“I don’t accept your apology.”
She thunks her forehead against my shoulder again, a little harder, and I wonder if she’s been spending too much time with Dolly.
“I didn’t want to be the reason your parents stopped talking to you,” she says, her voice a little muffled. “It’s not like we were ever going to get along, but I didn’t… want to be the one who did that to you.”
“Well, it was them,” I say, then think about it for a moment. “Actually, it’s me, because I’m welcome back if I apologize. One quick and easyI’m sorryand we’re back to how we were.”
She pulls back to look at me, and there’s a raw, anxious, hopeful look in her eyes.
“Not a fucking chance,” I say, and kiss her forehead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, softly, then closes her eyes. “Not that you have to. It’s your choice and everything. I just—I want to be someone you can tell things to and I wish I had been.”
“My own parents stopped talking to me because of something I did,” I say. “You’re not supposed to be able to do something that terrible. If you murdered someone, your dad and Rick would visit you in federal prison every weekend.”
Andi rearranges herself, lowers one knee to the floor, shifts her back against the lockers.
“Yeah, probably,” she finally admits.
“I hate that I couldn’t be good enough for them,” I say, and close my eyes. Some things are easier in the dark. “And I know who they are, and I know how they’ve treated Elliott and Reid, so I hate that I wanted to be. And—I was afraid it would make you realize everything wrong with me, and you’d change your mind.”
The silence stretches on so long that I finally open my eyes and look over at Andi, who’s staring at me. Sometimes her eyes are so blue I feel like I’m falling into the sky.
“Gideon, I already know what’s wrong with you,” she says, and her other hand slides around the back of mine so she’s sandwiching me. “You like animals better than people. You show affection by grumbling. You’ve got an inflated sense of your own self-importance when it comes to your siblings. Even though you don’t like most people, you want their approval so much you’re willing to lie to get it, even when it’s to your own detriment.”
“Okay,” I say, frowning at her.
“And I still love you and I’m not changing my mind,” she says. “And I’m sorry—”
“Andi—”
“—that it happened, and I’m sorry that it had to be about me, and that I brought all this… mess into your life.”
“You didn’t.”
“I kind of did, though.”
We look at each other. She’s wearing hertrying to be braveface.
“I missed you so much, for so long,” I tell her, my voice suddenly rough. “There was an Andi-shaped hole in my life for twenty years, and I didn’t even know that’s what it was until you showed up again. There are a lot of people I’d cut out of my life if it meant keeping you.”
“Please don’t,” she says, and I shrug.
“That’s really up to them,” I say. “If anyone else makes me choose, I’ll pick you. Not even a question. They can fucking try me.”
Andi presses a kiss to my shoulder, then leans her temple into it so I kiss her hair.
“I love you for all the good reasons,” I murmur, her hand tensing in mine. “I love you because my life’s better with you in it, not because I’m supposed to. Remember that.”
Andi clears her throat, softly.
“And I love you for who you’ve become, not despite it,” she says, raises our joined hands to her mouth, and kisses my knuckles. “Remember that.”
We sit there for a few minutes, backs against the lockers. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the buzz of the overhead lights. I wonder if there are security cameras in here. There used to be mirrors in the stairwells so teachers could see students trying to make out in private.
“My butt’s a little numb,” Andi finally admits. “Sorry to ruin the romance.”
“Want to go home and see if my brother loaded the dishwasher wrong?” I ask, and she snorts.
