If I'm Being Honest(62)

Brendan doesn’t notice me come up behind him. I tap him on the shoulder. He turns, and finding me he smiles. “Hey, Cameron,” he says.

“Hi. I need to ask you something,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He waits, expectant. I nod to a corner of the room, and his brow furrows. “Give me a second,” he says in Patrick’s direction and follows me toward an empty desk.

I turn to face him when we’re a comfortable distance from everybody else. There’s a question on his lips.

Before he can ask it, I’m pulling his waist to me and kissing him.

I’m dimly aware of the room going quiet, and I don’t care. I have to know if whatever’s between Brendan and me is real or just a crazy figment of my imagination. His surprise settles, and he kisses me back, and heat hurtles from my cheeks down my spine. His hands find my waist, his fingers brushing my hips, pulling me closer.

And I have my answer.

Flooded with feeling, I lean into him, my hands bunching in the hem of his shirt. His lips press against mine, uncharacteristically demanding. From underneath the currents coursing through me, a thought slips to the surface. I want more of him, much more. But we’re in the robotics room.

I wish we weren’t in the robotics room.

The thought forces me to drag my lips from his. Brendan’s out of breath. He opens his mouth, confusion and astonishment in his eyes.

I don’t give him the chance to ask whatever he’s about to. “Cool, bye now,” I stutter smoothly, then walk past him. Ignoring the hushed laughter following me out, I throw open the door and head into campus, not knowing where my feet are taking me.

I walk down hallways and through courtyards until I duck into a bathroom. I need time and quiet to process what just happened. In the stall, I close the door and lean against the wall. I kissed Brendan because I didn’t know what to expect, and yet the kiss was outside everything I’d ever expected. My finger traces my lips, still singing with sensation.

Part of me wants to go right back to Brendan and hear what he was about to say. But part of me doesn’t. Because if I go back in there, Brendan could be thrilled. He could welcome the possibility of us with open arms.

But he could not.

I know he kissed me back. I could feel how he wanted me. But does he want me? Is it just because I’m beautiful, blonde, and popular? Is it too much to imagine he could want to date me, Cameron Bright, for who I am—who I really am, beneath those things?

The questions begin to change, keeping me pinned to the bathroom wall, warping into unbearable images. Scorn in Brendan’s eyes. Him pushing me away. I can practically hear his rejection, how he’ll tell me no matter how beautiful he finds me, he couldn’t possibly care for real about a person like me.

A bitch.

I have no reason to expect giving myself to someone would go any differently this time than it did with Andrew. That’s the honest truth. I never open myself up to people like I did with him, and it couldn’t have hurt worse. The memory hasn’t faded, the bluntness of his voice, the bite of his words.

I close my eyes, an image forming of Brendan calling me a bitch, wondering how I could ever think he’d want me that way, walking out with the disgust in his eyes that Andrew’s held, disgust I’ll never forget.

I couldn’t bear if it happened again. Not with Brendan.

And then there’s Andrew. He’s been my goal while I became friends with Brendan and Paige, while I went to Rocky and did things I never thought I would. I’ve changed for him. If I give up Andrew and trying to reinvent myself, who will I be? Will Brendan even want that girl?

The questions keep me prisoner here until the bell rings for class.





Thirty



I RUN AFTER SCHOOL, MY HEAD A whirlwind. I ditch my phone in my room, wanting to avoid the barrage of texts and calls I anticipate from an irate Elle, and probably Morgan, too. I’ve watched Elle in arguments before, and she’s as persistent in disagreements as in everything else. She won’t let a fight drop when she feels wronged.

I hit the hill near my house, not yet feeling the pain of exertion. The entire run, the kiss with Brendan plays on repeat in my head. My lips haven’t forgotten the feeling, though I almost wish they would. I know I have to face him, and when I do, I’m going to have to decide whether to put myself up for rejection again and whether I’m ready to give up everything I’d planned for with Andrew.

I finish my run in under an hour and head up to my room. Glancing in the mirror, I notice I’ve somehow ended up with a sunburn in November. I pick up my phone, preparing with heaviness in my stomach for strings of angry texts and voicemails.

Instead, there’s nothing.

The weight drops from my stomach, leaving only empty dread. It’s worse than a bombardment. Elle’s written me off completely, not even caring enough to respond. I hesitate, considering texting her and trying to work things out. But it’s obvious she wants nothing to do with me. It’d probably only piss her off worse if I reached out.

I drop into my desk chair, half hoping the colorless carpet or the paint-chipped walls will swallow me up and I won’t have to worry about this. I might have just lost my oldest, closest friends. Next to the question of whether I’m ready to give up Andrew, it’s another huge piece of my life from which I’m untethered, and I’m drifting.