With a sigh, I fiddle with the fruit bowl on the counter, my back to the door, wishing I could hide away in here for the remainder of the evening. It’s an impossibility. Mom will hunt me down after a while, but for the moment, it’s nice to be alone. All these people set me on edge.
“Ivy?” The voice comes from behind me, and I jump a mile, whirling to find Matthew Clarkson standing in the doorway with a sheepish smile on his face and a beer in his hand.
My shoulders relax an inch. “Oh. Um, hi, Matt.”
“I thought that was you. Your hair’s longer.”
I blink at him, surprised he noticed. Surprised he even remembered the length of my hair in high school. “Oh. Yeah. I grew it out.”
“I like it.”
I shift on my feet, thrown by the unexpected compliment. “Um, t-thanks.”
He grins at me and takes a sip of his beer. “So. It’s been a minute.”
Way more than a minute. Five years, maybe? I can barely remember the last time I interacted with Matt. Freshman English? Biology? We weren’t really “friends” after middle school, but we did grow up together.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. It has. Are your parents here, too?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re around here somewhere. I’m home from Pitt for the weekend.”
I shift my weight again. Bite the inside of my cheek. “Nice.”
My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater, and Matt’s eyes follow the movement. They flick back over me, lingering a little too long in my opinion, and my heart rate kicks up as paranoia floods my mind.
He shouldn’t be looking at you like that.
“E-excuse me,” I stammer and push past him before I can think through my actions. Rounding the corner, I slip quietly into the basement and shut the door behind me. Halfway down the staircase, I slump down on the steps, resting my head in my hands and telling myself to get a fucking grip.
You’ve known Matt Clarkson since childhood.He’s neveroncecome on to you. He was just making conversation. It’s all in your head.
No.No. I can’t accept that because if it’s all in my head then my brain’s fucked up and my gut’s working wrong and my intuition’s shot. If it’s all in my head, then I need serious help.
There’s no way of knowing, though. Not unless I ask Matt, and that’s thelastthing I’m about to do.
I rub my temple, sighing into the dark. A light appears out of the corner of my eye, and I look up, glancing toward the glowing screen of my phone lying in the middle of the pull-out. I walk across the room to grab it and flop stomach-down on the bed.
There’s one more message.
Wes:Okay, maybe this was creepy. Please do me one final favor and forget this ever happened. I’m going to go crawl under a rock now.
I almost smile at Wes’s text, my anxiety and self-loathing easing ever-so-slightly. My fingers move over the keyboard of their own accord, and before I know it, I’m sending him a response.
Me:You’d have to find the world’s biggest rock.
Wes:There she is. For a second there I was worried I was going to have to ask some stranger for Thursday’s notes. Scared the shit out of me, stranger danger and all.
I shake my head at his message and type out a careful reply.
Me:Please. I doubt you’d have any trouble asking a stranger for help…
Wes:Maybe not. But then I wouldn’t get to talk to you.
I blink at his words, feeling lightheaded for a moment. But then I remember that Wes is beloved because he knows how to turn on the charm, and I’m sure he’s like this with everyone he talks to. I’m nothing special.
Me:Where were you on Thursday?
I ask the question before I lose the nerve.
