“Of course I do!” I react too quickly. Too defensively.
Lacy arches a brow, unconvinced.
Technically, I’m notlying.I have Arion, if that even counts. I guess he’s more Mason’s friend than mine.
But I like to think he’s mine too.
She doesn’t push. Instead, she rests her elbows on the table, studying me. “Me and my friend are going to a café tomorrow to finish some homework.” She says it casually, like it’s not a big deal, like she’s not about to completely dismantle my entire worldview. “I was just coming here to ask if you wanted to come.”
For a second, my brain completely blanks.
People don’t ask me things. That’s just not something that happens.But Lacey hadnoticedme… she’d noticed me and actuallychosento talk to me.
I almost want to cry.
Then, before I can overthink it, before I can convince myself she’s joking, I nod. “Yeah,” I say, “that would be great.”
Actually, it would be life-changing.
***
I arrive ten minutes early, a little breathless, a little too eager. I choose a table near the window, arranging the chairs, and table for three with careful precision. Two chocolate croissants sit at the centre, neatly wrapped in golden layers, and I’ve ordered two drinks—one for Lacey and her friend. I didn’t have enough for three.
But that’s fine.
It’s not like I need one, I’m happy to just be here.
The minutes stretch, and I tell myself they’re just running late, though my fingers drum anxiously against the tabletop.
At 4:10, I tell myself they’ll be here any second.
At 4:20, I try not to let my gaze linger too long on the door.
At 4:30, I start to feel stupid.
I check my phone—no messages, no missed calls, nothing but the quiet confirmation that I have been naïve enough to believe that someone, for once, might have actuallywantedme here.
I feel it then, that creeping humiliation settling in my throat. How could I have thought—whydid I think—this would be any different?
I should have known she was only joking.
A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes sting with tears as I trace circles in the condensation on one of the glasses.
Around me, people laugh, talk, smile. And I stare at the empty chairs across from me, the untouched croissants, the two drinksthat aren’t mine, and it hits me that I don’t belong here. Not here. Not anywhere.
An hour passes.
They never show up.
Accepting my foolishness, I make my way to the bathroom, and unsurprisingly, they still aren’t here when I get back.
The table is almost exactly the same. Almost.
The napkin I’d smoothed out is slightly crumpled, and the two croissants I had left in the centre? There’s only one now.
And right beside it, a ten-pound note that IknowI didn’t put there.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at it, something hollow cracking open inside me.
