Starry Eyes(34)

I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure how I feel. The last twenty-four hours have been strange. I guess I thought it would be more thrilling to be around Brett outside of school, but we’re barely ever alone together. Maybe if we spent any time away from the group, he’d let the whole super-bro personality drop. I know he does it for attention and that there’s a different side to him. But then, we just got here.

There’s also been Lennon. I hadn’t planned on him. And when I wasn’t getting spooked about animal noises in the woods last night, I spent my tossing-and-turning moments replaying all of our conversations in my head, trying to figure out if we’re friends again, or if he wants to be—if I want to be. I haven’t come to any conclusion.

Something clicks inside my head now, though.

“Your parents encouraged you to come on this trip,” I say, “because of Brett? They know he’s here?”

Lennon shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Do Sunny and Mac know that I’m here?”

A brisk wind blows as he scrapes his spoon on the inside of his bowl, gathering a last bite of oatmeal. “That’s why they wanted me to come. To . . . make sure you’re safe.”

A hundred emotions pummel me at once. I can’t even begin to sort through them, so I lash out with the first thing I can wrap my mind around. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I can take care of myself. I may not be in Olympic shape like Reagan, but I can handle a stupid hike.”

“Of course you can.”

“I can identify thousands of stars, so I’m pretty sure I can read a map.”

“Never said you couldn’t. You’re the smartest person here by a long shot.”

“Then why are you making it sound like I’m incompetent?”

He groans. “You’re competent. More than competent. I trust you a million times more than anyone else in this compound.”

He does? After months of not talking? This does something funny to my heart.

“Think of it this way,” he says. “If I needed to know whether Pluto was a real planet—”

“It’s not.”

“—then I would ask you. But if I needed to know how to build a bong, I would ask Brett. We all have our areas of expertise. Mine is wilderness backpacking.”

“But I never knew that!” I say, exasperated. “Your expertise is supposed to be how to survive a night in a haunted house.”

“In a way, they aren’t that different.”

I’m frustrated, and he’s cracking jokes. I can’t figure him out. “Is this about that photo book?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“What?”

“Is that why you came? Why your parents forced you to come? If you and your moms are just feeling sorry for me about my dad cheating, you can keep your sympathy. I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m angry for you. I want to cut off your dad’s arms with rusty hedge clippers. I want to chainsaw his feet off. I want to—”

“Okay! I get it, I get it.” Jeez. It’s my dad, after all. Though, admittedly, I’m secretly pleased he’s indignant. “If anyone’s going to Texas Chainsaw Massacre him, it will be Joy.” And I think she’d be going for something other than his feet.

He’s quiet for a moment. “No one forced me to come on this trip. I wanted to. I was hoping . . .” He stops suddenly, groans, and shakes his head.

“What?” I say. “You were hoping what?”

He hesitates. “Don’t you ever miss us?”

His words are a jab to my ribs. I’m surprised I don’t fall out of my chair.

I want to scream, YES. I also just want to scream. How many nights did I lie awake in tears over Lennon? I wasn’t the one who caused our downfall. The Zorie and Lennon show was going strong until the stupid homecoming dance, and its ending can be easily outlined in four steps. Trust me. I’ve literally outlined it hundreds of times in my planner.

(1) On the final week of summer vacation, Lennon and I accidentally kissed on one of our late-night walks. And before you ask how a kiss can be accidental, let me just confirm that it can. Laughter plus wrestling over a book can lead to unexpected results. (2) We decide to conduct the Great Experiment, in which we tried to incorporate intense make-out sessions into our normal relationship without telling anyone, in case it didn’t work out, so that we could still salvage our friendship and save ourselves from gossip and meddling parents. Mainly one parent: my dad, who has always hated the Mackenzies. (3) A few weeks later, the experiment seemingly going great, we agreed to come out of the nonplatonic friendship closet and make our first public appearance as an actual boyfriend-girlfriend couple at homecoming. (4) He never showed. Never gave a reason. Didn’t answer my texts. Didn’t show up at school for several days. And that’s where we ended. Years of friendship. Weeks of more than friendship. Gone.

He ended us.

And next to my birth mother’s death, losing him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. Now he wants . . . what? What exactly does he want from me?

I stumble over my answer several times, starting and stopping, unsure of what to say, and end up sounding like a fool. “I—”

A cheerful server walks up to us holding a tray filled with coffee in insulated cups. Lennon and I each accept one while the server makes small talk. I’m grateful for the intrusion, but it doesn’t allow me enough time to formulate a response to Lennon’s question.