I turn before I can do something stupid, like confess that I want to step inside his room more than I've wanted anything in years.
"Hey."
I stop but don't turn around.
"Never apologize for who you are." His voice is achingly soft now. "It's what makes you…you, sweetheart."
That damn nickname.
I inhale sharply, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. He started calling me that years ago. That stupid, infuriating endearment that I claimed to hate, that I rolled my eyes at, that I told him to stop using. But somewhere along the way, it became the thing I waited for with bated breath. The proof that whatever this thing between us is, it's still there. That he still sees me as more than just the girl who made him miserable. That he still cares, deeply, in a way that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
I close my eyes and keep walking. Behind me, I hear his door click shut, and I'm not sure if I made a mistake. He heard an apology. I bared my soul. I showed him a part of me I don't give people, that I know when I'm wrong, that I care, that Ifeelsomething. And that's the part that might be a mistake. Feeling. Caring. Wanting.
Things are going to change tonight for better or worse, I don't know. But I do know this: I'm done collecting regrets, and not giving him those words would have been one I couldn't live with.
"All that's left on the agenda for today's meeting is tonight's prom. We have been asked to collect the school-issued phones thirty minutes before the dance is over," Eldrige drones on about the evening as I stare out the window, feeling anxious about this evening.
Sure, my costume is ready; that was the easy part. The moment the faculty announced they'd chosen this year's prom theme,masquerade ball, to coincide with our secret pen pal assignment, I knew exactly who I'd be. Rapunzel. This school has been my tower, a gilded prison designed to keep me from the only place I want to be, home. I want to believe my father meant well when he sent me here. I know he loves me. We talk regularly, our bond somehow surviving the distance. But every year when I bring up coming home, he shuts me down. The conversation always ends the same way: "You can come home when you're eighteen, if that's what youstillwant."
Still want.
Those words haunt me. Why would he phrase it like that? As if I'd want to be anywhere else. As if years of begging haven't made my feelings crystal clear. What is he afraid I'll discover? What does he think will change?
However, it's not the costume or my father's cryptic words. None of that is what's keeping me awake this week. Tonight, I finally meet my secret pen pal face to face. Our texts havebeen my oxygen in this suffocating place, each one a reminder that someone sees me. But words behind a screen are safe. Controllable. Tonight, we step out from behind our careful sentences, and I don't know how I’m going to feel once all our cards are finally on the table.
"Earth to Asha," Eldridge says, waving his hand in front of my face as he stands between me and the view out of the window.
"Hmm," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Tonight, you and me at 11:30. We're collecting phones."
"Oh, I can't. You'll have to find someone else," I say, setting down the pen I'd been anxiously tapping on my notebook.
Things haven’t been the same since I caught Eldridge and Emma scheming behind my back. Catching someone in the act, hearing the lies come from their mouth rather than discovering the truth after the fact, is a different experience. I’m cordial in our student council meetings and classes, but outside of that, we don’t talk.
"You can't?" Trigger questions from the head of the table.
Just like me, he's been unusually quiet for today's meeting. His eyes tracked my every move when I entered the meeting. I could feel them, though I didn’t meet his gaze. I couldn’t after giving him the cookies this morning. Of course, I knew I’d have to see him today more than once, but the way I’m feeling is new, and I honestly don’t know what to do with it. He let Eldridge run today's meeting, and I assumed it was because he no longer cared to carry out the task. The school year is over. We’re all graduating. But if that were true, he wouldn’t be questioning me now. Why push me to work with people he knows crossed me? Why give a damn about this last task?
"Yeah, I can't. I have plans."
"Plans?" He folds his hands on the table in front of him. "We all have plans tonight. It's prom."
"Exactly. So you understand why I'm busy," I reply, my voice sugary sweet.
"We're all meeting our pen pals tonight. Phone duty is at 11:30." His tone is flat, almost bored. "Unless you need extra time to get ready."
He asked me to stay this morning, and I didn't. Is he mad?
"What's that supposed to mean?" My eyes finally flick up to his.
"Nothing." He shrugs, the picture of innocence. "Just that some people are treating this pen pal thing like it actually matters."
"It does matter. It's an assignment," I snap, crossing my arms.
"Right. An assignment." He drums his fingers on the table. "That's why you've been staring out the window during the meeting, doodling in your notebook instead of paying attention."
"I'm taking notes." I challenge back with a look that sayswhy are you doing this?
"Really? Let me see." He reaches for my notebook. I snatch it away with a scowl before he can grab it. "Defensive." His eyebrow arches, and there's something dangerous in his expression, something pointed and deliberate. "You catching feelings, Fairfield?"
