Leah on the Offbeat(59)

My stomach twists with guilt.

Of course, it’s the longest day in the history of long days. Time is actually curdling.

Abby finds me at my locker, in the same exact spot where Nick stood this morning. “Are you ready?” she asks, smiling. For a moment, I just look at her.

Her hair is pulled back, and her cheeks are almost glowing. I think she might be wearing eyeliner, but it’s actually hard to know. The eyelash situation is that intense. And she’s wearing a dress—short-sleeved and belted, over tights and ankle boots.

“The boots are from Athens,” she says, catching me staring, and I almost choke on my own spit.

“I know,” I say finally.

“I really like your dress,” she says.

It’s the universe one, and I’m not going to lie. Other than my prom dress, it’s the best thing I own.

“So the weather’s really perfect. I know exactly where I want to take you.”

Wow. Okay. Where she wants to take me? I don’t want to lose my shit or anything, but she’s really making this sound like a date.

“I’m good with whatever,” I manage.

“Since when are you this agreeable?”

“I’m super agreeable. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Suso.”

“Every time you call me Suso, I feel like you’re actually Garrett wearing a Leah mask.”

“Are there Leah masks?”

“There should be,” Abby says. Then she turns down a side hall and down the back stairs. There’s a set of double push doors at the end of the music hallway—and it’s funny, because I’m here all the time, but I’ve never even noticed them. Abby pushes and holds one open with her hip, and I step out into the soft afternoon warmth. We’re in a courtyard behind the school, where a path cuts toward the football stadium.

“Are you making me play football?” I ask. Because that’s all I fucking need. Another weird, tense game of sportsball. Is this the universal post-breakup ritual?

“Obviously. You’re a cornerback, right?”

“Okay. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

I step onto the path, matching her pace. “Are cornerback and quarterback actually two different things?”

“Is that a real question?” She seems amused.

“I figured it might just be lazy pronunciation.”

“Okay. Wow. You are way too cute.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

My cheeks are off-the-charts warm. I could grill steaks on them. I could break thermometers and straighten your hair and give you second-degree burns.

“Seriously, why are you taking me to the football field?”

“Because you’ve clearly never seen one before.”

I bite back a smile. “False. I attended a single game at UGA five years ago.”

“Let me guess—with Morgan?”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes.

“Did I tell you she apologized to me?”

“She did?”

“A few days ago. She seemed really messed up about it.” She veers left, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I’m following. Then she leads me through a gap in the stands, onto the track that surrounds the football field.

“Well, she should be. She fucked up.”

“She did.” Abby nods. “But I’m glad she apologized.”

Suddenly, Abby takes off, jogging to the center of the field and plopping onto the grass. By the time I catch up to her, she’s lying supine, propped up on her elbows.

I settle in beside her. “So, are you cool with her now?”

“I guess so?” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m not going to lie. That comment sucked. It’s just super hurtful. And I get it all the time. So then I get obsessed with the idea of proving people wrong and being, like, unimpeachably perfect, which probably isn’t healthy, and it’s just really exhausting. I hate it.” She sighs. “But I also hate conflict, especially this close to graduation. So I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it’s like, I forgive her, but I don’t really know if I can trust her again. Does that make sense?”

“Definitely.” I nod. “No, that makes perfect sense.”

Abby tilts her head toward me. “But I think it’s cool that you stood up for me.”

“I wasn’t standing up for you. I was standing up for decency.”

“I mean, decency is cool, too,” she says, and the corners of her mouth tug up. I can’t stop staring at her knees—the way the skirt of her dress drapes over them, fanning gently across the grass. “Anyway.” She scrunches her nose at me.

Which makes me scrunch my nose back at her.

“Don’t do that,” she says, covering her eyes.

“Don’t do what?”

“The thing.” She waves her hand. “The thing with the nose and the freckles. Oh my God.”

“I don’t get it.” I tap my finger to my nose.

She shakes her head, hands still over her face. But then she peeks through them. “You’re just cute,” she says softly.

“Oh.”

“And now you’re blushing.”