Beep.
I hung up.
Again.
My thumb hovered over the redial button.
“Don’t you dare,” Trina said, walking by with a bowl of cereal like she was the Ghost of Poor Decisions Present. “She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. It’s called dignity, Coop. Try it sometime.”
“Thanks, TED Talk,” I muttered.
She threw a Cheerio at my head and kept walking.
I clenched the phone tighter, jaw set, heartbeat pounding with that gross mix of anxiety and guilt and something else I didn’t want to name. I wasn’t trying towinanything here. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry. Like,reallysorry. Even if it was too late.
So I called again.
And this time—this time—she answered.
“What thehelldo you not understand aboutstop calling me?” she screamed, her voice jagged with fury, pain, and betrayal all woven into one explosive sound.
“Laura, I just—please, I’m not trying to?—”
“Don’t you dare make this aboutyou, Coop. Don’t you dare. You used me. You laughed about it. Youbeton it. And now you want to feel better by saying sorry? Well, too bad. I don’t care how bad you feel. I don’t care if your life is imploding. You’re not going to make me part of your redemption arc.”
And then the line went dead.
I stared at the screen. Call ended.
It was like being slapped with a brick.
Slowly, I lowered the phone, swallowing hard.
Mom stood in the doorway, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
“She won’t talk to me,” I said, because stating the obvious felt safer than admitting anything else.
“She doesn’t have to,” Mom said. “This isn’t about whatyouneed to say, Cooper. It’s about whatsheneeds. If she doesn’t want your apology, then you find a way to make it right thatdoesn’tinvolve her having to deal with you.”
I gaped at her. “How is that supposed to work? If she won’t talk to me, if she won’thearit—how do I apologize without making it aboutme?”
She studied me for a moment. “Maybe the first thing is realizing you don’t get to feel better yet. Some things don’t get fixed in a day, or with words. Sometimes they’re things you have to learn to carry.”
“Awesome,” I said bitterly, dragging a hand through my hair. “So basically, suffer in silence, eat my guilt, and hope she magically forgives me someday?”
“She doesn’t owe you forgiveness, Cooper.”
No, she didn’t. Didn’t mean I didn’t want it. I looked down at the table. My phone buzzed again. Jake’s name lit up the screen.
Mom sighed as she shook her head. “This isn’t going to end well for anyone.”
I pushed back from the table, phone in hand. “Tell me something Idon’tknow.”
Then I turned and headed down the hall toward my room, the floorboards creaking under my steps like they were annoyed at me, too.
Jake’s call went to voicemail before I answered. I didn’t redial.
Instead, I stood in my doorway for a second, staring at my room like it belonged to someone else. Someone who still thought it was funny to put tally marks on a whiteboard. Someone who hadn’t watched everything fall apart in 1080p and slow motion.
