How to Say I Love You Out Loud (11 page)

He always is.

He straightened up and wrapped his towel more tightly around his hips. I blushed at the sight of him, half naked before me, remembering the longing he’d inspired in me all summer long.
“Didn’t mean to be a dick,” he said, his voice even, constricted. He even extended a hand for me to shake. “So . . . friends?”

I joined my hand with his, still ashamed to look at him. “I’d like that, truly. Friends,” I confirmed.

We found the spray and left the closet. But for us, the party was already over.

Sitting in the darkness, staring through the trees at the Parish bonfire over a year later, I remember all of my reasons for acting the way I did, how important and powerful
they felt at the time.

But even more clearly . . . I remember what it felt like when Alex held me close. I consider the ridiculous, ever-present distance between us now, and more tears spill down my cheeks. I am so
alone, all the time, even when I’m surrounded by people. Sometimes I get really tired of the walls, and I wish I had the strength to just go at them with a sledgehammer.

I try to contain the sound of my tears, because the last thing I want to do is draw anyone else back here.

I shake my head at the shitty irony of it all.

The main reason I pushed Alex away was my reluctance to tell him about my life and my family. Yet tonight, I ended up doing so anyway. If I knew it was going to end up this way, I would have let
him keep kissing me that night. Maybe I would have let him stay there, under my skin.

Fear’s more powerful than desire, I guess. I’m no braver now, anyway, so it’s silly to think about.

I take off his sweatshirt, roll it into a ball, and hide it in the crook of my arm before going back to the party.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I pick up Alex’s sweatshirt a few times over the weekend. I bring it to my nose, each time half hoping his scent will have faded.
But it doesn’t, and the
himness
of it is as powerful and painful as ever, instantaneously triggering a visceral sort of remembering and leaving a hollow ache when I stash the shirt
away again.

And that’s not the only problem with Alex’s sweatshirt ending up in my car.

I carry it with me into school on Monday morning, thinking nothing of it other than that I’m kind of reluctant to part with it, a glutton for punishment. I’ll give it back to him
before homeroom and then I won’t have to torture myself anymore.

But I run into Leighton, Dana, and Jamie before I run into Alex. They’re standing in front of school because Jamie’s on her cell and it’s the only place you can get decent
reception on campus.

“Hey, Jordyn.” Leighton and Dana greet me in passing, barely glancing over as I walk by.

Then Leighton’s head whips around as she does a double take, china-doll blue eyes zeroing in on the sweatshirt in my hands. I make myself look much guiltier than I have reason to be, aside
from all my furtive sniffing over the weekend, and draw the shirt more tightly against my side a moment too late to make a difference.

Suddenly I’m more than worthy of Leighton’s attention. “Why do you have Alex’s sweatshirt?”

She hasn’t done anything, she hasn’t even moved, and yet the chill of fear coats my stomach and I wish I could disappear.

I shake my head, trying to dispel any unspoken accusations. “He just loaned it to me Friday night, at the bonfire. I was cold.”

Leighton slowly makes her way over to me. Dana follows, pulled by an invisible string behind Leighton. “Huh. Was wondering where he disappeared to for so long. He left with his sweatshirt
on, but when he came back, no sweatshirt.” She smiles sweetly, like this is all in good fun, except her smile does nothing to warm her icy eyes. “Any particular reason you’re
taking off my boyfriend’s clothes, Jordyn?”

I try to laugh, but it gets caught in my throat and comes out sounding like pure, choked panic. “Yeah, right.” I shrug. “I was upset about something and he knew I needed
someone to talk to. He was just being a good friend. He’s a good guy like that.”

Leighton plucks the sweatshirt out of my arms and hugs it to her chest. “Yeah, I know. I know my boyfriend. I don’t really need you to tell me he’s a good guy.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know Alex is best buddies with, like, everyone.” She quirks an eyebrow. “But he’s my boyfriend now. Maybe I just need to remind him that some things change when
you’re in a relationship.” She presses her lips together and stares at me. “I come first now. I mean, that’s the way it should be. It was rude of him to leave like
that.”

“Yeah. Not cool,” Dana echoes. “Of either of you.”

“He was just trying to be a good friend.”

Leighton tilts her head and chuckles. “I know that. I’m not worried or anything, trust me. He told me you’re like a sister or something.”

I will my expression to stay blank, desperate for the blow not to register.

“I’m just saying it’s sort of annoying, the way he runs around trying to make everyone happy alllll the time.”

What’s annoying about it?
I think.
That’s one of the best things about Alex.

“You can’t please everyone all the time,” she continues. “I’m his girlfriend and it’s not really fair that I ended up by myself for an hour on Friday night
while he was being a ‘good friend’ to another girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, dropping my head, coerced into an apology that
really
isn’t necessary. She hadn’t even paid attention to Alex at the party.

“No worries. It’s between me and Alex anyway. Doesn’t concern you.” A second later, she unrolls the sweatshirt and pulls it over her head. Then she wrinkles her nose.
“Eww, do you wear Love Spell?”

I nod.

“This shirt reeks of it. I hate Love Spell. It smells like B.O.”

She and Dana turn and walk back toward Jamie without another glance in my direction. Neither one of them laid a hand on me, but I feel as if I’ve been physically pushed a little farther
out of Alex’s life. And that maybe I’ve become more than just a blip on Leighton’s radar.

