One of Us is Lying(93)
“No, we’re not.” I’m surprised at how steady my voice is. “But that’s never mattered to me, and I didn’t think it mattered to you. My feelings haven’t changed, Nate. I still want to be with you.”
I’ve never said anything that matters so much in such a straightforward way, and at first I’m glad I didn’t wimp out. But Nate looks like he couldn’t care less. And while I’m not fazed by external obstacles thrown my way—Disapproving parents? No problem! Jail time? I’ll get you out!—his indifference makes me wilt.
“I don’t see the point. We’ve got separate lives, and nothing in common now that the investigation’s wrapped up. You need to get ready for the Ivy League, and I—” He lets out a humorless snort. “I’ll be doing whatever the opposite of that is.”
I want to throw my arms around him and kiss him until he stops talking like this. But his face is closed off, as though his mind’s already a thousand miles away, waiting for his body to catch up. Like he only let me come here out of a sense of obligation. And I can’t stand it.
“If that’s how you feel.”
He nods so fast that whatever tiny flicker of hope I might’ve been nursing disappears. “Yup. Good luck with everything, Bronwyn. Thanks again.”
He stands up like he’s going to walk me to the door, but I can’t take fake politeness right now. “Don’t bother,” I say, stalking past him with my eyes on the floor. I let myself out and walk stiffly to my car, willing myself not to run, and fumble through my bag with shaking hands until I find my keys.
I drive home with dry, unblinking eyes and make it all the way to my room before I lose it. Maeve knocks softly and enters without waiting for an invitation, curling up next to me and stroking my hair while I sob into a pillow like my heart just broke. Which I guess it did.
“I’m sorry,” she says. She knew where I was headed, and I don’t need to tell her how it went. “He’s being a jerk.”
She doesn’t say anything else until I wear myself out and sit up, rubbing my eyes. I’d forgotten how tired full-body crying can make you. “Sorry I can’t make this better,” Maeve says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. “But I have something to show you that might cheer you up. Lots of reaction on Twitter to your statement on Mikhail Powers Investigates. All positive, by the way.”
“Maeve, I don’t care about Twitter,” I say wearily. I haven’t been on there since this whole mess started. Even with my profile set to private, I couldn’t deal with the onslaught of opinions.
“I know. But you should see this.” She hands me her phone and points to a post on my timeline from Yale University:
To err is human @BronwynRojas. We look forward to receiving your application.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
Bronwyn
Friday, February 16, 6:50 p.m.
I’m sort of seeing Evan Neiman now. It snuck up on me. First we were together a lot in big groups, then smaller ones, and a few weeks ago he drove me home after a bunch of us hate-watched The Bachelor at Yumiko’s house. When we got to my driveway, he leaned over and kissed me.
It was … nice. He’s a good kisser. I found myself analyzing the kiss in almost clinical detail while it was happening, mentally congratulating him on a stellar technique while noting the absence of any heat or magnetic pull between us. My heart didn’t pound as I kissed him back, and my limbs didn’t shake. It was a good kiss with a nice boy. The kind I’d always wanted.
Now things are almost exactly how I thought they’d be when I first imagined dating Evan. We make a solid couple. I have an automatic date for the spring break dance, which is nice. But I’m planning my post-Bayview life on a parallel track that has nothing to do with him. We’re an until-graduation couple, at best.
I applied to Yale, but not early decision. I’ll find out next month along with everyone else whether I got in or not. It doesn’t seem like the be-all, end-all of my future anymore, though. I’ve been interning for Eli on the weekends, and I’m starting to see the appeal of staying local and keeping up with Until Proven.
Everything’s pretty fluid, and I’m trying to be okay with that. I think a lot about Simon and about what the media called his “aggrieved entitlement”—the belief he was owed something he didn’t get, and everyone should pay because of it. It’s almost impossible to understand, except by that corner of my brain that pushed me to cheat for validation I hadn’t earned. I don’t ever want to be that person again.
The only time I see Nate is at school. He’s there more often than he used to be, and I guess he’s doing all right. I don’t know for sure, though, because we don’t talk anymore. At all. He wasn’t kidding about going back to separate lives.
Sometimes I almost catch him looking at me, but it’s probably wishful thinking.
He’s still on my mind constantly, and it sucks. I’d hoped starting up with Evan might curb the Nate loop in my head, but it’s made things worse. So I try not to think about Evan unless I’m actually with him, which means I sometimes overlook things that I shouldn’t as Evan’s sort-of girlfriend. Like tonight.
I have a piano solo with the San Diego Symphony. It’s part of their High School Spotlight concert series, something I’ve applied for since I was a freshman without ever getting an invitation. Last month, I finally did. It’s probably due to residual notoriety, although I like to think the audition video I submitted of “Variations on the Canon” helped. I’ve improved a lot since the fall.