The Way You Make Me Feel(59)

My phone vibrated. I’d been getting texts since I started walking, but this time it was a phone call.

Hamlet. I picked it up.

“Hi.”

“Clara? Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

There was a pause. “Well, your dad told me about what happened. Where are you right now?”

I stood in the middle of a dark room, a timeline of ancient animals circling me on the walls, lit dimly. “I’m looking at ancient history.”

“Huh? They said you guys were in Mid-City somewhere.”

“Yeah, I ended up at the Tar Pits.”

I heard a car turning on. “Please stay there. I’m coming.”

“Hamlet. I don’t need saving.” I watched a group of little girls press their faces up against the timeline on the wall, gaping at the illustrations of saber-toothed cats being sucked into the tar.

“It’s a billion degrees out. Are you going to walk home?”

Good point. “I can get a car.”

“That would cost fifty bucks or something, give me a break. I’m coming—I’m actually not that far. Don’t leave, okay?”

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be here.”

We hung up, and suddenly I was very tired. I stepped outside into the lush atrium, found a bench next to a small waterfall, and lay down. Kids’ voices mingled with the sound of tumbling water, and I took a deep breath. My eyelids fluttered once, twice.

“Clara?”

I woke up with a start. My neck hurt, and I was totally disoriented.

Hamlet’s face appeared over me. “Hey.”

Right. I sat up slowly, my legs stiff. “Hey.”

He sat down next to me, his shoulder hitting mine. “Good nap?”

“Yeah, I give this Airbnb four stars.”

He smiled. “I don’t think you give stars for Airbnbs.”

“Oh God, whatever.”

His expression more serious, Hamlet looked at me. “What happened? Your dad didn’t really tell me much.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Kind of seems like a big deal. Like, this was very drama.” He held up jazz hands.

“Well, you know how I entered us in the food truck competition?” He nodded. I continued, “Rose told my dad about it because he was bummed that an investor backed out of his restaurant plans. She thought he’d be excited, and instead he was a total dick.”

“How so?”

Anger built up inside me, seeping out in tiny, toxic increments. “He got mad I entered the truck and said he didn’t want to do it!”

Hamlet was quiet for a second. “Did he say why?”

“Just something about it being a hassle. I was so freaking disappointed.” My voice trembled, and my eyes filled with tears.

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, a gesture that instantly soothed me. “I understand.”

The tears fell before I could wipe them. “Do you, though? He got me to care about this stupid truck, this stupid job—and then he let me down. So hard.”

Holding my hand, he said, “Well, I don’t think he meant to let you down. He must have his reasons…”

“He got me invested in this, and now I’ve wasted my entire summer.” I thought of all my time on the KoBra with Rose, my summer spent away from my other friends to be with Hamlet. All these little threads holding this new version of me in place. A line appeared between his eyes, on top of his nose. His voice was quiet. “Wasted seems a little harsh.”

And even though I knew why it stung for him, I felt a flare of frustration where compassion should be and I pulled my hand out from his grasp. This was just so much.

And then, I knew what I wanted to do.

“I’m going to Mexico.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Screw my dad. Screw the competition. My mom wants me there so I’m going.”

Hamlet’s expression was incredulous. “Are you kidding me? How … And what about your punishment? Don’t you have to work the entire summer to avoid suspension?”

“Who cares?” I felt the weight of the past couple of months lifting off me in big chunks, making it easier to breathe, to be myself again. The threads loosening.

“Who cares?” His voice was loud now.

All around me, a thin, invisible barrier formed—a translucent thing covering every inch of my skin. I felt my expression slacken, my eyes turn into two cold stones. “You’re being a drag, Hamlet.”

Hamlet looked at me, his expression hardening as well. “You know what? You’ve asked me why I like you. I’ve given you reasons. I’ve even told you I love you.” I flinched. He kept going. “And while you’ve never told me why you like me, I have my own theories—the main one being that you’ve surrounded yourself with people who enable this side of you, and I don’t.”

“What side of me?” My voice was acid.

“The side of you that can’t handle being real, that thinks it’s special not to care.” He stood up and put his hands into his shorts pockets. “But, Clara, it’s the least special thing about you. It’s the exception.”

There were so many comebacks that flew to my mouth, so many mean things I wanted to throw at him. But his words cut straight through my chest and into my heart. Before I could recover, he walked away from me, leaving me alone with a bunch of ferns and aimless koi fish.