Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(36)

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” He sighs faintly.

And for a moment, I’m silent. Sometimes, I swear there’s a little knob beside my heart. It’s as if someone reached in and dialed it ever so slightly to the right, one notch faster.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Wow. Do you know why?”

“I mean, sort of,” says Simon. “I haven’t talked to Nick yet, but going by what Abby said, she just didn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.”

I pause. “Right.”

“Which—I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous, right?” Simon says hoarsely. “Like, seriously? You’re not even going to give it a shot? It’s like, hey, look, I’ve got this amazing relationship, but it’s a tiny bit inconvenient, so let’s just end it.” He turns onto Mount Vernon Highway, lips pressed tightly together.

I turn toward the window, my heart in my throat. “Maybe it’s not an amazing relationship,” I say.

“What? It’s Abby and Nick.”

“Okay.”

“They’re like a legend. They’re perfect.” He sniffs. “They’re OTP.”

“But they’re not,” I say softly. And maybe this is out of left field, but I find myself thinking about Taylor. About the way Nick and Taylor were maybe, definitely flirting at Martin’s cast party. About Taylor’s new obsession with Nick joining the band. Maybe something’s actually been going on. Except—I don’t know. I don’t think Nick would cheat. And especially not on Abby. God. He’s so moony-eyed for her. I’ll never forget the way he looked the first few weeks they were dating. He had that particular kind of nerdy-boy swagger, that back-and-forth between braggadocio and wonder.

“And of course it’s right before prom.”

“Yikes.”

Simon shakes his head. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, how did they leave things?”

“I mean, Abby’s like, oh, it’s amicable, we’re still friends, et cetera, you know,” Simon says. “But Nick? I don’t know.”

“He . . . uh . . . didn’t look happy,” I say.

“Do you think I should call him?” Simon exhales. “Actually, maybe I’ll just drop you off and head over there.”

“That works.”

“This is going to be fine.” He nods quickly, like he almost believes it. Then he glances at me. “But I need a tiny favor.”

“How tiny?”

“Okay, not that tiny. You have to talk to Abby.”

My stomach twists. “What?”

“You guys are leaving on Monday, right?”

I nod slowly.

“Leah, you have to talk to her. This is just—I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Like, I’m not trying to get in the middle, but this is just unnecessary, right? There’s literally no reason for them to break up right now. Abby’s just assuming it’s not going to work.” He turns onto my street, gripping the steering wheel hard. “Why can’t they just try it out and see how it goes?”

“Simon, we don’t get to decide that for them.”

“I know that.”

“Okay.”

Simon pulls into my driveway, and then puts the car in park. “I’m just saying you could talk to her,” he says, after a moment. “I bet she’d listen to you.”

“Pshh.”

“Seriously, she, like, super respects you. Though she’s sort of intimidated by you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Because you’re intimidating?” I shove him, and he smiles. “For real, though. She just thinks you’re really cool, like with the band and everything. So I think she’d listen to you.”

“That’s not . . .” I trail off, blushing.

“Just talk to her, okay?” Simon leans back in his seat, rolling his head toward me. “Just—maybe you could remind her how awesome Nick is, and how great they are together. And then I’ll work on Nick, and we can keep each other posted?”

“Yeah, I really don’t think we should be meddling in this.”

“This isn’t meddling! We’re just looking out for our friends. You want them to be together, right?”

The question hits me like a punch—I feel my whole body clench around it. I mean, obviously I want them to be together. I want them to be happy. I don’t want any tables flipped at prom. But the thought of bringing the topic up with Abby makes me gag.

“Please. Just talk to her.”

“I’ll try,” I say softly. I look everywhere but his eyes.





16


“AND YOU’RE SURE YOU’VE GOT your phone charger?”

“Yup.”

“And the car charger?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll call me when you get there?”

“Mom. Yes.”

She’s pacing the length of the kitchen, hands scraping against her hairline. I don’t know why she’s being like this. It’s like all of a sudden, she thinks I’m going to the moon.

“Mom, it’s an hour and a half. That’s like driving down the block at rush hour.”