“Oops, I didn’t know...” Tori begins as I catch her eye. She really does look sorry, but I just shake my head.
“Nice one, Tori,” I mumble before I turn away.
Henry
Gideon cracked some joke, Sinclair’s laughing loudly, and I’m swigging out of this bottle again because everything’s pointless. I don’t want to be here, but of course I came anyway because I kind of hoped Emma might be.
She isn’t. I look toward the door every time anyone walks into the greenhouse, but it’s never Emma. And if it was, I don’t know what I’d do. Ask her if we can talk? Here, at this party? Great idea. She’s sure to be in the mood for that.
“Hey.” I feel Sinclair’s hand on my shoulder and raise my head. He gestures toward the door.
It’s her. I stand up, and the ground sways beneath me. I put the bottle down, not looking. I only have eyes for Emma. Her ash-blond hair, fallen across her face and slightly damp from the rain.Her eyes flick over the greenhouse and she spots me right away. I jump as we gaze at each other. I know I mustn’t wait a second longer. We have to talk. I have to apologize, explain everything to her and find out how she’s doing.
Sinclair steps aside, unasked, to let me through and says nothing when I have to grip his shoulder. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t such a good idea, but I can’t change that now.
Emma’s outside again, and I wonder if I imagined things just now. Tori’s expression is hard to read as she stares at me, while Olive glares murderously as I leave the greenhouse. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. Then I make out Emma’s silhouette a few feet away. She’s wrapped her arms around her body and is on her way back to the school buildings.
I start to run.
“Wait!” The crunch of my feet on the gravel is the only sound in the night. I’m afraid she might start running too, but Emma just walks steadily on. Which might mean she’ll hear me out. I dare to hope a tiny bit. “Emma.”
She whirls around as I touch her shoulder. “What?” she snarls.
“Emma, I’m so—”
“Have you been drinking? Henry, are you kidding me? What’s going on here?”
“I hoped we could talk,” I begin, but Emma laughs at that.
“Talk? What about? Grace?” She shakes her head. “So it’s true?” She stares at me, and suddenly it’s like I can’t move my tongue. I can’t speak, yet she deserves an explanation.
“Shit, Henry, is it true? Did you break up with Grace?”
Her eyes bore through me, and suddenly, I’m livid. With Emma, with Grace, but above all, with myself.
“What if I did?” I snap back.
“Did you break up with Grace?” she repeats, even though she’s apparently known for ages.
“Yes, yes, for God’s sake!” I blurt out. “I broke up with her. You heard right.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I snarl.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“Being with Grace wasn’t enough anymore. It was just better this way.”
“Are you out of your mind, Henry? God, you two were perfect! You’ll regret this, you’ll—”
“You have no idea!” Suddenly, we’re both yelling. “You want to know why I broke up with her? You really want to know, huh?” I’m drunk; I have to stop this. But Emma doesn’t flinch as I take a step toward her. “Why do you think I did it?”
“Because you’re an arsehole,” she whispers, and I get it. Because I’m no better than her shitty ex-boyfriend or her disappointment of a father. The men in her life who play with her and drop her as soon as things get tough.
