Maybe Someday

Chapter Five

Sydney

We don’t interact much while we eat. We’re both

sitting in the booth with our backs to the wall and

our legs stretched out in front of us on the seats.

We’re quietly watching the restaurant crowd, and

I can’t stop wondering what it’s like for him, not

being able to hear anything going on around us.

I’m probably too blunt for my own good, but I

have to ask him what’s on my mind.

Me: What’s being deaf like? Do you feel

like you’re in on a secret that no one else

knows about? Like you have a leg up on

everyone because the fact that you can’t

hear has magnified all your other senses

and you’ve got superhuman powers and

no one can tell just by looking at you?

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He almost spits out his drink while reading my

text. He laughs, and it occurs to me that his laugh

is the only sound I’ve heard him make. I know

that some people who can’t hear can still talk, but

I haven’t heard him say a single word all night.

Not even to the waitress. He either points to what

he wants on the menu or writes it down.

Ridge: I can honestly say I’ve never

thought about it like that before. I kind of

like it that you think of it that way,

though. To be honest, I don’t think about

it at all. It’s normal to me. I have nothing

to compare it to, because it’s all I’ve ever

known.

Me: I’m sorry. I’m being one of those

people again, aren’t I? I guess me asking

you to compare being deaf to not being

deaf is like you asking me to compare be-

ing a girl to being a boy.

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Ridge: Don’t apologize. I like that you’re

interested enough to ask me about it.

Most people are a little weirded out by it,

so they don’t say anything at all. I’ve no-

ticed it’s kind of hard to make friends, but

that’s also a good thing. The few friends I

do have are genuine, so I look at it as an

easy way of weeding out all the shallow,

ignorant a*sholes.

Me: Good to know I’m not a shallow, ig-

norant a*shole.

Ridge: Wish I could say the same about

your ex.

I sigh. Ridge is right, but damn if it doesn’t

sting to know I couldn’t see through Hunter’s

bullshit.

I put my phone down and eat the last of my

cake. “Thank you,” I say as I put my fork down. I

honestly forgot for a while that today was my

birthday until he offered to take me out for cake.

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He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal, but it is a big deal. I can’t believe after the day I’ve had that

I’m actually in a semidecent mood. Ridge can

take credit for that, because if it weren’t for him,

I don’t know where I’d be tonight or what kind of

emotional state I’d be in.

He takes a drink of his soda, then sits upright

in the booth. He nods his head to the door, and I

agree that I’m ready to go.

The buzz from the alcohol has worn off, and as

we make our way out of the restaurant and back

into the dark, I can feel myself beginning to suc-

cumb to the heartache again. I guess Ridge sees

the look on my face, because he puts his arm

around me and briefly squeezes my shoulders. He

drops his arm and pulls his phone out.

Ridge: For what it’s worth, he doesn’t de-

serve you.

Me: I know. But it still hurts that I ever

thought he deserved me. And honestly,

I’m more hurt about Tori than I am about

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what happened with Hunter. I’m mostly

just pissed at Hunter.

Ridge: Yeah, I don’t even know the guy,

and I’ve been pretty pissed at him. I can’t

imagine how you must feel. I’m surprised

you haven’t retaliated with some evil re-

venge plot yet.

Me: I’m not that clever. I wish I were, be-

cause I’d be all about revenge right now.

Ridge stops walking and turns to face me. He

cocks an eyebrow, and a slightly wicked grin ap-

pears. It makes me laugh, because I can tell by

his smile that he’s mapping out a plan.

“Okay,” I say, nodding my head without even

knowing what he’s about to propose. “As long as

it doesn’t land us in jail.”

Ridge: Do you know if he leaves his car

unlocked?

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? ? ?

“Fish?” I ask, crinkling my nose in disgust.
We’ve made a pit stop at a local grocery store

next to the apartment complex, and he’s buying a

huge, scaly whole fish. I’m assuming this has to

be part of his elaborate revenge scheme, but he

could just be hungry.

Ridge: We need duct tape.

I follow him to the hardware aisle, where he

grabs a roll of heavy-duty duct tape.

Fresh fish and duct tape.

I’m still not sure what he has planned, but I

sort of like where this is headed.

? ? ?

When we’re back at the apartment, I point out
Hunter’s car. I run up to the apartment to grab his

spare car key out of my purse, where I still have

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it, while Ridge wraps the fish with duct tape. I

come back downstairs and hand him the key.

Me: So what exactly are we about to do

with this fish?

Ridge: Watch and learn, Sydney.

