Call It What You Want(37)

I hesitate. I’m not sure what that means.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting,” he says.

“I’m not.” But I am, and we both know it. I almost sobbed all over his desk.

A part of me wishes he would press the point, but he doesn’t. It’s probably inappropriate for me to want anything from him. I should be holding a tissue box while he cries.

“Did you finish Torch Against the Night?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “But I can’t return it yet. Owen Goettler wants to read it.”

His eyebrows go up. “You’re friends?”

“I have no idea.”

That makes him smile, but his eyes are a little sad. “You don’t have to dash in and out of here, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Really.”

“I know.” But I don’t. In a way, his honesty has put me on edge. A little.

He hesitates. “You want to bolt now, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He pulls a pad of late slips out of a drawer. He signs his name.

I take it and go.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Maegan

My father’s warnings are still rolling around in my head on Thursday morning. I keep up my end of the bargain and take a seat in the back of Mrs. Quick’s class, waiting for Rob. I’m still not sure whether to apologize—because I want to—or keep it to math, because that’s what he wants. I keep hoping I’ll see him and my path forward will be clear.

But then the bell rings and he doesn’t show up. Mrs. Quick calls the class to order. I’m sitting in the back by myself.

Great.

I’m still on pins and needles. There’s a text on my phone from Rachel last night, asking me why I’m so upset. She points out that I was the one upset about him being my partner.

I don’t know how to respond to that.

So I haven’t.

I’ve left the text go unanswered so long that it’s going to be awkward when I see her at lunch. The thought makes my stomach roll.

Maybe I should forget the last few days. We were assigned to do a calculus project together. It’s not like Rob asked me out or we’ve been flirting over coffee. It’s math. And he’s not even here.

I hope he’s okay.

The thought comes unbidden, wrapped up in imaginary scenarios of his father having some kind of emergency—medical or otherwise.

The worst part of me wonders if he’s cutting class. He said he has an A in calculus, but it’s not like he whipped out his transcript to prove it. Maybe he knows how to lie so thoroughly that I’d believe anything he said. Dad’s words about Rob’s losing everything weigh heavily on my mind.

That boy’s had a rough time of it.

I chew at my lip. I can’t decide whether to feel sorry for Rob or to steel my emotions against him or to be wary of him.

I wonder if people feel this way about me, too.

Then he appears in the doorway. He looks tired and drawn. He raps on the door frame, and when Mrs. Quick pauses to look at him, he holds out a pink slip of paper. A late pass.

She nods and resumes her lecture.

He makes his way down the row of desks and drops into the chair beside me.

He says nothing.

I say nothing.

Now it’s awkward.

I pull a slip of loose-leaf out of my binder and write a quick note to him.

Are you okay?

When I slide it on top of his notebook, he stares at the words for the longest time.

I wish I could crawl inside his head and figure him out.

He gives me a brief nod, folds the note in half, and tucks it into his backpack.

And then, for the rest of the period, he keeps his eyes focused forward and never once turns to look at me.



By lunchtime, I feel as though a line has been drawn in the sand. Well, on the tile floor. I carry my tray away from the cashier and spot Rachel and Drew at our regular table over to the right—and Rob sitting with Owen Goettler way at the back to the left.

That seems like an odd combination. For an instant, I hesitate and consider heading left. I don’t like how things ended last night, and I don’t like how tense he was in calculus.

When I swing my eyes back around to the right, Rachel is looking at me.

Her expression says she’s already followed the line of my gaze. She knows exactly what I was considering.

If I sit with Rachel and Drew, it feels like I’m taking a stand against Rob. It shouldn’t, but it does.

But if I go sit with him, it feels like I’m taking a stand against my friends. I don’t like the way that feels, either. Drew was kind of a jerk to Rob last night, but his points were valid.

Finally, I take my tray and head to a table to sit by myself. I point myself in a direction so I’m not looking at Rob or Rachel.

Then I pull out my phone to scroll mindlessly.

The whole time I’m sitting here, I expect Rachel to come over. To ask what’s wrong. To put her arm around my shoulder and ask if we’re okay after last night.

Maybe she’s waiting on me, and I went and sat all the way over here.

Does she owe me an apology? Do I owe her one?

Does Drew owe Rob one? I think he does—regardless of everything he said after Rob left.