Can't. Busy.
ZACH
Saturday then?
ME
Nope. I go home to Naples every weekend. Gotta check in on my mom.
ZACH
Right... so Friday then?
ME
Told you. Busy Friday.
And that one's not even a lie. Ballet rehearsal got scheduled at the exact same time as his game. Even if I wanted to go, I literally can't.
When his reply doesn't come, guilt creeps in like an uninvited guest.
Great. Now he probably thinks I'm just blowing him off on purpose. That I'm "busy" because I don't want to see him.
My thumbs hover over the screen. I should explain. Tell him that rehearsal's scheduled right on top of his game.
But then my brain kicks me in the shins.
Nope. Don't you dare. You don't owe him an excuse, Care. This isn't customer service. You're not required to file a written statement every time you say no.
Still, the urge is there.
Like an itch I can't scratch. Because God forbid he thinks I don't care at all. Ugh.
I flop onto my side, glaring at my phone like it's personally responsible for this mess.
Half of me's chanting,Just text him, clear it up. What's the harm?
The other half's screaming,Stop it! You're literally about to turn into that girl again — the one who explained every little thing so he wouldn't get upset or misinterpret. That girl is retired. Let her rest.
I groan into my pillow. Why am I like this? It's a simple "no," not a breakup letter.
Just as I'm about to put my phone down, the dreaded three dots pop up. My stupid heart does a little jump of relief — pathetic, I know.
ZACH
Sorry, I didn't reply right away. Are you still there?
ZACH
Mom called to check in because Sam didn't answer any of her texts.
ZACH
She hasn't responded to my messages either and I didn't see her all day. Is Sam there with you?
I glance over. Sam hasn't budged — still curled on her side, duvet practically swallowing her whole.
ME
