“Sure.”
We walk to our lunch table, Carlton’s heavy arm still slung over my shoulders. Rue and the twins are already there when we sit down, and Meredith is engrossed in telling Rue about a new boutique she found online.
“Hey, Dot,” says Mabel. I smile back at her in response.
The clamoring noise in the cafeteria is a comfortable background for my incessant thoughts. Why did I turn down Carlton’s offer to take me on a…dare I say,date?Our first real date, in fact. For some reason, us sitting on my roof, or swimming in his backyard, or riding our bikes around Boston all summer didn’t feel like dates, but this does.
What is wrong with me?
Everyone tells lies. If I like Carlton as much as I think I do, I should be able to get over this. But for some reason, it feels like my entire image of him has been altered, and no amount of denial will fix it. I feel it—the knowledge that I might not be able to look at Carlton the same way again.
I watch the shrinking lunch line from my seat as Carlton and Mabel discuss ways to spruce up college applications, when my gaze finds its way across the cafeteria to where Zayne is sitting with Lenny and his other friends who look to be a mix of our age and closer to Lenny’s. As if by instinct, he glances up. When our eyes meet, a silent communication passes between us. One that, instead of,I hate you, orStop looking at me,simply says,Hi.
I see you.
And then he breaks away, back to his friends.
Returning me back to mine.
My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Mabel, which I find odd, considering she’s sitting right across from me.
Mabel
Are you okay?
Me
Yes, why?
Mabel
You seem…out of it. IDK.
Me
I’m fine.
Mabel
K, just checking <3
I try to smile more after I put my phone away. I chip in, offering the name of a few volunteer organizations I know are accepting new recruits that I know will look good on applications. And most of all, I try to ignore the ache in my chest from learning who the true Carlton is.
I kinda wish I hadn’t put my phone away just yet. My fingers are itching to pick it back up. To text Zayne.
I need to talk to him.
I need to know if the way I’m feeling toward Carlton—of his nearness feeling practically unbearable—is warranted or if I’m overreacting. I need to know how this rivalry between them started and who’s at fault. If there’s anyone who will be honest about what kind of person Carlton is, it’s Zayne.
I spend the rest of the day thinking about how to casually text him, how to bring up Carlton in a nonchalant manner. In a way that won’t seem weird or random or make my newfound disdain for him too obvious.
But there never seems to be a good time.
Before I know it, the final bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, and I still don’t do it.
At home, eating dinner, I consider excusing myself early so I can use my phone. Sending the simple message. But I don’t.
While I’m reading my lines in front of my mirror before bed, I could easily take a break, grab my phone, and send the stupid message. But of course I don’t.
