“Oh.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his inattentiveness. Realizing it’s up to me to keep the conversation flowing, I ask, “What’d you do today?”
“Went out.”
My skin prickles, and I immediately want to ask,With who?
“Leo and I went for a long run,” he supplies unprompted.
I’m not proud of the relief I feel at knowing he wasn’t with Becky. I don’t want to be jealous of something I don’t understand. This—our friendship—should be enough.
“How was it?”
“Fine. Boring… I had other stuff on my mind.” He nudges me with his elbow. “But tell me more about your mixer. What’re you gonna bake next?”
I consider. “Maybe a cake? Something delicious and supersweet, like coconut cloud cake, or hummingbird cake. Yeah, hummingbird cake, I think. It’s full of crushed pineapple and mashed banana and pecans and other delectable things. Have you ever had it?”
He gives me a blank look. “Had what?”
“Hummingbird cake! God, Max, are you even listening?”
“Yeah, I’m listening.” He drags a hand over his face. The night’s so cold, his breath creates a cloud of condensation. “Sorry, Jill. I’m just tired.”
We head for home.
19
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, THE QUAD IS FORonce drenched in sunshine, crammed with people soaking up vitamin D even though the day’s cool.
The final bell’s just rung, and I’m weaving through the crowd, hoping to talk to Kyle and Leah for a few minutes before I head for home. They’re missing from our regular spot, but Becky’s nearby, talking to her old standby Bryan Davenport, plus a bunch of his basketball buddies. When she sees me, she puts on an aggrieved mask that almost makes me feel sorry for her—until she leaves Bryan to strut toward me.
I become a statue on the walkway, watching, waiting as she makes her approach. The last I saw of her, she was sobbing on the Holdens’ bonus room floor. What could she possibly have to say to me now, and where the hell are my friends when I need them?
She’s advancing, her eyes locked on mine, and my pulse pounds in my ears. Frantically, I sift through a flurry of possible salutations, but my efforts are in vain because when she reaches me, she doesn’t stop like I expect. There are no loathsome words. No guilt-inducing tears. She doesn’t acknowledge me at all, except to freaking body-check me, ramming the barbed bone of her shoulder into mine as she pushes past.
I amshocked.
I know she’s pissed about Max bailing on their Saturday night plans, and I know the sight of him and me together on the beanbag chair mutated her into a monster, but—oh my God—I can’t believe she’s resorting to this sort of barbarity.
She’d make hell of my life at school, I’d told Kyle, and yeah, sure enough.
I’m still standing on the path, reeling, when I spot Kyle, football in hand, sauntering toward me to the whistled tune of “Walking on Sunshine.” “Jelly Bean,” he says, a greeting so cheerful I feel certain he missed what Becky did moments ago. When I don’t respond, he stoops down to scrutinize my expression. His smile falls. “Whoa. You okay?”
Pain radiates through my shoulder. My confidence must’ve been jolted, too, because my response is scarcely a whisper. “I’m fine.”
He gives a skeptical raise of his eyebrows but doesn’t push. “Have you seen Max?”
“Nope.” Thank God, because if he would’ve been around to witness Becky’s clip, I’d be a bazillion times more humiliated than I already am.
He slings an arm around me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure,” I say, shrugging him off. Feeling like the world’s biggest jerk, brushing away his concern like I am, I let a lie loose. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got Meredith’s car and she’s waiting for me, and just—I’ll call you later, okay?”
He shouts after me, but I pretend I don’t hear him as I make a rushed trip through the quad to the parking lot, where Meredith’s Saturn waits. I dump my bag into the backseat before sliding into the driver’s seat, thankful to be alone with my busted ego. With a shaky breath, I prod my shoulder; it’s tender where Becky rammed it, and holy shit, Iloatheher.
I’m shifting the Saturn into gear when I notice Max climbing into his truck several parking spaces away. I leave my foot on the brake so I can watch him pull his favorite knit cap over his head, crank the truck’s ignition, and jab a button on the stereo. My heart beats a quick, hard rhythm because, God, he looks dejected.
He glances up, through our respective windshields, and his sad-puppy eyes find mine. His posture inclines toward me, as if impatient words tread on his tongue, stomping their hooves, waiting for the gate to open. He raises his shoulders in a slight, despondent shrug.
