I filled my nights with studying and my weekends with extra credit. After getting that first C in French, I really stepped it up. When Dr. Pullman offered extra credit to any students who were willing to help him set up the new language lab on a Saturday, I volunteered and dragged Leti along with me. We helped arrange the headphones and hardware and then installed software on the computers and tested it all out. Dr. Pullman bought us pizza and actually cracked a few jokes as we all worked together, and I realized he was actually pretty awesome. Tough as nails, but awesome.
The next weekend, he offered more extra credit to anyone willing to translate a short book from English to French. Apparently, I was the only person who took him up on the opportunity. I translated a children’s book I wrote in eighth grade, and he gave me an exorbitant number of extra points, telling me that my story about the little unicorn without a horn was extremely touching in both languages. I nearly squealed with delight when I read the green-ink comments, rushing to shove the paper in Leti’s face so he could see them too.
“You’re such a nerd girl,” he said with a laugh.
When fall break rolled around, I was almost sad to leave Leti’s familiar face. He’d become a regular in our dorm room, and even Macy seemed to light up more when he was around. But I also missed my mom and dad, so I gave Leti a peck on the cheek and he saw Dee and me off from the Walmart parking lot. We drove home separately.
THAT SUNDAY, AFTER spending the week with my parents, I leave my car at their house and ride home with Dee. We stop at a gas station on the long trip back to school. As she fills up her tank, I go inside to use the restroom and stock up on gum. I’m walking back to the car when I notice Dee sitting inside it, talking on my phone. The windows are rolled down, so her voice swims out to me when she coldly finishes a sentence with, “because she obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”
My feet fly across the last few steps of pavement in an instant, and I dive into the car like a bullet, snatching the phone roughly from Dee’s hand. I pull it to my own ear to hear the tail end of Brady’s reply.
“—don’t like me, but this is between me and Rowan.” A long moment of silence passes where I have no idea what to say. Should I just hang up? “Hello?” Brady says.
“It’s me . . .” I shoot a glare at Dee and then step away from her car, swallowing my nerves. “Sorry about that,” I say as I walk back to her trunk, leaning against it because I need the support.
“Rowan . . .” Brady says. He sounds hollow, like he never expected to hear my voice again. An awkward silence passes where we both have no idea what to say. Finally, he simply asks, “How are you?”
“I’ve been better . . .”
He could apologize, which would irritate me. He could say “me too,” which would irritate me. He could plead his case, which would irritate me. Instead, he asks, “How is school?”
“It’s alright, I guess.” When another awkward silence begins, I offer, “I really like my English professor. And my French professor isn’t too bad either.” This is weird . . . This is so normal, it’s weird.
“That’s good . . . You’ve been staying with Dee?”
I spare a glance back to the car, where Dee is turned in her seat, listening to my every word with an agitated look on her face. If anyone should be irritated here, it’s me. I push off the car and walk back to the gas station, circling around the side of the building for some privacy. “Yeah.”
I hear Brady sigh, almost inaudibly, on the other line. “Rowan . . .” His voice sounds pained. “You can always come home. I—”
“I know, Brady.” I take a deep breath. “I know.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” I say it before thinking and immediately regret it. I do miss him, but I never intended for him to know that. I don’t know why I told him . . . Why did I just tell him?! Before he can respond, I say, “Look, Brady, I have to go. Dee is waiting on me in the car.”
He takes a minute, and then he says, “Can we talk again? Tonight?” When I don’t answer, losing myself in the imperfections of the white paint on the side of the gas station wall, he adds, “Please?”
“Not tonight . . .” I sigh and rub my fingers over the center of my forehead. “But . . . soon, okay?”
He replies with “okay”—because we both know there’s really nothing else he can say. The ball is in my court, and he knows it. And while that thought should probably make me feel empowered, it makes me feel weak. I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to forgive him. I want to forget what I saw that night and everything that has happened since.
“I love you, Rowan,” he says.
“I’ll see you later, Brady.”
I end the call and rest my forehead against the cold brick of the building. Tears cloud my vision until I blink them away, letting them fall to the overgrown grass stretching around my bare ankles. I didn’t think talking to him would affect me this much . . .
Wiping my tears away and sucking in a deep breath, I somehow manage to pull myself together. I walk back to Dee’s car and climb inside, not looking her in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her hand resting at the ignition but not turning the key. “I shouldn’t have—”