Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(39)

“God, you’re doing it again,” Stella says, tipping her head back with a groan. “Even now. You came out here to see why I’m upset, and now you’re talking about yourself again.”

Clare frowns at her. “What?”

“Have you ever considered the possibility that not everything is about you?” Stella asks, taking a step closer. “That maybe the big dramatic farewell between Clare Rafferty and Aidan Gallagher isn’t the only thing going on tonight?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry this is hard for you,” Stella says with a shrug. “I am. But I’m also just so tired of talking about whether you and Aidan will break up or stay together, and who wants what, and why. It’s exhausting.”

“Well,” Clare says, glaring at her now, “we broke up already, so I guess you’re off the hook.”

Stella’s face softens, just slightly. “I know. And I’m sorry. But it’s what you wanted, and you guys seem to be handling it just fine, so I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Yet you’re so busy worrying about how I’m not paying enough attention to you,” she says, “that you haven’t even asked about me.”

Clare throws her hands up. “Well, I don’t get it. You’re upset because Scotty’s in jail, which makes no sense at all. I mean, you saw him. He looks like a drunken Dalmatian. What do you expect?”

To her surprise, Stella laughs at this.

“What?” Clare demands, kicking at the asphalt with the toe of her shoe.

“Nothing. It’s just that I was thinking you look sort of like a raccoon, with your eye like that. Aidan, too.”

Clare allows a small smile. “I guess we’re all kind of a mess tonight.”

They’re both silent for a moment, studying their feet. A car pulls into the parking lot, the headlights scraping past them, illuminating their faces just briefly before leaving them once again in the dark.

“I still don’t get it,” Clare says after a moment.

Stella looks at her evenly. “So ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Ask me why I’m upset. Ask me why I’ve been so busy. Ask me why things have felt different lately.”

“I’ve been asking you that all night.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been asking me why I’m too busy for you. Why I haven’t been there for you. You haven’t once asked where I’ve been.”

“Fine,” she says, a little impatiently. “So where have you been?”

Stella hesitates, then sighs. “Forget it.”

“No, I want to know,” Clare insists, but Stella is distracted by the clatter of a metal door, which echoes out across the parking lot. They both look over to see the boys come walking out the front of the station. Scotty is wearing Aidan’s button-down, which is hanging open so that the paleness of his chest stands out against the inky spots, and Aidan is trailing behind him in only a white undershirt that’s a little too small. They make a ridiculous pair as they stride over with matching grins.

When they reach Clare and Stella, Scotty produces a black marker, which he must have stolen as well, holding it out in front of him like a trophy. “Look,” he says, laughing. “I’m a human game board. Who wants to play connect-the-dots?”

Aidan snatches the marker from him, hiding it behind his back. “Let’s not make it worse,” he says, and Stella rolls her eyes. She looks around at each of them in turn—Scotty with his polka dots, Aidan with a bright line of white tape across his cheek, Clare with her swollen eye—and shakes her head.

“I’m pretty sure,” she says, turning to walk toward the car, “it can’t get much worse than this.”

The Wrights’ House

1:24 AM

At Scotty’s house, all the windows on the second floor are dark, which means his parents have already gone to sleep. This isn’t usually a problem. Over the years, they’ve mastered the art of the after-hours entrance: the tiptoeing and shushing and whispering on their way through the kitchen, where they usually grab a few snacks, and then out to the deck to drag the scattered lawn chairs into a circle and let the clock wind down on their curfews.

But tonight, Scotty is still keyed up from his brush with the law, and as they burst into the quiet kitchen, he trips over one of the barstools, stumbling a few steps before crashing into the hutch. The whole thing rattles and chimes, the delicate plates and glasses quivering on their shelves, and they all hold their breath until it settles again.

“Oops,” Scotty whispers, once they’re certain that his parents haven’t woken up.

“Maybe I should make some coffee,” Aidan suggests, and Stella gives him a thumbs-up as she and Clare start steering Scotty out of the kitchen.

In the bathroom, they sit him on the closed seat of the toilet and then assess the damage with matching frowns. He looks back and forth at them, pushing his broken glasses up on his nose every few seconds, only to have them immediately slide down again.

“I’m not sure soap is gonna do it,” Stella says eventually, and Clare nods from where she’s leaning backward against the sink, doing her best to avoid the giant mirror above it. She isn’t quite ready to see the damage to her own face just yet.