The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(59)

As soon it was out of my mouth, I regretted it and wanted to disappear, which was something else that Lizzie had perfected.

But Enzo smiled. “Hey, no one’s judging you. You’re seventeen. You have plenty of time for sex.”

While he was talking, something really weird happened. He put his hand on my knee. I looked at his hand, then looked up and met his gaze. He seemed to be asking me if that was OK, and I hoped my smile let him know that it was. I could feel the warmth of his palm, our electricity, running through my entire body.

I thought he was going to kiss me. He looked like he wanted to. I think I probably wanted the same thing.

Then I ruined it.

“Did you and Lizzie have sex the night she disappeared?”

Enzo jerked his hand back and sort of leaned away from me, and I knew that what had maybe almost happened between us was probably, for sure, over. When he spoke, his voice was clipped.

“We didn’t.”

I couldn’t stop myself. “Why?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t want to. Maybe neither of us wanted to.”

Enzo walked back to his canvas, and I knew he’d be there for the rest of the night. Our moment had definitely passed. If there had even been a moment. Suddenly, I doubted myself, thinking maybe looking at those pictures of Lizzie had distorted my perception of what had just happened. Maybe I had turned a friendly pat on the leg into something much, much more.

“Why didn’t you want to?” I prodded.

“You have too many questions, kid.”

“You never have enough answers,” I replied.

Then the conversation dried up, and for a while, I watched Enzo paint while mulling over all sorts of thoughts, like maybe he and Lizzie were losing interest in each other even before she disappeared, and maybe they weren’t really meant to be together, and if Enzo had actually been thinking about kissing me and if that was something I wanted.

After an hour of sitting alone with my thoughts, I decided to go home. I gathered up my things and told Enzo good-bye. He was so focused on his painting that he didn’t notice me slip the stack of Lizzie photos into my bag.

? ? ?

I couldn’t get that moment with Enzo out of my head. The almost-moment. It played out in my mind over and over again while I was lying in bed, and the next morning while I was eating breakfast, and later still while I was trying not to doze off during a lecture in history class.

Then it was evening again, and I was still thinking about the almost-moment, which had happened—or almost happened—twenty-four hours earlier. I thought about it during dinner with my family and was so distracted I agreed to do the dishes for Rush. I hung out at Sundog’s campfire for a little bit, and I thought about it there. Then I moved to the swing on the front porch, then later to my bed, and the whole time, I thought about Enzo sitting next to me on his bed and if there had been a moment or an almost-moment or a non-moment and what it all meant.

Of course, I also thought about how it could have played out differently if I’d kept my mouth shut. I imagined Enzo’s hand continuing to move up my leg, both of our hearts pounding. I imagined him leaning over, slowly and cautiously, the whole time keeping his gaze on me, silently asking, Is this OK? Do you want this? And in return, my eyes would say, Yes, yes, yes. Then his lips would be on mine, soft at first, but then pressing harder, more aggressively, and his arms would wrap around me, and he’d push me back on the bed, and there I would be, in the same spot where Lizzie Lovett had once been, kissing the same mouth she had kissed.

I wasn’t sure when our friendship had changed, but I wanted that kiss. I wanted the scenario that real-life me had totally screwed up. I liked Enzo. He wasn’t just a friend or a partner in crime. I liked him a lot. I liked him the way Lizzie had once liked him. And I wanted him to like me too.

Which pretty much seemed impossible, since, you know, he had dated Lizzie Lovett. Lizzie had blond hair and a perfect body and always knew the right thing to say and the right way to act. I was just me. Hawthorn Creely. I didn’t turn heads. I was awkward and weird and could barely communicate with the few friends I had, let alone make everyone I talked to fall in love with me. I was nothing special, which made it hard to believe that Enzo would like me after being with a girl who was the most special.

But there was still a part of me that hoped.

Sometimes, I’m really good at ignoring the things I don’t want to think about, so I kept pushing all the bad stuff out of my mind and focused on what could have happened at Enzo’s and what could still happen there in the future.

And I thought about the homecoming dance, which was only one night away. I thought about that a lot.





Chapter 25


Homecoming Dance

I possibly spent more time getting ready for the dance than I’d spent getting ready for anything else, ever. That was probably still less time than Lizzie spent on her appearance every single day in high school.

I painted my nails, and while I was doing it, I thought about what a waste of time it was. Enzo wouldn’t even notice something like that, and I didn’t care to be with a guy who noticed that sort of stuff. And anyway, as far as Enzo was concerned, it wasn’t a date. Going to the dance with me was more like a favor. So the sparkly silver nail polish didn’t matter. The whole thing was actually super dumb. But I painted my nails anyway.

I had similar thoughts while I was using the exfoliating body scrub that promised silky, super-touchable skin. Wasn’t it sort of presumptuous of me, thinking that my skin was going to be touched?