All We Can Do Is Wait(52)

“Yeah, let’s go,” Scott said, glad to be heading home. He ordered them an Uber and they waited for it on the curb, the house still thrumming with music, the clamor of kids rising like steam into the midnight air. Things felt all right. Things felt on their way to good again.

The next morning, Scott woke up with a pounding headache and a dry staleness in his mouth. It had been a while since he’d had more than two drinks in a night, and he felt nauseated. He padded to the bathroom, filled his water bottle in the sink, and then went back to his room to check his phone, suddenly remembering that he’d texted Aimee that he was sorry the night before.

When he looked at his phone he saw that he had a missed call from Aimee, and three text messages. Scott? u there? we need to talk and call me when ur up pls. Call me. That seemed way more ominous than Scott had expected. In fact, he’d expected an apology back, a “Sorry we fought, let’s hang out after you get off work” kind of a text. But no, she wanted him to call. Taking another few gulps of water and clearing his throat, Scott pressed “Call” on Aimee’s number. She picked up after one ring. She sounded tense and angry.

“Hey,” she said, curt.

“Hey, what’s up? Sorry I missed your texts. I’m kinda hungover.”

“Oh, you are? Huh. Do you remember what happened last night?”

“What? Yeah. I mean, I went to Stein’s party and, I dunno, I had some drinks with Pete. And I smoked a joint with Nik Damilatis and Zach Arko, who are definitely doing it, by the way.”

“Cool. Yeah. Speaking of doing it, did you, uh, did you hook up with Maddy Cohen last night?”

Scott was blindsided. If he’d been standing up he would have actually staggered. “What?”

“Maddy Cohen. Did you hook up with Maddy Cohen last night?”

“Aimee, seriously, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Taissa was at the party, as I’m sure your little friend Pete made you well aware, and Taissa says she saw you and Maddy Cohen go into some room together and shut the door for, like, twenty minutes.”

“It was more like ten minutes.”

“Oh, so you did go into a room with Maddy Cohen?”

“Yes, but, like, just to talk. I was upset about you, and she was being nice.”

“So this is my fault?”

“Is what your fault?”

“What I’m asking, Scott, is why did you go into a room, alone, with Maddy Cohen, leave, like, three minutes after she did—to not look suspicious—and then later that night I get a text from you saying you’re so sorry, that you still love me?”

“Because! Because I talked to Maddy and she was nice and said that I shouldn’t be freaking out about all this, you know, this college stuff, and so I texted you to say I was sorry about our fight. That’s all. Nothing happened, I swear. I swear, Aimee. Nothing happened.” Scott felt close to tears. He and Aimee had never had this kind of fight. Cheating was never imaginably on the table with them.

There was a silence on the line. “Hello?” Scott said after a few seconds.

“Sorry. I’m here. I’m just . . . trying to decide if I believe you. Maddy hooks up with everyone.”

“C’mon, Maddy’s nice.”

“Maddy is nice. But she hooks up with everyone.”

“Well, not with me. We talked about you. Seriously. That’s all we did. And then I texted to say I was sorry.”

“You’ve just been such a prick lately, like you want to break up or something. Do you want to break up?

“No! I don’t want to break up! Aimee, seriously. I don’t. And nothing happened with Maddy.”

Scott could hear Aimee sighing. “O.K. I’m sorry. I believe you, I guess. I believe you. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said quietly. “Seriously, Aims. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick lately. It’s hard for me, is all. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know you don’t. I . . . I don’t want to leave you either.”

“Sometimes it feels like you do.”

Aimee was quiet on the line. “I mean . . .”

“You mean what?” Scott had a lump in his throat, and he was trembling.

“Look, you have to be at work soon, don’t you? Want to talk later? I have a history project I completely fucking forgot about and my parents are freaking, so you can’t come over tonight. But what if I came over there tomorrow?”

“O.K. . . .” Scott said slowly. “And I’ll see you at school?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course. But, like, let’s just talk about all this tomorrow night.”

“O.K.” Scott saw the time on his alarm clock. “Shit, I have to shower and stuff. Talk to you later.”

“O.K.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, you too.” And then she hung up.

Scott spent his shift at work in a daze, utterly unsure what to think about his phone conversation with Aimee, that stilted and vaguely horrifying thing. At home that night, he ate dinner and went to bed early, still dragging, wanting it to be the next day so he and Aimee could talk. He’d never wanted a vacation to be over and to be back at school so badly.

The next day was busy, with teachers fighting to get their kids focused after the break, piling on homework and other assignments. Scott and Aimee usually met up at lunch, but it was the one day of the schedule rotation when they didn’t have the same lunch, so he waited by her locker after fourth period, when she typically switched out her books and they’d have a little moment to talk and furtively touch. (They’d gotten detention last September for making out in the hallway, and Aimee was intent on not repeating that embarrassment again.)