Erin and I have study hall together after lunch. We sit at one of the long tables in the library, and I lean down to riffle through my book bag to find my math workbook. When I
straighten, there is a giant flower-shaped sugar cookie, frosted with yellow and green icing and wrapped in cellophane, on the table in front of me.

I glance at Erin, who gives me a small smile. “Where’d this come from?” I ask.

“Panera. I picked it up this morning.”

“For me?”

She nods.

“What for?”

Erin clears her throat, fiddling with the strap of her Coach tote. “I heard you were upset on Friday night. I was pretty buzzed, but Tanu told me later. I just . . . wanted to make sure
you were okay.”

Her brow furrows and she frowns down at the table, as if ashamed. “You listened to me go on and on and
on
, all summer, about Bryce and the breakup. You were forever calling to
check in on me, sometimes like you could sense when I was really having a rough time with all of it.” Erin looks up again, and I swear I see a trace of tears glistening in her eyes. “I
feel so bad. I didn’t even notice when you were upset. I suck.”

Oh God.
The last thing I want is for Erin to make a big deal about my mini-breakdown on Friday night. I certainly don’t want her lack of involvement to be one more thing for her
to worry about.

I’d wish the whole ugly incident away if I could. The bitterness over Phillip and the pain over Alex had lingered throughout the weekend. His comfort was fleeting and ultimately drew some
very unwanted attention from the senior girls. I don’t want to dwell on any of it.

So I plaster a huge smile on my face and roll my eyes dismissively. “Hey.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand, really quickly. “Puh-lease do not worry about it.
It’s really not a big deal. You’re a good friend.” I unwrap the cookie, break a big piece off, and pop it in my mouth. “This was so nice of you. Thank you. D’you want
some?”

But Erin doesn’t brighten immediately the way I’d hoped she would.

Still frowning, she grabs a strand of long hair and twists it between her fingers. “I know it’s not really your style to spill every little thing you’re thinking and feeling
like I do. I get that you’re kind of a private person, but . . . I just wanted to say that I’m here, okay?”

She looks at me, expectant. She just sits there and waits, and I realize I’m going to have to give her
something.

I shift to the right, gazing uncomfortably out the wall of windows behind our table. I think back to Friday night, sitting beside Alex, telling him about my brother. His response had been
surprising, encouraging even.

Where was the harm in telling one more person?

Except . . .

I chew on my lower lip and consider some more.

Except . . . there is a lens through which we view every single other person in this world. With every piece of information we gain about them, the lens is adjusted, ever so slightly, blurring .
. . coloring . . .
changing
how we see them.

Erin’s perception of me has never been affected by the knowledge of Phillip’s existence and I don’t want that to change.

And Erin is so incredibly image conscious, analyzing every little thing anyone ever says about her. She’d heard how the kids at the party were talking about Phillip. If she knew he was my
brother . . .

I clam back up, imperceptibly.

I turn my clear, steady gaze back toward Erin. “Just some minor family drama.” I pause before adding, “With my mom.”

Mom drama is part and parcel to being a teenage girl. It’s as good an explanation as any.

But Erin is not easily pacified and shakes her head. “I don’t understand, though. We were all having a really good time on Friday night. You were in a good mood—at dinner, at
the game, even, like, five minutes before you took off and disappeared. What changed so quickly? Did you get a phone call or something? Did something happen?”

I grit my teeth, guarding myself against her barrage of insistent questions. “Nothing like that. Just a delayed reaction to something. I’m sure drinking didn’t help. Made me
overemotional.”

Erin still looks confused, determined, and maybe even a little irritated. “But you still haven’t said what happened,” she persists.

I try to inhale a deep breath through my clenched teeth. Mentally, I count to ten, so my voice is calm when I respond. “Erin.” I smile pleasantly at her and shrug apologetically.
“What you said before? Is probably true. When it comes to family drama, I’m sort of a private person and I . . . I just don’t want to get into it.”

She stares at me for a long minute, trying to absorb such a foreign concept. Erin would willingly detail her long litany of daily crises with a stranger on the street, so she has no way of
making sense of my tendency to keep my woes bottled up. But eventually, she concedes the battle. “Okay, well . . .” She shrugs. “I offered, right?”

“Right. And I appreciate it.”

Convinced it’s the end of our uncomfortable discussion, I flip open my workbook to the review problems for lesson five and finally get to work. I’ve only finished one equation when
Erin interrupts me.

“Oh, hey, don’t forget, I have to give my book-review presentation in English tomorrow. Is it still okay if I borrow that purple skirt of yours? The one from J.Crew? I want to look
nice.”

“You always look nice, Erin. But, yeah, that’s totally fine. You can borrow it.”

“Cool. Can I follow you home after practice? Pick it up?”

I shake my head instinctively. “Ugh, no, that’s probably not the greatest timing.” I utter the same excuse I’ve given about a hundred times. “My mom’s working
third shift at the hospital tonight, and if someone new comes over, our dog goes nutso, and it’ll wake her up, and I try really hard not to do that.”

I feel a sick shame twisting in my stomach as I lie to my friend, and try to tell myself there’s some semblance of truth in what I just told her. Once upon a time my mom
did
work
third shift at the hospital, but she hasn’t worked as a nurse in years. She couldn’t handle the rotating schedule and still make herself available every time she got a phone call from
Phillip’s school that he needed to be picked up and taken home, when he was really out of control. But once, my story could have been true.