Sage hadn’t said anything, but I knew she and Nick would be waiting for me at the station.What time do you get back?she’d texted last night, so when the conductor came over the loudspeaker and announced we were running behind schedule, I sent:Probably going to be a couple of minutes late.
Sure enough, she replied:Okay!
I released a deep breath, already picturing them on the platform: hand in hand, with Sage waving and wearing Nick’s Patagonia, and my brother glowing next to her.Hercules, I mused to myself.He’ll look like Hercules.
Which was good—I sort of needed them to be there. I needed Sage to smother me in a hug and for Nick to suggest we grab food from Pandora’s. They’d get me to laugh and relax before I went back to Daggett and figured out what to say to Luke. How to tell him about this weekend at home and how sorry I was and show him the picture.Look at that, I would say.That’s us.
The train ended up slowing to a stop ten minutes after it was supposed to, and since it was Sunday morning, there weren’t many people aboard. I shrugged on my backpack and pulled down the hood of Luke’s sweatshirt before standing up and heading toward the front of the car to the exit. “Have a nice day, young man,” the conductor said as I stepped down onto the platform. My pulse quickened when I didn’t see Nick’s hideous Patagonia or Sage’s swinging ponytail. They weren’t waiting for me on the platform or over by the benches.No, I felt like a forgotten child.Where are you?
But then I felt it—a hand on my shoulder, right as I heard: “Hey there.”
I pivoted around to see Luke, in a faded sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms with his UVA baseball hat. Behind his glasses, there were violet half-moons under his eyes. Sleepy Luke.
I am in love with him, I thought.
“Sage texted me at the crack of dawn,” he explained as my heart hammered. “And told me to be here, like some type of sketchy hazing—”
I didn’t let him finish. Instead, I hugged him, burying my face in his warm neck and slumping against him. It was the same sort of hug I’d given him back in November, the night we decided to be together, and later, the same sort of hug I gave him after a long day. “A Collapsing Charlie,” Luke had dubbed it, and now I heard myself groan as his arms tightened around me.
“Me too,” he murmured.
“I have something for you,” I told him once we broke apart. My fingers fumbled to unzip my backpack, but I somehow pulled out Mom’s photo and handed it to him. Then I held on to his sweatshirt cuff and stayed quiet, letting him look at it.
“Yes.” Luke glanced up at me after a few seconds, his lips quirking into a kind of bittersweet smile. “I remember that day well.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I asked, voice catching.
“Didn’t I?” He cocked his head, and suddenly that night in Charlottesville came to mind. Our first crushes. Hehadsaid something; I just hadn’t believed it. “But,” he added now, as he took my hand and threaded our fingers together, “there are some things you needed to figure out yourself.”
Eyes stinging, I nodded. “I know.”
Luke squeezed my hand.
I squeezed his back.
“I’m proud of you, C,” he whispered. “Really fucking proud.”
“Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
“Looser.” I pointed to my chest. “But still sort of clenched.” I released a deep breath. “You know, about Bexley.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Luke told me. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I nodded again.
A few beats, and then: “So, what shall we do now?”
“Be us,” I said.
“Well yes, that was implied.” His eyes glinted, and I ached when he laughed. “But I meant should we get breakfast?”
All I could do was respond with another Collapsing Charlie. “I’m so tired, Luke,” I told him, breathing in his Luke-ness: peppermint and soap andhim. “I really want to take a nap.”
Because truthfully, I hadn’t slept in ages—even last night. I’d stared at my ceiling as I listened to unintelligible snippets of Mom and Dad’s conversation down the hall.
Luke raised an eyebrow. “With me?”
