Ophelia After All

“Cool,” I reply, confused and relieved that he didn’t call me out for reading his texts. I get out of the car without saying anything else, anxious to get inside, but also not. Besides meaningless comments during meals, Mom and I still haven’t talked since Saturday.

I’m halfway up my driveway, nearly out of earshot, when Wesley calls my name. I turn around to see his bulky frame awkwardly hunched across the front seats so he can get close to the passenger window.

“We aren’t actually studying today. We don’t even have any classes all together,” he says quickly, like a child admitting a wrongdoing to a parent who likely wouldn’t have otherwise caught them.

I shift my backpack and suppress a smile. “Then why did you tell me you were?”

“I didn’t want to tell the truth about where we’re going,” he says plainly. His words shock me, not just because this means Wesley Cho is actually capable of lying to another human being, but because he trusts me enough to admit it.

“And now you do?” I ask, head cocked.

He shakes his head slowly, looking unsure.

I shrug. “Then don’t.”

“I just—I felt bad lying. Especially after you told me about Lucas,” he admits. The heart in this boy is kind of unbelievable. I love Sammie, I really do. But, damn, I get it now, Linds.

“Don’t,” I say, sighing. “Everyone deserves their secrets.”



* * *



I’m in the middle of picking the dried petals off an Honor rose when a familiar head pops up on my left, startling me into accidentally yanking off a couple of perfectly fleshy, white petals along with the crusty ones.

“I’m busy, Sammie.” I’ve been gardening for two hours since getting home, and I still feel behind on how the backyard should look by now. I really shouldn’t have taken Sunday off, even if I needed to escape the house. At least Mom has left me alone while I work.

“Sorry,” he says, propping his elbows on the brick wall between our yards and leaning his chin into his palm. “You were just so quiet today. I mean, you were quiet yesterday too, and I would’ve asked after school, but…”

“But you and Lindsay were off in pizza heaven,” I reply.

“I meant after school today. When Wesley gave you a ride home.”

“We had to finish chem work.”

“This isn’t about what Zaq was saying at lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Is it about what I said at lunch?”

“Nope,” I reply, eyes still on the rose in my hand. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Sammie brushes dirt off the front of his yellow button-up. “Come on, O. You’re a shit liar and you know it.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, voice wavering slightly. “I’m just overwhelmed. It’s senior year, remember? And I’ve got a lot of gardening to catch up on.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Is this about Lindsay?” he says, looking like he regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. His eyes widen before shooting down to focus on the texture of the wall instead of my face.

“What?” I finally drop my rose and pull my hair into a ponytail, breathing heavier in the stale afternoon air.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his curls out of his face. “I meant, is this about Lindsay … and Wesley?”

“Still not following you.”

“Look, just don’t get mad.”

“Oh, now you tell me.” I rest my hands on my hips, waiting.

He hesitates for a moment. “Do you have a thing for Wesley?”

I cannot believe this. “You’re joking, right? Where is this even coming from?”

“I don’t know!” he says, throwing up his hands in surrender. “But you keep insisting you don’t want a prom date, yet as soon as prom really starts rolling around, suddenly you’re all buddy-buddy with him and making sure he’s included in everything. Then after Lindsay wins the nomination and you and Wesley have chem, you’re quiet all day, especially today when he chose to keep putting up posters after Linds snapped at you. Now he’s giving you rides home instead of me? You guys have homeroom together and we’re next-door neighbors. I took chemistry sophomore year; I know balancing equations isn’t that pressing.” He pauses, like he’s really scared to say his next thought. “You’ve never gone this long without liking someone. But it would make sense if you didn’t want to talk about liking the guy Lindsay is also into.” I can tell it pains him to say this, but then his lips quirk slightly, like something just occurred to him.

“Hold on,” I say, trying to break down everything he just threw at me. “Ignoring all your flimsy evidence about Wesley and me suddenly being besties just because we walk to class and do our literally partner-assigned work together, and the fact you apparently think I’m incapable of going more than five minutes without falling apart over some boy, please tell me you aren’t hoping I like Wesley just so it’ll make it easier for you to date Lindsay.”

A beat of silence. “That’s not the only reason, but you can’t deny that it would simplify things for everyone.”

He shrugs, like he isn’t breaking my heart with every passing second. My best friend, the person I thought knew me better than anyone except possibly my parents, really can’t wrap his head around me being upset about anything but a boy.

“My feelings don’t exist to simplify things for you.”

I don’t let him say anything else. I remove my gardening gloves and grab my shears from the ground, lobbing them roughly into the bin by my feet. I burst through the gate around my garden and throw the bin down beside the back door as I storm into my house. Sammie calls after me, lazily apologetic like always, but I slam the door behind me, cutting off his voice.

I don’t think properly about what I’m walking back into though, because suddenly I’m watching Mom stare at me from the living room sofa, glasses perched on her nose, holding her favorite collector’s edition of The Tempest.

“Everything all right?” she asks, like I haven’t been avoiding her since Saturday. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without talking to my mom, but every time I think about it, all I feel is shame and anxiety. So I’ve tried not to.

But now I have no choice but to talk to her. I silently pray Dad kept his promise and didn’t tell her what Jeremiah said.

“We really should move houses,” I sigh, melting into our usual rapport. I miss my mom, and Sammie pissed me off too much to silently sulk. I’ve kept so much bottled inside lately that it feels impossible to keep quiet about this. “Our neighbors’ son is abysmal.”

She looks pleased at my vocabulary choice despite it being about my best friend, whom she probably still hopes I’ll be marrying in the next five years. “I thought I heard Sammie outside,” she says, closing her book and propping her glasses on her head. “What did he do this time?”

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