He just nodded back at me, his mouth wobbling somewherein between a smile and a frown.
We shared one last long kiss over the gearshift.
Neither of us said goodbye.
I walked into my house. I cried.
He drove away.
And the next morning, Carter was a sixteen-year-old boy walking down the school hallway with no idea who I was.
Sothat’swhat I’m thinking about now as I lie here in bed, duvet tangled around my legs, battling the urge to kiss that tree-hanger who seemed to only sort of know who I am.
I cannot go back to that pain.
Must move forward.
I will go to Shana’s party tomorrow night. I will meet this Chord guy.
I will have some good, old-fashioned Carter-free fun.
I will. I will.
I will.
I must.
Carter
“Oh glorious day,” Bodhi says as we pull up to the curb in front of a large yellow house. “I can’t believe we’re gonna get to go to this. Amir says the parties here are epic. That’s what he heard, I mean. He’s never been.Youhave, though.”
“Seriously?” I say. “I’ve been to a party here?”
“Well. Maybe,” Bodhi says. “I, um, don’t know for sure. Probably not, actually. I think I’m thinking of someone else.”
“Hmm, all right. Because that wasn’t shady or anything.”
“No, I just—I got confused. Let’s go, they’re probably waiting for us!” Bodhi throws open his door and bounds out of the car. I get out too and meet him at the trunk, pop it open.
“Just look at those beauties,” Bodhi says, staring at the two kegs we just picked up from Vespucci Liquors, gleaming even under a rapidly darkening sky.
“Hi!” a voice calls. There’s a girl standing on the front porch, pretty and solid, with long black hair and glittery eye shadow, wearing a light blue sweater. She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m not sure why. “You need help bringing those in? You’re Amir’s people, righ—Oh, come on.” The girl suddenly drops the facade of politeness. “Bodhi?You’rethe hookup?”
“Uh, well, yeah. I mean, me and...” He points to me. “Shana, this is my friend Carter.”
Shana puts her face in her hands and sighs. “Good to meet you,Carter,” she says with a forced smile, like she’s reading the lines of a play she doesn’t want to be in. “Bodhi, would you mind coming over here to speak to me? Privately?”
“What’s going on right now?” I ask.
“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it,” Bodhi says, gently closing the trunk before hard-patting my shoulder like he’s smacking a mosquito to death. “I got this, baby.”
As he walks across the front lawn to Shana, I’m suddenly able to place her: She’s Lindsey’s friend. I mean,Maggie’sfriend. After I randomly waved at the runner girl earlier in the week, I decided to consult the yearbook. Her actual name is Maggie Spear. Shana is the one Maggie’s always walking with in the hallway.
And I’m willing to bet that whatever Shana is ripping into Bodhi about right now, it involves Maggie. I wish I could hear what they’re saying. Shana’s doing most of the talking—big, dramatic gestures accompanied by a sharp, hushed whisper that keeps me from hearing any of the words. She sounds more like a sprinkler system than a person.
“I didn’t!” Bodhi says. “I really didn’t!”
She does some more aggressive whispering, and Bodhi responds, his voice quieter but still loud enough to understand.
