Like that?” I say, throwing an accusatory hand in his direction.
“You look nice,” he says simply.
Andie groans in her sleep, and before I can tell John to leave, he walks right up to me and speaks softly in my ear. His warm breath makes the hairs on the backs of my arms rise like little soldiers. He clearly still has a hold on me. I am pathetic.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he says.
“A walk?”
“Yeah, it’s that thing you do where you put one of your legs in front of the other.”
“I shouldn’t leave Andie,” I say, acting like the martyr I know I’m not.
“Andie’s asleep. She’s on her side. She’ll be fine.” He moves to the bed and props a couple of pillows against her back so she can’t roll over. “Just a lap around the block,” he says.
“What am I? A German shepherd?”
John bursts into a loud laugh and I cover his mouth with my hand.
“Andie,” I whisper sternly.
His blue eyes look down at my hand pressed against his lips, my body closer to his than it has been in months. I remove my hand, wiping it on the back of my jeans.
“Fine.” I cave. “A short lap. Woof.”
He grins, grabbing my hand. He continues to hold it as he guides me through Theo’s house. He moves through his home with such ease; it makes me wonder how long they’ve been friends and how close they really are.
We make our way back to the party and he doesn’t let go.
Not even when we walk past Avery and her friends.
Her big eyes zoom in on John’s hand holding mine and a tingle of satisfaction surges from my toes to the grin I can’t hold back.
This singular, quick-passing moment is a gesture so public it almost makes the last few months of torture worth it.
Once we’re out front, I let go of John’s hand and step away slightly, afraid to get roped back in. I’ve been doing just fine lately. Not okay, but fine.
We begin our walk. It’s late, but there are streetlights posted every few homes, so it feels safe. Or maybe it’s because I’m with him.
“I guess this means you and Avery broke up,” I say, bringing up the obvious. I’m good at that. At not tiptoeing around things. One of my few strengths.
“Yeah. Last month. My decision. But I’m pretty sure Avery would have pulled the trigger eventually. All we ever did was fight. Then make up. Which was kind of fun for a while, but it got old.”
“Fighting was kind of fun?” I ask.
“No.” He blushes. “The making up part was.”
I run my tongue along my teeth. “I see.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “She’s nice enough.”
“And beautiful,” I say.
“Sure,” John agrees. “But I need more than that. She and I could barely manage a real conversation. She doesn’t get me, and I clearly don’t get her. Besides, I’m not all that interested in being tied down anyway.”
“Right. Why would you be?” I say, looking down at my feet while we walk.
“Did Theo invite you?” John asks.
“No. I came with Andie. Why would you think Theo invited me?”
John lifts his shoulders slightly. “Because he likes you.”
I pause, mid-stride. “Who likes me?”
John retraces his steps back to where I stalled. “Theo.”
“He told you that?”
“Not outright. But he asks about you. A lot.” The way John says this, it sounds as though he’s kind of annoyed that someone might actually like me.
“Did he tell you that we got into a disagreement at your band practice? Which also happens to be the last time we spoke.”
“What’s with you getting into so many disagreements with people?” John chuckles.
“Not people. Boys,” I say, the word leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Because it’s true. Boys. Guys. Men. They’re all disappointing. They never say the right things. Never do what you wish they would. Can never read between the lines. They need everything spelled out for them. And it’s exhausting.
“He said you were spicy.”
I roll my eyes and continue walking. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I wonder if he meant it as “neuro-spicy,” an annoying term that tries to make being neurodivergent sound quirky and fun. It’s not.
“What else did he tell you?” Part of me wants to ask John if it’s true that I’m not “his type” and he’ll only ever see me as a friend. I still want to believe Theo was wrong, but once again, actions speak louder than words. And the lack of action from John says plenty.
He shakes his head, glancing at me quickly before looking ahead. “Nothing, really. He just kept asking if you were coming back to watch us perform that song.”
“And what did you say?” I press.
“I didn’t take notes or anything,” he responds, appearing slightly agitated. “Just said I wasn’t sure.”