“I’m not running away. I have a party to go to, and I’m late.”
“Admit that every time things get difficult, you run away.”
He looked over his shoulder before walking out. “I’d say that makes two of us.”
For a moment, I stared at the door, then I tried to study, but couldn’t concentrate. I thought about Jack, then about my grandmother. If everything was fine, as they said, why had they tried to hide it from me? For a moment, I’d convince myself that I was blowing things out of proportion, then I’d manage to look at my notes, but soon the negative thoughts would start creeping back in, and all evening it didn’t get better.
I was alone until after night fell. Naya had a dinner out, Mike didn’t drop in, and Sue stayed in her bedroom getting ready for an exam. Will came in around eight and asked if I wanted takeout. “Let me treat,” I said, and ordered enough food for three. He thought that was weird, and I told him I wanted to get something for Jack. “If he doesn’t come home, no worries, one of us can eat the leftovers tomorrow.”
Will shrugged. “That’s your call, but if I were you, I wouldn’t wait up for him. You look like you could use some rest.”
He was right, but relaxing was easier said than done. I kept watching a film scroll past in my head: Jack drunk, Jack high, Jack lost in some shady part of the city, Jack vulnerable, Jack hurt. It made me shiver, and I started to get desperate. And the more desperate I was, the more I worried—about Jack, about Monty, about my grandmother—and soon I knew there was no way I was going to get to sleep.
After an hour’s tossing and turning, I went to the living room and lay on the sofa, getting under a blanket and turning on the TV. I needed a reality show about beach babes and meathead dudes—that would cure my blues. But when I couldn’t find anything like that, I opted for a rerun of a radical makeover show, then toyed around with my phone when I got bored. I sent a few texts, watched some videos of artists on TikTok, then finally admitted to myself I was only wasting time because I was hoping Jack would write. I looked at his Instagram so many times, I started to fear he could feel me watching him. Then I told myself:If he really matters that much to you, you could write him.
OK. Fine.Hey, I typed.Sorry about what I said before. I just didn’t want to get into an argument again.
I kept rereading my message until I got mad at myself. What the hell did I have to apologize for?
Actually, I’m not sorry, because I know I’m right, but I didn’t want to argue.
Five minutes later:I mean, I’m OK with apologizing, I know I’m not perfect, but sometimes I’m just right and you really could try and listen to me.
Time kept passing, and then my screen lit up. I was so scared I twitched, knocking my phone into the air. I caught it just before it went careening to the floor. Jack was calling. I was terrified but I picked up anyway. “Yeah?”
“You sure are chatty tonight.”
His words sounded a little slurred, and though I knew it might get on his nerves, I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Where are you?” I asked, standing up and looking for my shoes.
“I’m around. Why do you care?”
“Jack, please… I just do, OK?”
“Fine. I’m right outside.”
That bastard… I opened the door and found him sitting on the floor yawning. He had to blink a few times to see me clearly. Then he waved. “Hello again.”
He was still holding his phone to his cheek. I wanted to tell him he could hang up now, but then I saw something else that upset me. His key was jammed into the door. His car key.
“Ross, seriously?” I said. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled hard to get it out. When I’d extracted it, I asked, “Do you need me to help you up?”
“I thought you might be in your new dorm room.”
“I told you I couldn’t deal with that till tomorrow,” I said, reaching outa hand to help him. He refused it, trying to stand, almost toppling over. Once he’d crawled inside, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
“Let me help you over to the sofa, Jack. I’ve got you, I can hold you up.” I meant that in more ways than one.
“Be careful what you offer, I might say yes.”
“Are you OK?” I asked, being serious.
He opened one eye and smiled bitterly. “What do you think?”
I grabbed his hands and tried to tug him to his feet. He swayed toward me, looked at my lips, seemed tempted, then fell back slightly. “I wish,” he said, “that our second first kiss had been nicer than it was.”
