“But — Blue, that’s not — why? Why haven’t you told anyone?”
I grin at her.
“I’m fourth round.”
“What?”
I chuckle.
“Aw, yeah. We’re going to have this conversation again.” I look at her. “How about I tell you tomorrow?”
“Why tomorrow?”
I sit up and look down at her. Her hair on her pillow. The puck on her chest. The hoodie swallowing her. The worry still on her face. The thread on the bedspread she has been picking at this whole time. The careful tilt of her head.
“Tomorrow over breakfast. I should probably go so you can sleep.”
“Oh.”
The oh is small and disappointed. I almost sit back down. I look at the puck against her chest, and I think — that can keep her company every night, that can be the small thing she sleeps next to until I am the thing she sleeps next to — and I stand up.
She hesitates.
She looks up at me.
“Um. Blue?”
I look at her. “Yeah?”
“You could stay,” she offers.
I hesitate. “You don’t mind?”
She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to––”
“Are you sure?” She tilts her head. The corner of her mouth pulls. The tease is so small and so brave that I want to kiss her. “You can run. There’s still time.”
I grin. “No, I’m not doing that anymore.”
She stares at me. She doesn’t believe it. I don’t blame her. I have been lying for years.
I nod. “I promise.”
“Why?”
I lightly laugh. “Conversation for another night.”
“No, tell me. I want to know.”
I lie back down on the bed on my back. She lies down next to me on her side, facing me, her cheek on her hand again, the puck between us on the mattress.
I say, “I missed you these last two years.”
“Youmissedme?” she mocks.
I nod. I turn my head to look at her. “Yeah. I didn’t realize it until you came to the party.”
