Undecided(61)

Ten minutes later we’re back in our apartment, still shivering as we head into our separate rooms to get ready for bed. I’m finally tucked in and reaching up to turn off the light when my phone buzzes. Even as I reach for it, I know who it is. What I can’t predict is what he’ll say.

I tap the message and stare at the three little words that fill the screen.

I miss you.





chapter fifteen


The next afternoon I return home from the library, shivering from the below freezing weather outside. Kellan’s normally never around at this hour, so it’s a surprise to find him lying on the couch with a damp face cloth covering his eyes, a notebook clutched to his chest. If you picture a male model trying to look both stressed and reflective and doing a terrible job of both, Kellan is exactly that guy. Except he’s utterly sincere.

I unwind my thick wool scarf and hang it and my jacket on the back of one of the dining chairs before dropping my backpack and heading into the living room.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Are you sick?”

He’s completely still for a moment, then slowly shakes his head.

“Are you…pondering something?”

His lips quirk and he shakes his head again. He doesn’t move much, but I notice his fingers tightening their grip on the notebook as though there’s any reason I might be tempted to steal it.

“Do you want to be left alone?”

A longer pause, then another head shake. Eventually he reaches up to remove the cloth. His eyes are slightly red, otherwise he looks fine, as always.

I perch on the edge of the coffee table. “What’s going on?”

He inhales heavily and tries to meet my eye but can’t, so instead focuses on the ceiling. “Have you ever…” He trails off, inhales again, and reattempts. “Have you ever thought about your life and realized you were just really stupid?”

I flash back to the whole of last year. “Yes.”

He looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I’m spending all this time at the library? Studying my ass off? Choosing to spend Friday night at home instead of out with friends?”

“I thought you didn’t have any friends.”

I punch his knee. “Ass.”

He grins and slowly sits up. “I just thought you were a bookworm. Not that that’s a bad thing,” he’s quick to add. “That’s why I asked you to move in. So your good behavior would rub off on me.” He winces briefly, then tries to hide it.

“And did it?” I ask. “Are you failing a class? Is that what this is about?” I nod at the notebook and he clenches it more tightly.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Were you happy?”

“When? Last year?” I shrug. “Yeah. I had a good time.”

But he’s shaking his head. “No, this year. When you were ‘being good.’ Before you met this mystery guy. Were you happy not…doing things?”

I feel like a contestant on one of those game shows where you have to match up the pictures to slowly reveal a riddle underneath. I’m turning over panels but none of the clues are making sense. Not sleeping with Marcela. Not drinking last night. Protecting that notebook. Still, I play along and furrow my brow, recalling the Crosbie-free days between moving in and Halloween night. “I was happy,” I answer, trying to be honest. “But I was also bored.”

He swallows and nods, like he’s trying to convince himself. “There are worse things, right? Than being bored?”

“Of course there are. Kellan, what’s going on?”

He groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Nora, I f*cked up.”

“Is it your grades?”

“No.”

“Marcela?”

“What? No.”

I rack my brain. “Problems with the track team?”

“No.”

“Kellan, I’m really not—”

“Don’t judge me,” he interrupts. “Please.” He looks so legitimately panicked that I start to panic. Kellan’s living the college dream: every girl wants him, every guy wants to be him. If something’s wrong in his world, we’re all screwed.

“I won’t,” I promise, hoping it’s true.

“I have…” He takes a deep breath. “I mean, I don’t have, but I did have… I had…gonorrhea.” He looks like he’s about to pass out.

“You have an STI?” I echo, startled.

“Had,” he’s quick to clarify. “I started feeling weird so I went to the doctor and got some antibiotics and now it’s gone. I had it. Now I don’t.” His eyes are so wide, his words so rushed, he could easily be talking about a government conspiracy while wearing a tin foil hat.

Slowly more puzzle pieces turn over, the unexpected mystery becoming clear. “That’s why you and Marcela aren’t…”

He waves a hand vaguely, as though that’s only part of the issue. “Eh.”

“And why you didn’t drink last night?”

A nod.

“Does Crosbie know?”

He pinches his brow. “No. At first I was embarrassed and then he was so anxious about the open mic night that I didn’t want to add to his problems.”