Don't Look Back(77)

left, I wanted to crawl in his lap and kiss him.

And he hadn’t tried to kiss me. We hadn’t even come close

since the day he visited me after the accident. I had a feeling that

he didn’t want to rush things because of everything that I’d been

through, and I wasn’t offended by that.

Prom became everyone’s focus at school. Even Veronica and

Candy had turned their slur campaigns toward their prom court

competition instead of me. With each passing day, I faded into

the background, and I loved it.

Del got to me after classes on Friday, while I switched out

books, following up on the promise I hadn’t kept.

The shiner had faded to just a very faint blue under his eye,

but he looked like crap. “We need to talk.”

I was so getting tired of hearing those words. Grabbing my

trig book, I shoved it into my bag. “No, we don’t.” I spun around

and headed toward the back entrance.

He was right beside me, dogged as ever. “People were talking

in practice yesterday.”

I could only imagine about what. Pushing open the door, I

took the pavilion steps two at a time. Scott would be waiting to

take me home before heading back for practice.

“Don’t you even want to know?” he asked, anger sharpen

ing his words.

“Not really.”

He shot in front of me, blocking my path between two cars.

“What is with you? You’re acting like we weren’t together for

almost four years, Sammy. Four years and you can’t even give

me the time of day?”

There was a good chance that the pills might be kicking in

ahead of schedule, because I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even sad. Looking up at him, I felt nothing but general disappointment. Maybe

it wasn’t the pills—just a sign that I was moving on from this. Kind of like how everyone seemed to be moving on from

Cassie.

I shouldered my backpack and squinted. “I’m sorry. I know

we spent a long time together—”

“But since you can’t remember it, you don’t care? Well, I do.

I remember it and I care.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” I sighed, glancing over

his shoulder. If Scott caught Del blocking me like this, he’d end

up with another black eye. “I know you care about that time, and

believe it or not, so do I.”

“Good.” He sounded hopeful. “At least that’s a common

ground.”

“Not in that way. I care about you, and maybe one day I’ll

forgive you for those pictures, but even if I did, we aren’t getting

back together.”

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. Hurt flickered across his face, but behind that was stubbornness and something darker and stronger than I cared to see. At least I knew the pills

didn’t totally squash my emotional compass.

“Can’t we just go somewhere and talk?”

My mouth dried. “You have practice.”

“Screw practice. Our relationship is more important than a

damn practice.”

“I’m not more important. Baseball means a lot to you.” “That’s not true.” He looked as if I’d hit him upside the head

with a concrete block, as if he couldn’t believe I’d disagree. “We

need to talk this out.”

Apprehension was growing rapidly, and it made me impatient to get away from him. “I need you to understand this, Del.

We aren’t getting back together. Not now. Not a week from—” “It’s true, then? What I heard in practice yesterday? That

you’re going to prom with Carson?”

I wasn’t answering that question, because I knew it would be

like opening Pandora’s box and letting out a slew of angry problems. So I stepped around him and picked up my pace. Just a few

more rows of cars, and I’d be free of Del. Just a few more steps... “Damn it, Sammy!”

The anger in his voice caused me to jump, but I didn’t look

back. He’d turn my going to the dance with Carson into my

choosing someone else over him. And Carson had nothing to do

with Del. They weren’t even in the same league.

Why was Del so determined to patch things? Another mystery I couldn’t solve or even begin to understand. During lunch

this past week, Veronica had been all but sitting in his lap. It was obvious she liked him and was more than willing to take their friendship to the next level. A much better choice than me for

several reasons.

I jogged down a row, passing a dusty red Jeep, when something darted along my peripheral vision. My heart stuttered

unevenly, and chills skittered up and down my spine. A loud

buzzing filled my ears.

No. It’s not real.

Again, on the other side of me, the figure moved, matching

my steps. Air froze in my throat. Stress-induced hallucinations—

panic attacks. That was what Dr. O’Connell had called them. If

I got too upset, I’d start seeing things.