If I'm Being Honest(29)

“Cameron!” the soccer captain, Patrick, calls from the lockers.

Pulled from the memory, I walk over, my eyes on Andrew hopefully. He’s reading something on his phone, and unsurprisingly he doesn’t look up when I reach them.

Patrick flashes me a dazzling smile, and I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I wonder how many girls get that smile every day. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow, right?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to express bluntly my disinterest in the prospect. But Andrew’s watching me warily. Expecting me to do exactly that.

“I’ll try to be there,” I say encouragingly, earning looks of astonishment from Patrick and the other guys. I glance at Andrew, hoping he’ll say something, smile, anything. He doesn’t. “See you guys later,” I say, trying to keep disappointment from my voice.

I walk past them toward the library, returning to the pitch I have to give Grant. But as I step through the library doors and catch sight of Grant standing in the stacks, my uncooperative mind returns to Andrew.

That day on the run, I should have kissed him when he was watching my every step. Because now he doesn’t watch me at all.

It makes me want to give up, just a little. I might never win Andrew back. Even if I accomplish every apology on my list, even if Paige begs him to reconsider.

I pause by the reference desk. Grant doesn’t know I’m here. I could walk out of the library, spend lunch with Morgan and Elle . . . eventually find someone new.

But I’d be no better than my mom if I did, I remind myself. If I were to give up on making amends, on Andrew, it’d be no different than every time she gives up on a job, or on us. I have to go through with everything I have planned.

I find Grant in the history section. He’s hunched over a thick textbook, and I remember one of the only real things I learned about Grant while we were dating. He goes ahead of the readings in every history class, he likes history that much. The Civil War in particular.

The library is nearly empty, thankfully. In the back, a couple of freshmen work on the computers under windows throwing bars of sunlight on the floor. There’s a table strewn with binders by the history section, but nobody’s there. I walk across the hardwood floor and join Grant in the stacks.

“Hey, Grant,” I say at library volume. His head springs up, his eyes wary. “Could I ask you something? I know you’re working on homework. I just wanted to catch you when Hannah’s not around.”

His eyes narrow, and I realize how bad that probably sounded to the guy I persuaded into cheating on his girlfriend. “I’m not falling for that one again,” he says dryly, confirming my guess. “No offense, but kissing you was the worst decision of my life.”

“I know,” I assure him. “I want to apologize. I’m sorry I pursued you when you had a girlfriend, and I’m sorry I told Hannah about us and she dumped you.”

Grant gives me a careful look. I know what happens next. He’s trying to decide where to begin in his list of grievances with me. I brace myself for the outburst, the resentment and anger I’ve come to expect every time I apologize to someone.

Instead, Grant shrugs. “It’s okay.”

I wait for the other shoe to drop—the sarcasm, the spite. When neither comes, I watch him, dumbfounded. “It is?” I ask.

“It’s nice of you to apologize and everything,” Grant replies, closing the textbook. Brother Fighting Brother reads the cover, I note with the tiniest twinge of gratification. “But it’s my fault,” he goes on. “I cheated on Hannah. I don’t know why I did. No offense,” he hurriedly adds, looking me up and down.

I feel doubly guilty. I ruined his relationship, possibly his life, and now he’s being nice to me?

It makes what I say next genuinely heartfelt. “I want to help you win her back. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be together right now, cowriting comic books and cosplaying as Zelda and . . .” I reach. “Boy-Zelda. I know you both still care about each other.”

Grant flushes, exactly like in Mordor. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t bother, Grant,” I cut him off, waving a hand. “I know she has feelings for you, too. You didn’t see the way she checked you out when you were in that corset.” I raise a provocative eyebrow.

His cheeks flame redder, probably for a couple reasons. He looks pleased, though. “Wait, how exactly did she check me out?”

“Let’s just say she had a definite answer to your question of how big the lace made your package look.”

His expression brightens. For a fleeting moment he looks like I’ve given him every dream he’s ever had. The next moment, his face crumples. He collapses into one of the chairs near the stacks, his eyes elsewhere. “She’s just . . . amazing, you know?” he asks, not like he’s expecting a reply. “She works really hard at everything she does, and when she’s fangirling over something like Rocky Horror or Doctor Who it’s like her passion is . . . I don’t know. Uncontainable.”

I smile softly. Grant is sweet. Even while we were dating I knew that. His words leave an ache in my chest, though. If only Andrew thought of me with that devotion. I’d even be content with half.

But that’ll only happen if I stay focused.

I sit opposite Grant. “If you want this to work, you’re going to need to give me a couple weeks where you leave Hannah be,” I order him. “Don’t flirt, don’t go out of your way to talk to her, don’t flaunt your junk. Nothing.”