If I'm Being Honest(90)

“I’m sorry about your dad,” he says, his face rigid. “But you can’t keep doing this. Going back and forth. I can’t keep doing this. I went out on a limb when I fell for you, Cameron. A long, scary limb. I knew something was upsetting you before winter formal, and when I tried to get you to open up, you decided I wasn’t worth it. I told you I loved you, and you told me we were a lie.” His expression becomes vulnerable for an instant before his anger returns. “I gave you everything I could, and you treated me like you always have—like I’m just Barfy Brendan.”

“Brendan, come on.” I raise my voice, conscious we’re garnering even more stares than I did on my own—an extravagantly dressed witch in a shouting match with a teenage boy. “Did making out with you every day count as treating you like Barfy Brendan? I know you have next to zero experience with girls, but it’s time you get it through your head that I think you’re cute—hot even, in a geeky way.”

He blinks, and hope runs through me when I catch him struggling to suppress a smile. “I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Both, obviously.”

Now Brendan lets out a small laugh. “You know, after all the apologies you’ve given, I’m not convinced you’ve gotten any better at them.”

I rub my brow, feeling frustration creep in. “Well, I hope I’m better at declarations of love,” I say, an edge in my voice.

Brendan goes entirely still.

I gather my thoughts, knowing I’m being given the chance to correct what might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Brendan and I work when I’m unflinchingly honest—because I’m honest. What broke us was the one time I wasn’t honest with him. The one time I wasn’t who I really am. It’s a mistake I’ll never make again.

“It’s come to my attention I’m not a perfect person,” I say. “I most likely never will be. But I’ve decided that’s okay. I’m going to make more mistakes in my life, and I’m going to apologize for them. If that’s a problem for you—if you want me to promise to never mess up again, or if you just don’t like the flawed person I am—then I would recommend you walk away right now.”

I wait for him to do exactly that, for him to put his guard back up. When he does neither, I take a step toward him.

“I want to open up to you, too. I want to tell you more about my home and my parents, if you’ll give me the chance. But right now, all I want to tell you is that I love you,” I say with the force of every day I’ve spent in my room wishing I’d just told him when it counted, when I could’ve avoided tearing us apart.

Indecipherable currents of emotion run behind Brendan’s eyes. My breath goes quiet in my chest. For what feels like the longest pause in history, he says nothing. Every passing second is a door closing inch by inch until finally the crack of light disappears.

I nod, schooling my features into understanding and my voice into evenness. I glance toward the library. “Okay. Good luck in there, Brendan.” They’re the hardest words I’ve ever said.

I begin to walk away. I’m a couple feet from him when I hear footsteps behind me.

Brendan grabs my hand, pulling me to face him. “You know,” he says, “showing up here in that costume was really unfair.”

The corners of my lips have begun to tug upward before I’ve even fully processed what he said. “I know,” I say nonchalantly, not yet daring to hope. “I needed all the edge I could get.”

“Unfair”—Brendan finally grins—“and the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

My heart swells. I know it’s ridiculous, the entire thing. I’m dressed in the costume of a freaking video game character, professing my love to a boy I’ve only known—really known—for months. It’s completely crazy. On paper, on the lists and spreadsheets that constitute my life, Brendan doesn’t fit in. But he’s upended every one of my plans, reversed every one of my expectations. Not just of him. Of myself.

I love him in spite of it. I love him because of it.

Brendan puts a hand on my hip, releasing a faint breath. “I never imagined this, not even in my wildest dreams.”

I purse my purple lips. “You’re saying you’ve never had wild dreams of me dressed up in some sexy costume—”

“Of you ever being in my life again,” Brendan cuts me off gently. The joke dies on my tongue. “I couldn’t bring myself to hope you’d ever want me, couldn’t convince myself you ever had,” he continues. “But . . . you’re a hard person to predict, Cameron.”

You make me unpredictable, I nearly tell him.

“Can I speak honestly?” I ask instead, stepping up to him.

He smiles, irrepressibly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I lean in, tilting my chin up toward him. “You’re an idiot if you don’t kiss—”

He instantly presses his lips to mine before I can finish. And it’s a dream come to life.





Four Months Later



THE THEATER IS TINY AND TOO HIP for its own good. The entire front fa?ade is painted blue, with an Instagram hashtag of the theater’s name in white on the bottom corner of the wall. To the right of the door, a mural features twin mermaids wearing the comedy and tragedy masks. It fits perfectly on Venice Beach’s Abbot Kinney Boulevard, a haven for hipsters citywide.