“You slept with someone and now you have to get away from them,” Bruno says.
“No!”
“It’s about a guy,” he says.
“Sort of,” I say. “See, my friend—”
“No.” He holds his hand up, shushing me. “I don’t want to know.” He pulls on his bottom lip, considering. “Fifty bucks.”
“Fifty bucks?” I repeat, incredulous.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “You’re obviously having some kind of personal problem, and you must be pretty desperate to come over here and ask me, a person you don’t even know, if I’ll switch seats with you on the plane. Not to mention you offered to pay me for it. So I’m assuming if you’re willing to do all that, then you’re probably willing to pay more than twenty bucks.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I don’t know if it’s the best idea to get into some kind of back-and-forth with him. And in the grand scheme of things, is thirty extra dollars that much to haggle about?
“Sold.”
It’s the best fifty dollars I ever spent.
Bruno’s seat is all the way in the back of the plane, which I think I read somewhere is actually the worst place you can be if there’s ever a crash. But whatever. There’s way more of a chance that I’m going to end up in a fight with Liam and Izzy than there is of this plane crashing. According to Google, the plane has a one-in-eleven-million chance of crashing. The chances of me getting into some kind of drama with Liam and Izzy are probably like one in two.
And the fact that the seat is all the way in the back of the plane is perfect. I won’t have to see anyone. Of course, I have no idea who I’m going to be sitting with. Probably one of Bruno’s crazy friends. But who cares. I’ll just slip in my earbuds and not listen to a thing that person has to say.
I’d much rather put up with some clown sitting next to me than have to—
“Excuse me,” someone says. “But I need to get to my seat, and you’re blocking the aisle.”
I look up.
Liam.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
“That’s my seat,” he says, indicating the one next to me. “And you’re blocking it.”
“It is not your seat,” I say.
“Then whose seat is it?”
“It’s . . .” Damn it. I should have asked Bruno who he was sitting next to. Not that it really matters. “Someone else’s,” I finish lamely.
“We need to talk,” Liam says, sitting down next to me, apparently not concerned that he’s taking someone else’s seat.
“We can’t,” I say firmly. “Pretty soon whoever’s supposed to be sitting there is going to come along and kick you out of that seat.”
“No, they’re not,” he says easily. “Because I switched seats.”
“You switched seats with who?”
“Jack Busey,” he says. “He was sitting next to Bruno.”
“But why would you do that?” I ask, panicked. I stand up and look to the front of the plane, where, sure enough, Bruno and Jack are sitting up near Izzy, who has a huge scowl on her face.
“Because I saw you talking to Bruno,” Liam says, and his voice goes from defiant to soft. “And I wanted to sit next to you.”
I sit back down, sliding over to the empty window seat, and turn away from him. The sun is shining, but I know in just a few hours I’m going to be in the dreariness of the New England weather. It’s almost comforting, in a way. I’m not sad to be leaving Florida. I’m happy to be going home, back to the comfort of my bed and the comfort of home. I’m sick of the sun, I’m sick of possibility. I just want to get home and wallow in my misery.
“So is it okay if I sit here?” he asks.
I don’t trust myself to talk, so instead, I just nod.
He looks at me, his eyes so bright and blue, the eyes of the only boy I’ve ever loved. I want so desperately for him to love me back, but it just didn’t work out that way. He doesn’t love me. He never did.
“I don’t . . . Liam, I want to talk to you, I do.” The words are out of my mouth before I even know that I mean them. But it’s true. I do want to talk to Liam. Part of me knows that it will be extremely hard—staying in his life, being his friend when he knows how I feel about him and doesn’t return my feelings. But it might be harder to let him go completely. He’s my best friend.
“Good.” He nods. “Aven—”
I hold my hand up, slightly annoyed that he thinks he can just decide he wants to talk to me now, in this moment, when the other night he told me he needed time, like I was just supposed to wait around until he was ready. “But not right now. I need some time to process how I feel about all this. I need some time to figure out how this new friendship of ours is going to look.” I turn toward the window again, this time because I don’t want him to see the pain on my face. The last thing I want is for Liam to feel sorry for me.
“Aven, I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”
My breath catches in my chest. He doesn’t want to be friends anymore? That’s what he came over here to tell me? I can’t even look at him. His every word is a dagger straight to my heart, tearing it apart one tiny rip at a time, destroying me.
“Please,” I say. “Please, Liam, just leave me alone.” A tear slides down my cheek, hot and salty, before I can stop it. It hits my lips, and I don’t bother to brush it away.
“Aven, look at me.” Liam takes my chin in his hand, pulling it toward him gently, forcing me to look at him. His touch is soft and his eyes are so warm and kind, I can’t help thinking that maybe there’s been some kind of terrible mistake, that maybe he’s decided he does want to be friends with me after all. Who decides they don’t want to be friends with you and then looks at you the way he’s looking at me now, with so much kindness?
“I want to try this,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “I’ve always been afraid of the risk, but I want to try it.”
