Nothing in my life is going even remotely right.
Shakily, I reach for my phone. I sigh, and press number two on speed dial.
“It’s me,” I say when Christian picks up. “I need you.”
He’s sitting on the floor, his back against my dorm door, when I arrive. We don’t speak until we get inside, but the second the door closes behind us, he puts his arms around me, about a millisecond before I seriously start to cry.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair.
Wan Chen makes a throat-clearing noise from where she’s sitting at her desk.
“I think I’ll go get some dinner,” she says, slipping past us without meeting my eyes.
I find a tissue, blow my nose hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. Maybe I’m overreacting just a tad.”
“Tell me,” he says.
“It’s Jeffrey.” I start welling up again. But between the sniffles I manage to tell him everything.
“I don’t know what to do!” I exclaim. “He won’t listen to me, and I have a bad feeling about his girlfriend. Maybe I’m being unfair, judgmental, like he said, but you should have seen the way she had him wrapped around her little finger. ‘You know what I like….’ Gag me. And she was all super smug like, ‘You’re in college? Yuck, I hate school.’ Where does she get off? And hello, she’s like twenty and he’s six-freaking-teen. And she’s filling his head with nonsense, I can just tell.” I finally run out of breath. “I sound like a crazy person, don’t I?”
He doesn’t smile. “You sound scared.”
I slump into my desk chair. “What should I do?”
He goes to the window and looks out, thoughtful. “There’s not much you can do. Unless …”
I wait, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Unless what?”
“You could call the police.”
“On her?”
“On him. About the fire. You could tip them off to where he works.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“He’ll get arrested, but it would get him away from her. He’d be safe,” he says.
“Safe.”
“Safer. He’d have to go back to Jackson. To juvie, maybe, for a while. But it might straighten him out.”
“I don’t think I could do that to him,” I say after a minute. I can’t betray him that way. He’d hate me forever. “I can’t.”
“I know,” Christian says. “I was just putting it out there.”
Jeffrey doesn’t call me after that, but then what did I expect? I think about going back to the pizza place to apologize, but something tells me (namely, Christian tells me) that I would probably end up making things worse. Let him cool down, Christian says. Let you cool down.
Christian and I are miraculously back to normal, back to deep conversations over coffee, racing each other on our morning jogs, laughing as we thrust and parry at each other in fencing class, everything like it was before our date. Well, almost. There’s always this moment at the end of our times hanging out together, as we’re saying good-bye, when I know he wants to ask me out again. To try again. To woo me. Because he thinks that’s part of his purpose.
But he’s decided to let me make the first move, this time. The ball’s in my court. And I don’t know if I’m ready.
Which brings us to late March, and the end of winter quarter, a few days before we’re out for spring break. I’m about to sit down for my lit class final exam, when I get the following text:
Water broke. Do NOT come to the hospital. I’ll call you later.