Gibson let out a sour laugh. “Sweetie, relax. No need to get emotional.”
My chest felt like an overinflated balloon about to burst, and I was afraid that when I did, I would collapse. I didn’t know what to do next, didn’t know how to face anyone after making such a big scene.
So I didn’t. “Excuse me,” I said tightly, and I turned on my heel and walked out.
Twenty-Two
I had fucked up.
Breathing in jagged, panicked breaths, I ran through the hotel and out the front doors. Now, where to? Dusk had fallen, casting everything in blue and purple shadows.
What had I done? Why had I made such a scene? Should I go back in and apologize? No; it would be easier for Dad to smooth things over if I was gone.
Besides, I didn’t want to apologize or smooth things over. Maybe I had laid everything out wrong—I hadn’t been prepared to try to convince anyone about Andrea Darrel—but shouldn’t Mr. Gibson have been willing to hear what I’d found out? He’d beensodismissive of Andrea, and of me. I shouldn’t have been written off as emotional.
I needed to get out of here. Scanning the parking lot, I caught sight of a car with a Lyft sticker. I ran toward it, Cinderella to her pumpkin, hoping it wouldn’t melt away. “Hi!” I yelled, waving my hands. “Are you free?”
The driver rolled down her window. “You running from someone, honey?”
“Embarrassment. Humiliation. Shame.”
The driver winced. “Can’t outrun melodrama,” she said under her breath. “All right, get in. But you gotta find me on the app.”
In minutes, we were speeding away. I’d put downtown as my destination, uncertain of where I wanted to go but certain it wasn’t where anyone could find me. I watched the trees dash past, tall pines heavy with summer moss. Where should I go? Not Golden Doors. The Atheneum? But it would probably be closed now.
Abby or one of her friends?
Not Abby’s. She was dating Noah Barbanel, and I didn’t want the Barbanels to be able to find me until I was ready. Stella, then. I texted her.Any chance I could crash with you for the night? I’m having a bad day
Sure, she texted back immediately, followed by the address.I’ve got lots of ice cream.
***
Stella did have lots of ice cream.
I’d never been to her place before. It was a tiny room in a building with a bunch of other tiny rooms for rent, filled with summer employees. Like my dad’s room, it was located in a forested mid-island neighborhood; I redirected my driver there, and she dropped me off at Stella’s doorstep.
We collapsed on her rug and devoured a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Did you and Ethan have a fight?”
“No.” I belatedly realized this meant she thought Ethan and I were together. So much for our theoretical secrecy. “I made a total idiot of myself, though.”
As I told her about the accidental confrontation with Mr. Gibson, Stella looked infuriated on my behalf. “What a jerk.”
“Yeah. But I should have kept it together.” I was too mortified to look at my phone, though it kept buzzing in my pocket. I put it facedown on Stella’s bed, hoping to ignore it.
“Now what are you going to do?”
Now? “I don’t know. I was sort of hoping to avoid thinking about that for a while.”
Stella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and grimaced. “Ethan wants to know if I’ve seen you. What do you want me to say?”
I fell over backward on the floor and flung my arm over my forehead. “I don’t know. I feel…humiliated. I embarrassed my dad, and maybe risked his chance at an important grant. I was a disaster in front of my boss. And Ethan already thinks I’m jumpy and wary about dating him and probably a weirdo and he told me—and I agreed—to not make a big deal out of this until later and then I went off the rails—”
“I’m just not going to say anything.”
I nodded.
“Did you know that cheetahs are very anxious and zoos give them their own emotional support dogs to help them feel comfy and model social behavior?”