“You want to try being friends?” I ask, frowning. What is he talking about, afraid of the risk? The risk of what? The risk of breaking my heart? Well, if he’s worried about that, he can stop. My heart’s already been broken.
“No, I want to try, um, this. You know, being together.”
My heart starts thumping and my stomach is somersaulting and my skin is tingling. He’s looking at me with that same kind look in his eyes, and I want so badly to tell him yes, to throw myself into his arms, to try and make everything I’ve ever wanted and hoped for us come true.
But of all the times I’ve played this moment in my head, over and over and over again for years, it’s never been Liam sitting next to me telling me he wants to try. It’s Liam telling me he feels the same way, that he wants to be with me, that he thinks we’d be perfect together. I don’t want to be with someone who’s not sure. Especially not Liam. Because with him, I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “It’s not good enough.”
“What’s not?”
“It’s not good enough. You have to be sure. You can’t just want to try, Liam.” I’m looking at his face, hoping that maybe I’ve missed something, that maybe he really does want this just as badly as I do. But I can see the doubt on his face.
“Liam,” I say, before he can say anything else. “Please, if you’ve ever cared about me, please . . . can you just leave me alone? Just for a little while.”
He goes to open his mouth to say something, but I repeat, “Please,” and after a second, he gets up and leaves.
A minute later, Jack Busey slides into the seat next to me.
I turn to the window so he can’t see me cry.
TWELVE
I THOUGHT THE FLIGHT WOULD LEAVE ME A sopping, crying mess and feel never-ending, but it’s actually kind of the opposite. In fact, after a few tears, there’s actually no crying. There’s just this weird emptiness in my body, an ache that feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s like my soul is grieving or something. I know that sounds over the top
and dramatic, but it’s true. So much of my energy and hoping had gone into Liam, and this trip, that now that it’s over, I just feel . . . empty.
I’m in a fog as I walk up to baggage claim. I watch the bags as they all come spinning by, scanning them for my turquoise suitcase. I thought I was being so clever by not bringing the standard black bag, but most of my classmates must have had the same idea, because they all have bags in an array of colors. I’m just about to reach for my suitcase when someone grabs it off the carousel and sets it down in front of me.
Liam.
Again.
“Liam,” I say, sighing. “You’re not listening to me, and I really need you to. I said—”
“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “You need to listen to me.”
“Excuse me?” I say, annoyed.
“Yeah,” he says. “You need to listen to me. Because I obviously didn’t do a very good job of letting you know how I feel.” He stands my suitcase up and looks at me. “When I said I wanted to try this, I was serious. I did mean I wanted to try it, but not the way you thought. I meant that I’m afraid.”
I frown. “Why would you be afraid?”
“Because,” he says. He reaches out and takes my hand, and it’s different from the way he took it on the plane. This time, his grip is firm, like there’s an intention behind it. “I was afraid of losing you.”
“But why would you lose me?” I ask.
“If this doesn’t work out . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I would do. I think I’ve been lying to myself this whole time, telling myself we were just friends, when deep down, I was just afraid of getting hurt.”
The tears come to my eyes, but this time, they’re tears of happiness.
“You have to be sure,” I say, almost scared to let myself believe it. “You have to be really sure. You can’t just think you feel this way, and then in a couple weeks decide it’s not right.” I look at him, at the kindness and warmth in his eyes, the way he’s looking at me like I’m all he can see, even though we’re surrounded by people.
“I’m sure,” he says firmly. He pulls me close to him, and I’m in his arms and it’s wonderful and perfect and better than I ever could have imagined. “Every second since you told me how you felt, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And just now, when you told me to leave you alone on the plane, Aven, I missed you. I was on the same plane as you and it had only been a few minutes and I was already missing you.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry it took me so long to admit to myself how I felt. I’m sorry I was too scared. But I’m not anymore.” He shakes his head. “It’s you, Aven. It’s always been you.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he pushes it away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t cry,” he says.
“I’m crying because I’m happy,” I say.
He smiles, that same smile I fell in love with all those years ago. Only now it’s the smile of the boy who likes me back. He kisses me then, his lips soft and sure and perfect.
Then we just stand there for a few moments, our foreheads pushed together, grinning at each other like two idiots.
When we pull apart, I take a deep breath. “Izzy . . . ,” I start.
He nods, his face serious. “We’ll talk to her together.”
“Okay.”
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s go home.”
The whole bus ride back to school, Liam and I stare at each other giddily. It’s weird—I always thought that if we ever did get together, there’d be an adjustment period. That it would be weird and awkward for a little while, but the reality is just that it doesn’t feel strange at all. The only thing it feels is right.
But as soon as we get off the bus, Izzy is standing there, waiting for us.
“Hi,” I say, dropping Liam’s hand. I don’t want to rub it into her face that we’re together now. Liam instinctively goes to grab my hand again, but I give him a look, and he nods in understanding.
“Izzy,” I say. “We can—”
But she holds up her hand. “I’m not upset.”
“You’re not?” Liam asks.
