How many times has Zaq earned the exact smile I’ve treasured so privately? Has he ever seen the way her lips creep open and split her face into something so bright and brilliant and pure that I ache now just remembering it?
Lucas was nothing compared to this. None of those boys ever were. Hell, even giving up whatever small crush I had on Sammie as a kid, a silent promise I’d made to myself to protect my closest and oldest friendship, didn’t leave me this hollow and unfeeling. I gave and took away my affections so often, I think my heart has always half belonged to the world and half belonged to me. But I would’ve given her the whole thing, had she asked me to.
And now I know she never will.
“Ophelia?” Dad calls outside the door, almost too quietly to be heard over my thoughts.
I take a deep breath like I’m going to answer him, but instead I hold it and wait. My lungs ache as I watch his shadow under the door disappear down the hall.
I release my breath into my duvet. The rumpled roses are unrecognizable at this angle, this close. I press a finger down to smooth out the design, but the fabric refuses to flatten, bubbling up to counteract wherever I apply pressure.
Turning over onto my back, my eyes scan my bare ceiling. I wait for something to hit me, something to draw tears from my eyes. I want to scream, to cry and yell like I did last night. But maybe I left more than my words on the lawn; maybe I really did give Talia my whole heart. And maybe we both left it out to rot.
Boys left me with a broken heart. But at least they left me with something.
I don’t close the curtains. I don’t cover my ears or plug my nose. I don’t open my mouth to let any of this out. I do what I should’ve done in the first place, back at that party when one look at one girl ruined my simple, predictable heart.
I don’t feel anything. Not this time. Not ever again.
SEVENTEEN
The first thing Sammie says when I get in the car Monday morning is, “Damn, you look like shit.”
I plaster on an expression that feels more bared-teeth than start-of-the-day-smile. “Gee, thanks.”
He’s not wrong. My hair was so knotted when I woke up that I lazily threw it into a bun to avoid dealing with it. My skin broke out, so I lacquered my face with an old bottle of foundation since my newer one ran out. But I’ve gotten slighter tanner as summer approaches, so the thick coat doesn’t match my skin and gives me a ghostly pallor.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t also run out of clean laundry, forced to wear the bright orange babydoll dress decorated with cartoonish daisies that I’d thrifted with Agatha months ago. I forgot to ask her to tailor it, so it swallows me whole, completing my Toddler Who Got In Her Mother’s Makeup aesthetic.
“So,” Sammie starts, pulling down the street and adjusting the air-conditioning. The spring heat has come back with a vengeance, and I wave the hem of my dress up and down on my legs while I wait for the cool air to kick in. “What were you doing all weekend?”
“Homework,” I reply noncommittally, watching cars zoom by us.
“We didn’t have anything due today.”
“It was for chemistry.”
“But you and Wesley finished all your chem work last week when he gave you a ride home.” The air-conditioning finally blasts me, goose bumps erupting down my bare legs.
“It was extra-credit work, Sherlock. What did you do this weekend?”
“Waited for my best friend to reply to my messages,” he says, batting his eyelashes at me. “Especially the ones concerning a certain screaming match I heard Friday night.”
“So no progress with Lindsay, huh?” I bite back.
Sammie sighs, running a free hand over his curls. They look damp, like he just hopped out of the shower. “I think I’m just gonna go for it. No flowers or posters bullshit. Just me and her. Linds has never been one for all that romantic crap anyways, so being straightforward is my best bet.”
I make a noncommittal hum.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” he says, turning into the student parking lot. I don’t reply, too busy watching some couple kiss by the main gate. The boy tucks a strand of the girl’s hair behind her ear before their lips meet again. Students rush by them, groups big and small, but they remain stock-still in their PDA. No one walking by even gives them a second glance.
I force my eyes away in time to see Sammie driving straight toward the empty parking space beside a familiar white truck. Talia is leaning against the back bumper, chewing on one of her ruby red nails while scrolling through her phone in her other hand.
Her hair is also up in a bun, but where mine looks like a rat’s nest, hers looks flawless, signature curls spilling out around her face. I curse the universe for the way the sun, still rising in the early morning, illuminates her. It’s like someone dictates the sun to place itself exactly where it will best flatter her at all times. It’s getting sickeningly annoying.
“Why don’t you park over there?” I suggest, nodding toward an empty space in the neighboring row.
“Because there’s a space right next to Talia’s car?” Sammie replies, eyeing me sideways.
“But that spot has shade from the trees so your car won’t be all hot and gross after school,” I reply frantically as we crawl toward Talia. She’s yet to look up from her phone and we’re still stuck behind another car, but my heart begins to pound as we get closer.
“Bold of you to assume a parking spot can keep my car from getting hot and gross,” Sammie laughs. My hands tingle in my lap, desperate to jerk the wheel out of his grasp.
The universe must be watching me though, trying to make up for that damn sunlight, because the car in front of us steals the space beside Talia.
“Damn it,” Sammie mutters, turning to park elsewhere. But it’s too late. Talia looks up as we pass by, her eyes meeting mine for a solitary second. Her lips part slightly, as do mine, but I look away.
We park, and I hop out immediately, zigzagging between the cars before Sammie can even shut off his engine. Talia doesn’t chase after me as I skip my locker and rush to the bathroom to hide until the bell rings, and I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved.
I pray for an uneventfully quiet homeroom. Instead, Quan Vu bursts in with a dozen sunflowers and a WILL YOU BE MY SUNSHINE AT PROM? poster to ask Andrea Chávez to be his date. Plus, Sammie keeps nagging me about ditching him until I mutter an excuse about needing to change my pad, banking on his infuriating but reliable aversion to menstruation. The second the bell rings, I shoot out of class with the hope of walking to chemistry without Wesley.
But apparently today is the day all my peers with long legs test my patience, because Wesley skyrockets around the corner before I can even make it out of the hall.
“What happened between you and Talia?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, letting the door leading out of the hall shut behind me.