“I’m sorry your mom upset you,” I say softly.
She exhales softly. I feel her body relax against me.
“And not that you need me to say this, but you’re doing the right thing by refusing to go. You get to decide where you want to go to school, Briar. No one else.”
I stop myself from saying more. I don’t want to overwhelm her.
But then, a moment later, she leans back and looks at me. Her pretty face is puffy from crying, but there’s a brightness in her eyes.
Her mouth curves up in a small smile. “You’re the best, Blake. Seriously.”
A warm feeling loops through my chest.
She steps back and sighs, tugging a hand through her hair. “My mom just doesn’t get it. She thinks I’m being weak and stupid for leaving school over a breakup.”
She gazes off to the side at the wall and crosses her arms over her chest. “I couldn’t be around Logan anymore. Just seeing him made me sick to my stomach. I just…”
Her eyes are teary again as she looks down at her shoes.
She gazes up at me. “Am I pathetic, Blake, for running away?”
That protective feeling inside of me surges through my chest.
I shake my head. “No. Not even close. Don’t say that about yourself.”
I don’t know what caused their breakup, but whatever it was must have been really bad for her to be this upset.
Maybe he cheated on her. Or maybe he threatened her.
Or maybe it’s something worse. Maybe he put his hands on her…
Rage pumps hot through my veins.
Part of me wishes Briar would tell me what exactly went wrong. But she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and I’m not about to pry.
“My parents think I’m stupid,” she says.
I grab her shoulders, and she looks up at me, her big eyes puffy and watery with tears.
“You are not stupid, Briar. And look, I know your parents. I like them. They’ve always been nice to me. But if they’re calling you stupid, screw them.”
She hugs me again. “Thanks, Blake. You’re such a good friend.”
I rest my chin on top of her head as I hold her tight.
When we break apart, she looks at my T-shirt and frowns.
“Shoot, I got your shirt wet.” She starts to wipe her hand over the front of my shirt, but I gently wrap my hand around her wrist, stopping her.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care about this shirt. All I care about is making you feel better.”
The sadness in her eyes fades. She wipes her face with her sleeves.
“Don’t get your clothes dirty. Just use my shirt.”
When her mouth curves up in a small smile, that warm feeling burrows deeper inside of me.
“I can’t go back out to the table looking like this.” She looks up at me. “Do I look like a blotchy, snotty mess?”
