More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(68)

He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing a few times, like he’s trying to find the right words to say. But he says nothing. Just looks at me one last time…

And then he walks away.





My new norm is Tuttle and I not really talking to each other, unless it has to deal with school. Our group project for honors English has been reduced to us working on it on our own. I tend to write the best diary entries late at night, when I’m tired and sad and missing him. I let the emotion flow from my fingertips onto the page, curled up in bed with my laptop. We don’t even send them to each other anymore. Instead, we email them separately to Mrs. Meyer. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask us what’s going on.

I’m thankful she leaves us alone.

I went with Livvy to Planned Parenthood. She did a pregnancy test—negative. Got an exam, got on the pill, and now she and Ryan are, and I quote, “boinking like bunnies.”

At least someone is getting laid.

I had an exam too. Got a prescription for birth control and went and filled it. I’ve been dutifully taking the pills for over two weeks, which means I’m fully covered.

I’m also still a virgin, so…that was pointless.

I’ve been working a lot, both at Yo Town and the hydration station. School is kicking my butt. So is work—Mom always drives me and sometimes Livvy takes me or picks me up. Being at the football games with Tuttle so close, yet so distant, is killing me.

Oh yeah. I’m back to calling him Tuttle again. I don’t want to call him Jordan. Feels too intimate, and we’re not on that level anymore. I don’t think we’ll ever be there again.

Late at night, when I’m alone in my bed and I can’t sleep, I think about what happened. Wonder endlessly where exactly it went wrong—where I went wrong. Did I do something? Say something stupid? Irritate him beyond belief and now he can never forgive me?

I don’t know.

And it’s slowly killing me.

That last night we were together was…life-changing. He’d shared a side of himself I’d never witnessed before, and I wanted to know more. See more. Experience more. But he cut me off. Denied. That’s what it felt like. He took a stamp and punched it on my forehead.

DENIED.

At least Lauren Mancini isn’t flaunting their so-called relationship, because they don’t have one. She’s given up, moved on to someone else, I have no idea who. Em has been hanging around Lauren lately, along with Brianne Brown, who is still with Dustin. Now there’s a weird triangle, though I say nothing. Em and I talk a little bit, but it’s all surface. I think she’s mad at me over the entire Livvy thing, even though I’m not the one who said all that mean stuff.

Yet I feel like I’ve let everyone down.

It’s almost Halloween and the yearbook staff has put together a fundraiser so we can help lower the cost of our yearbooks, which is outrageous. I haven’t been able to participate much in the planning, but I am taking part in the weekend festivities. We’re hosting a haunted house at the fall carnival this Saturday at school and I’m one of the designated haunters, along with Livvy. She bought a ton of makeup at the Spirit Halloween Store and we found our costumes there too, which luckily weren’t too expensive.

She’s come over to my house tonight—Ryan dropped her off—and we’re practicing our makeup and costumes. It’s Thursday and we knew we couldn’t get together tomorrow. I have hydration duty and she has girlfriend in the stands duty, since the boys are playing a home game.

Another torturous night spending time with Tuttle so he can ignore me tomorrow—I can’t freaking wait.

“How should I do my hair?” I stare at myself in the mirror, frowning. We’re in the middle of my room sitting on the floor, and I have my own light up mirror while Livvy brought hers. They’re both double-sided and I’m looking at myself five times closer, which is sort of freaky. I can see every flaw, every tiny zit and scar and a weird hair growing out of my forehead that’s nowhere near my hairline. I need to pluck that thing like yesterday.

“Long and flowing and straight, parted right down the middle. Like Elvira,” Livvy answers me as she lines her eyes repeatedly with black kohl eyeliner. If she keeps that up, I won’t be able to see her eyes at all.

“Who’s Elvira?”

Liv sends me an exasperated look. “Google her.”

I grab my phone and do as she says. Immediately I find Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, who does not part her hair in the middle. She has bangs and a big poufy bouffant thing on the back of her head that looks crazy, along with the biggest boobs ever.

“I look nothing like Elvira.” I thrust my phone out toward Liv, showing her the photo. “Look at her hair! And her giant boobs!”

Livvy starts giggling, and soon both of us are laughing, sprawled out on my floor, makeup surrounding us, our mirrors between our knees. I finally sit up and wipe the tears from beneath my eyes, thankful I still have Livvy when I’ve felt so down and out these past few weeks. She’s been a good friend. Has even ditched Ryan a few times so she could hang with me.

That meant a lot.

“Let me work on you,” she says, staring at my very blank, makeup-less face. “I can make your skin really pale and your eyes super dark, then give you blood red lips.”

“Should I wear fangs?”