“Sammie, I watched you pee yourself at the shark exhibit during our third-grade class trip to the aquarium. I’ve never seen you as a perfect being.”
His ears turn bright red from where they peek out in his mass of hair. “I would’ve thought you were too distracted by the cute tour guide to notice.”
“He was a teenage boy who knew about aquatic plant life,” I reply. “That is one instant love I will never apologize for.”
“Don’t apologize for any of them,” he says suddenly. “I tease because I love you. But you wouldn’t be Ophelia if you weren’t in love with every boy you meet. Don’t let any of our jokes change that about you.”
My first instinct is to scream at him for saying “every boy.” For still not getting it. But I notice the way his hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel. I realize, with a jolt, that Sammie is being sincere here. He’s talking about my crushes seriously, without a hint of sarcastic judgment. Despite my annoyances, I don’t fight the warmth his words bring when I let that reality sink in.
I’m just so used to apologizing for my heart.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
Sammie nods, expression firm. We don’t say anything else until we get to school, but we don’t have to. We’ve said plenty already.
* * *
Lunch comes faster than I’m prepared for. All day, my friends shoot me a combination of encouraging and worrisome glances. I keep quiet, trying not to think too much about what Lucas is planning on saying to me while also welcoming the anxiety as a distraction from the memory of my parents’ shouting. Agatha and Lindsay can’t stop staring at each other at our lockers, putting their books away at a comically slow speed. I’d call them out on it if I wasn’t so nervous.
Agatha lets out a deep sigh, looking behind me. Which means Lucas is finally coming.
“Good luck,” Lindsay singsongs, walking away before Agatha does. Ags doesn’t say anything, but her raised eyebrows say enough. I think of Sammie yesterday, Be careful, and nod before she leaves to join Linds and our other friends. Our other friends, including Talia.
The girl I sort of asked to prom last night.
Before I can think too much about that, Lucas is in front of me, offering me a wilted dandelion, still yellow and spiky. No one will ever get to wish on it now.
“I picked this for you earlier,” he says as I take it from him. There’s a dead ant resting between the layers of golden fluff. “I remembered you love flowers.”
“Thanks,” I say, half-heartedly twirling it between my fingers. At least he tried.
“Shall we?” he says. I follow him outside, through the cluster of people still chatting at their lockers, until we reach the bench by the rusty water fountain that Sammie’s convinced is haunted.
“So how have you been?” I ask, perching on the bench beside him.
“Hanging in there, you know.”
“Do you know where you’re going in the fall yet?” I ask.
“I ended up getting an athletic scholarship to UCLA.”
“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” I nearly place my hand over his, but stop myself.
“It’s whatever,” he says, and shrugs, letting his golden hair cover the satisfied smile on his soft, pink lips.
It’s odd to know what someone else’s lips feel like, but I still have the memory of his mouth on mine all those months ago. I try to refocus my thoughts, but then I’m thinking of a different pair of lips. Brown, full, smiling in the sunlight.
“So what do you think?” Lucas says.
Talia vanishes from my thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”
His brows turn inward and lips hook down. “I said I think we should go to prom together.”
I hear him and know it would be foolish to ask him to repeat himself again, but my brain isn’t sure he spoke correctly. How is it possible to imagine something so many times but be unable to recognize it as it happens right in front of you?
“I—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“I know it’s kind of last minute, but I know you don’t have a date. I don’t have one either. If we hadn’t ended things last spring, we’d be going together anyways.” He cocks his head, and I fight the urge to remind him that the end of our relationship was not a mutual decision. “I figured, why not, you know?”
His grin is so relaxed, so easygoing. I know Mom would beam with pride at the visual of him standing behind me, gripping my waist in our backyard while Dad snaps photos. I know what Lindsay would say to me if she were here right now.
And I know what I would’ve said a year ago, a few months ago, even just a few weeks ago, to this chance at a perfect high school moment with a perfectly cute boy.
But somehow, when “No” leaves my freshly glossed lips, I’m not surprised.
Lucas clearly is though, his eyes shooting wide open and mouth fumbling for words. For once, I’m not the one flustered in our conversation. Even when we dated, I was always struck silent by my sheer inability to understand that I was really there, really dating a boy as pretty and funny as him. How many times did I let a joke or comment go unsaid because I feared he wouldn’t like it? Wouldn’t get it? If I asked, would he even know what type of flowers I garden, or did he forget I was responsible for the backdrop of most of our make-out sessions? How many times have I felt like myself around Lucas? Have I ever?
And because I can’t help myself, not really, the next question pops into my head just as smoothly, like it’s been there all along:
How many times have I felt like myself with Talia?
“What? Did you want some fancy promposal shit? Because the team has been super busy finishing out the season, so—”
“No, it’s not—I mean, I did want that, but that’s not…” I’m fumbling again. “I just … I don’t think we should go together.”
“I don’t understand. You don’t have a date.”
“I do, actually,” I say, eliciting another shocked expression from the boy whose curls and eyes and smile still make my insides feel like melted butter. But my brain is in charge right now, not my heart or gut or ovaries.
“Who?” he asks incredulously. “Cho? Nasar?” I realize for the first time how annoying it is that he only ever refers to boys by their last names.
“I’m going with Talia Sanchez,” I say without thinking. He laughs.
“You’re turning me down to go to prom with your friend? You can still hang out with her; all I’m asking for is a few pictures and a dance or two.” He looks around, like he can’t quite believe this is happening, confirming that this was never about getting back together. It was just about prom.
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” I say, unsure of how sorry I truly am. I know when Sammie said not to be apologetic about my heart, he didn’t mean it this way. But his words drive me to stand up and hand back Lucas’s dandelion.
“Whatever. Hope you have fun,” he says, but I’m already walking away. Head held high, I strut to the girls’ restroom instead of the lunch table.
I take one look at myself in the mirror, reminded of this morning, before rushing into the closest bathroom stall and spending the rest of lunch with my head between my knees, thoughts and heartbeat racing.
* * *