We walk to Hunter’s car, and Ridge unlocks

the passenger door. He has me tear off several

pieces of duct tape while he reaches under the

passenger seat. I’m watching closely—in case I

need to seek revenge against anyone in the fu-

ture—and he presses it against the underside of

the seat. I hand him several more pieces of duct

tape, trying to contain my laughter while he se-

cures the raw fish with it. After he’s sure it won’t

come loose, he slides out of the car and closes the

door, looking around innocently. My hand is over

my mouth, stifling my laughter, and he’s as cool

and composed as can be.

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We casually walk away from the car, and once

we’re on the stairs to the apartment, we begin

laughing.

Ridge: His car is going to smell like death

in a matter of twenty-four hours. He’ll

never find it.

Me: You’re kind of evil. If I didn’t know

better, I’d think you’ve done this before.

He laughs as we make our way back inside.

We kick off our shoes at the door, and he tosses

the duct tape onto the counter. I use the bathroom

and make sure to unlock the door to his bedroom

before I walk back out. In the living room, all the

lights are out, except for the lamp by the couch. I

lie down and check my phone one last time be-

fore turning it on silent.

Ridge: Good night. Sorry your birthday

sucked.

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Me: Thanks to you, it was better than it

could have been.

I place the phone under my pillow and cover

up. I close my eyes, and my smile immediately

fades when the silence takes over. I can feel the

tears coming, so I cover my head with the blanket

and brace myself for a long night of heartache.

The respite with Ridge was nice, but I have noth-

ing to distract me now from the fact that I’m hav-

ing the worst day of my life. I can’t understand

how Tori could do something like this to me.

We’ve been best friends for almost three years. I

told her everything. I trusted her with everything.

I told her things I would never dream of telling

Hunter.

Why would she risk our friendship for sex?

I’ve never felt this hurt. I pull the blanket over

my eyes and begin to sob.

Happy birthday to me.

? ? ?

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I have the pillow pulled tightly over my head, but

it doesn’t drown out the sound of gravel crunch-

ing beneath shoes. Why is someone walking on a

driveway so noisily? And why can I even hear it?

Wait. Where am I?

Did yesterday really happen?

I reluctantly open my eyes, and I’m met with

sunlight, so I pull the pillow tighter over my face

and give myself a minute to adjust. The sound

seems to get louder, so I lift the pillow from my

face and peer out with one eye open. The first

thing I see is a kitchen that isn’t mine.

Oh, yeah. That’s right. I’m on Ridge’s couch,

and twenty-two is the worst age ever.

I lift the pillow all the way off my head and

groan as I squeeze my eyes shut again.

“Who are you and why are you sleeping on my

couch?”

My body jumps, and my eyes flick open at the

deep voice that can’t be more than a foot away.

Two eyes peer down at me. I pull my head back

against the couch to put more space between me

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and the curious eyes to get a better look at who

they’re attached to.

It’s a guy. A guy I’ve never seen before. He’s

sitting on the floor directly in front of the couch,

and he’s holding a bowl. He dips a spoon into the

bowl and shoves it into his mouth, then begins

the loud crunching again. I’m guessing that’s not

gravel he’s eating.

“Are you the new roommate?” he says with his

mouth full.

I shake my head. “No,” I mutter. “I’m a friend

of Ridge’s.”

He cocks his head and looks at me suspi-

ciously. “Ridge only has one friend,” the guy

says. “Me.” He shoves another spoonful of cereal

into his mouth and fails to back out of my per-

sonal space.

I push my palms into the couch and sit up so

that he’s not right in my face. “Jealous?” I ask.

The guy continues to stare at me. “What’s his

last name?”

“Whose last name?”

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“Your very good friend, Ridge,” he says

cockily.

I roll my eyes and drop my head against the

back of the couch. I don’t know who the hell this

guy is, but I really don’t care to compete over our

levels of friendship with Ridge. “I don’t know

Ridge’s last name. I don’t know his middle name.

The only thing I know about him is that he’s got

a mean right hook. And I’m only sleeping on

your couch because my boyfriend of two years

decided it would be fun to screw my roommate

and I really didn’t want to stick around to watch.”

He nods, then swallows. “It’s Lawson. And he

doesn’t have a middle name.”

As if the morning could get any worse, Brid-

gette appears from the hallway and walks into the

kitchen.

The guy on the floor takes another spoonful of

cereal and looks at Bridgette, finally breaking his

uncomfortable lock on me. “Good morning, Brid-

gette,” he says with an odd, sarcastic tone to his

voice. “Sleep well?”

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She looks at him briefly and rolls her eyes.