“I am, but I’m not.” She takes in a deep breath. “It wasn’t working out with us. And I just . . . I don’t want to make a big thing about it.” She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.
“Just so you know,” I say, “nothing happened when you two were together.”
She smiles. “I know,” she says. “I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”
“I’d like to still be friends,” Liam says.
I nod, because I want to be friends with Izzy, too. Of course, another part of me knows just how weird that’s going to be. The three of us being friends, with the roles reversed—me as Liam’s girlfriend, Izzy as our friend.
But Izzy shakes her head. “I do, too,” she says. “But maybe . . . maybe not right now.”
She leans into me then, her silky blond hair brushing against my face. “It’s always been you,” she whispers into my ear. “I always knew that.” She straightens back up. “Take care of each other,” she says, and then, before we can reply, she’s moving her way down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, her hair swishing behind her.
Liam looks at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say as he pulls me close. “I just wish we didn’t have to hurt her.”
“Me too.” He strokes my hair, his touch soft and comforting. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring this feeling of happiness.
There’s just one little niggling thing bothering me—Lyla and Quinn. Now that Liam and I are together, I want to tell them. In fact, they’re the only ones I want to tell. And it’s not just because I want them to be happy for me, although of course that’s part of it. I want to talk to them, to share with them. I miss them. Besides Liam, they’re the only real best friends I’ve ever had.
But what else can I really do? I already finagled things so that we were all in the same room for a whole weekend. We even hung out for a day and nothing changed.
And then I have an idea. A crazy, insane, brilliant idea.
Liam and I grab our bags, and the idea is still percolating in my brain, turning around and around like a rock in a tumbler, forming into something that might just work.
“So maybe you can come over later?” Liam asks. “Unless you just want to come with me now? My mom’s waiting in the traffic circle.” He tilts his head toward his mom’s car, which is still pretty far back in the line, but inching closer.
“Nah, that’s okay,” I say. “I’ll just text you later.” I take in a deep breath. “I think . . . I think I’m going to try to talk to Quinn and Lyla.”
Liam’s eyes flash with surprise. And then he nods. “I think you should.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, look what happened when you finally talked to me.” He grins, then leans down and kisses me. My stomach explodes with butterflies. Will I ever get used to this? Him, kissing me? It’s the scariest, most wonderful, craziest feeling I’ve ever had.
He squeezes my hand, then kisses me one more time. “I’ll call you later,” he says before disappearing into the throng of kids all heading for their parents’ cars.
I watch him go, my heart filled with so much love for him. I give myself another second to enjoy this new reality, this new amazing, terrifying, thrilling reality.
And then I turn around and head toward the school, ready to put my crazy plan into action.
I was supposed to text my parents when the bus pulled in, so they’d know when to leave to come and get me. But I don’t. Instead, I text them and tell them the bus is running a little late, and that I’ll let them know as soon as we get in.
Then I take a deep breath and text Lyla and Quinn, and tell them that I’m locked in the bathroom by the gym, and that I need help.
I know. It’s stupid—how the hell would I get locked in the bathroom by the gym? I mean, if I needed to use the bathroom, that’s the last bathroom I would eve
r use, since it’s nowhere near the front of the school. It’s a totally unbelievable lie, and there’s a good chance the two of them won’t believe it.
But the thing about the bathroom by the gym is that I have a key to it. It’s the bathroom closest to where the Student Action Committee meets, and one time our faculty adviser gave me the key and then forgot to ask for it back. It’s been sitting on my key chain for, like, ever. I haven’t been keeping it intentionally or anything, I just always seem to forget to turn it in.
A few minutes later, I’m out of sight around the corner of the hallway, waiting for Lyla and Quinn, crossing my fingers and holding my breath that they’re actually going to show. But when a couple of more minutes pass by, I’m starting to think they’re not going to come—that maybe they either don’t care, or that they saw through my whole “I’m locked in the bathroom” ploy. But then I hear the sound of someone’s suitcase being wheeled down the corridor, followed by voices.
The bathroom door opens and shuts, and I wait a few seconds, trying to time it correctly. I need to make sure that they’re far enough into the bathroom so they can’t escape, but they can’t be in there too long, because once it becomes clear I’m not really there, they’re probably going to leave.
I count to thirty slowly in my head, figuring thirty seconds should be just enough time.
When I walk into the bathroom, the two of them have just finished looking through the stalls.
“Aven!” Quinn exclaims. “Why the hell did you tell us you were locked in the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” Lyla says, sounding annoyed.
I don’t say anything. Instead, I just turn around and lock the door behind me. “What the hell are you doing?” Quinn asks.
I slip the key into my pocket. I wonder briefly if maybe they’re going to do something crazy like try to take the key from me. You know, like, forcefully. But those two wouldn’t try to get physical with me. At least, I don’t think they would.
“I’m sick of this,” I say. “I’m sick of not being friends. I’m ready to make up.” I take a deep breath. “And none of us are leaving this bathroom until we do.”