“I should get going,” I say during a lull in the conversation.
Cammie looks thrilled. Gus, unsure. Sawyer? I can’t get a read. He just nods, reaching for my empty plate.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I add awkwardly.
He nods again.
I stand and head down the hallway, releasing a sigh of relief when I’m out of earshot from the low voices that are no doubt discussing me.
It doesn’t take me long to grab all my stuff. The hardest task is folding up my prom dress, but I manage to fit it in my bag, along with everything else. My gaze sweeps around the room, and I tell myself it’s to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. But really, I’m trying to memorize this space. The odds I’m ever back in Sawyer Bennett’s bedroom seem extremely low.
I order a car—the nearest is five minutes away—then walk back down the hallway. I can hear the clatter of dishes and rumble of laughter. I should have offered to help clean up. I would have, if it didn’t feel like every action was being scrutinized under a microscope. Even Gus’s friendliness didn’t manage to hide how unexpected my presence was. I don’t belong here.
I poke my head inside the kitchen, and all commotion comes to a screeching halt. If I had a pin, I could hear it drop.
“I’m headed out,” I say, keeping my voice cheery. “Bye, Gus. Cammie.”
I glance at Sawyer last. He’s drying his hands with a towel.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says, and I nod.
“Bye, Wren,” Gus calls after me.
Cammie, unsurprisingly, says nothing.
Sawyer is silent, too, following me out onto the front porch.
It’s not that warm yet, but it’s turning into a beautiful day. There’s not a single cloud in the clear sky overhead. Birds chirp, flitting from spot to spot on the lush grass.
“Nice weather for hiking,” I comment.
“Yeah.” Sawyer props a hip against the railing, studying me. “I know Cammie was being … you could come with us, if you want.”
For a few seconds, I allow myself to picture it. Most of my time around friends is spent shopping, sneaking alcohol, or talking about boys. I don’t have friends who go hiking on a Saturday morning. Or who want nothing from me except my company. They expect me to have exclusive, unlimited access to everything, and that’s part of the appeal of my friendship. That’s simply my life, and there are so many upsides that it feels silly to complain about the pitfalls.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got to get home, and I—well, I’m not much of a hiker.”
“Okay.”
I can’t tell if he’s indifferent or happy or bothered that I turned down his invitation.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” I blurt.
One corner of his mouth lifts a centimeter. I pay close attention to his micro-expressions and still can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“You can read other people’s minds?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. But I’m better at … I can guess at least. You’re really hard to read.”
“You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“Yes?” I say cautiously because he’s maybe the one person outside of my family who’s never tried to flatter me for some personal gain. Cammie is on that list too, I guess. Unfortunately.
“Don’t cut your hair.”
“What?” I blink rapidly, like that will clear my ears from anything making me mishear.
“It looks good long. Don’t cut it.”
