You and Everything After (Falling #2)(82)
We’re all going to be fine.
The hours of solitude spent studying earned me a perfect score on my sign language exam. I don’t even need to see the grade to know. I had to hold a conversation with my instructor for five minutes, and I anticipated every question she would ask when I studied. My hands were perfect today, my signs perfect. She smiled at me when our time was up. She never smiles, so I know I did well.
I gave Rowe the letter just as Nate instructed, as soon as she was done with her finals. I was risking being late to the airport for my own flight home, but my task was too important. I wouldn’t mess this up.
When I got off the plane, I turned my phone on and saw I had two messages, one from Ty, and one from Rowe. I knew the letter worked. I called Rowe quickly and promised her I would help pull off whatever she needed to do to reciprocate his letter. I also apologized again for reading her business. But I’m not really sorry. It was beautiful. Rowe was planning on finding Nate when he traveled to Arizona for the first seasonal baseball tournament. She said something about singing to him, which sounds scary as hell to me, but Rowe…she can actually kind of sing. I want to be there with her for it, to support my friend through whatever crazy stunt she has planned. I’m also a sucker for big romantic gestures, just not when they put the spotlight on me.
My smile flips when I see Paige parked at the curb to pick me up. My mom had said she would do it, and I honestly expected my dad to be the one waiting for me. Paige was the last person I wanted to see, even though I admit to myself that I miss her. At least she’s not in my Charger.
She pulls the lever to pop her trunk, and I put my things in the back. Paige drives a Mazda. It’s pink. I swear it’s the only pink car Mazda ever made.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, slamming the door closed a little harder than I mean to. I really want to be nice, or at least pleasant. But being near her, it just brings everything back to the surface. I’m fighting so hard not to be mad, to remain rational.
“Sure,” she says, signaling and pulling out into traffic. Some guy honks at her, and she looks rattled from it, nervous. That’s not like her. Paige doesn’t get pushed around. “I asked Mom if I could get you instead. I wanted to. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say, still not really sure if it is, but I feel like that’s what needs to be said right now. I think I’ve kicked her enough, and she’s still down. And today I don’t feel good about it.
She turns the radio up when we hit the highway, and we listen to the hits station for the next hour, not talking, only soaking in the familiar sounds of home. This is normal for us, riding together in silence. But it used to not feel so uncomfortable. We usually sing along with the chorus, for the few songs that we both actually agree on. There’s so many things unspoken floating between us now—I can feel them.
When we get to the house and pull in the driveway, I leave the car and move to the back to grab my things. Paige stays in the driver’s seat, her hands low on the steering wheel while she watches me through the rearview mirror.
I close the trunk and shrug at her to come inside, to get out of the car, to move, or say something. But she just sits there, staring at me. My bags are heavy, but I hold them to my sides, my duffel slung over my shoulder, while I drag everything to the car door next to her, her window now rolled down. She’s turned the ignition off, but she’s still staying in the car. It’s weird. And it’s irritating me.
“Paige, just come inside. Seriously…I’m tired. It’s late. I’m hungry. I’m not in the mood for your drama right now,” I say. She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, her lips curling like they want to laugh, but no sound comes out.
“I am so jealous of you. I actually used to fantasize about what it would be like to hate you,” Paige says. She won’t look at me, keeping her focus on the place where her skirt skims the tops of her knees. She runs her hands down the material, straightening it, pulling the fabric lower. Demure—she’s being demure…now.
“Wow,” I say, not really sure what else to add. I let my bags fall to the ground next to me, my muscles almost seizing from the build up of lactic acid. I have a feeling Paige and I might be out here in this driveway for a while.
“It used to be the attention, the way everyone worried about you. They don’t worry about me. I know, I know…it’s stupid and petty. And I don’t feel like that now, but I used to,” she continues. I’m still stuck on that word hate, wondering if I’ve ever wished that about her. I think I might have, as recent as yesterday. And it makes me a little ashamed, because my sister is at least big enough to admit it. To my face.
“You said am…am jealous. What in the world could you possibly have to be jealous about now?” I ask.
She breathes in deeply, and closes her eyes, shaking her head slowly, before looking up at me with so much honesty that it drives her words right into my chest, making my heart hurt for her. “You know exactly who you are,” she says.
“Paige, that’s ridiculous. So do you. You’re the most confident person I know,” I say.
“I’m a faker,” she says. “I fake to fit in, for everybody. I play up the pretty because that seems easy, so I go with it. I joined a sorority, because that’s what I thought a girl like me should do. I’m dating a guy who only halfway pays attention to me, who makes me feel small and insignificant—a guy who my sister would probably punch in the face if he tried to be her boyfriend. But he fits a checkbox. You know who you are. I have no idea.”