“Screw you, Warren,” she snaps.

He turns his gaze back to mine with a mis-

chievous grin. “That’s Bridgette,” he whispers.

“She pretends to hate me during the day, but at

night, she loves me.”

I laugh, not really trusting that Bridgette is

capable of loving anyone.

“Shit!” she yells, catching herself on the bar

before she trips. “Jesus Christ!” She kicks one of

my suitcases, still on the floor next to the bar.

“Tell your little friend if she’s staying here, she

needs to take her shit to her room!”

Warren makes a face as if he’s scared for me,

then turns his head toward Bridgette. “What am I,

your bitch? Tell her yourself.”

Bridgette points to the suitcase she almost

tripped over. “GET . . . YOUR . . . SHIT . . .

OUT . . . OF . . . THE . . . KITCHEN!” she says,

before marching back to her bedroom.

Warren slowly turns his head back to face me

and laughs. “Why does she think you’re deaf?”

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I shrug. “I have no idea. She came to that con-

clusion last night, and I failed to correct her.”

He laughs again, much louder. “Oh, this is

classic,” he says. “Do you have any pets?”

I shake my head.

“Are you opposed to porn?”

I don’t know how we just began playing

Twenty Questions, but I answer him anyway.

“Not opposed to the principle of porn but op-

posed to being featured in one.”

He nods, contemplating my answer for a beat

too long. “Do you have annoying friends?”

I shake my head. “My best friend is a back-

stabbing whore, and I’m no longer speaking to

her.”

“What are your showering habits?”

I laugh. “Once a day, with a skipped day every

now and then. No more than fifteen minutes.”

“Do you cook?”

“Only when I’m hungry.”

“Do you clean up after yourself?”

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“Probably better than you,” I say, taking in the

fact that he’s used his shirt for a napkin no fewer

than three times during this conversation.

“Do you listen to disco?”

“I’d rather eat barbed wire.”

“All right, then,” he says. “I guess you can

stay.”

I pull my feet up and sit cross-legged. “I didn’t

realize I was being interviewed.”

He glances at my suitcases, then back to me.

“It’s obvious you need a place to stay, and we’ve

got an empty room. If you don’t take it, Bridgette

wants to move her sister in next month, and that’s

the last thing Ridge and I need.”

“I can’t stay here,” I say.

“Why not? From the sound of it, you’re about

to spend the day searching for an apartment any-

way. What’s wrong with this one? You won’t

even have to walk very far to get here.”

I want to say that Ridge is the problem. He’s

been nice, but I think that might be the issue. I’ve

been single for less than twenty-four hours, and I

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don’t like the fact that although I should have

been consumed with nightmares about Hunter

and Tori all night, instead, I had a slightly dis-

turbing dream involving an extremely accom-

modating Ridge.

I don’t tell Warren that Ridge is why I can’t

stay here, though. Partly because that would give

Warren more ammunition for questions and

partly because Ridge just walked into the kitchen

and is looking at us.

Warren winks at me, then stands up and walks

with his bowl to the sink. He looks at Ridge.

“Have you met our new roommate?” Warren

asks.

Ridge signs something to him. Warren shakes

his head and signs back. I sit on the couch and

watch their silent conversation, slightly in awe

that Warren knows sign language. I wonder if

he’s learned it for Ridge’s benefit. Maybe they’re

brothers? Warren laughs, and Ridge glances in

my direction before walking back to his

bedroom.

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“What did he say?” I ask, suddenly worried

that Ridge no longer wants me here.

Warren shrugs and begins walking back to-

ward his bedroom. “Exactly what I thought he’d

say.” He walks into his room, then comes back

out with a cap on and keys in his hand. “He said

you two already worked out a deal.” Warren slips

a pair of shoes on by the front door. “Heading to

work now. That’s your room if you want to put

your stuff in it. You might have to throw all of

Brennan’s shit in the corner, though.” He opens

the door and steps outside, then turns back

around. “Oh. What’s your name?”

“Sydney.”

“Well, Sydney. Welcome to the weirdest place

you’ll ever live.” He shuts the door behind him.

I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this, but

what other choice do I have? I pull my phone out

from under my pillow. I start to text Ridge, be-

cause I don’t recall closing a deal last night re-

garding my living arrangements. Before I finish

the text, he sends me one first.

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Ridge: Are you okay with this?

Me: Are you?

Ridge: I asked you first.

Me: I guess. But only if you are.

Ridge: Well, then, I guess that means

we’re roommates.

Me: If we’re roommates, can you do me a

favor?

Ridge: What’s that?

Me: If I ever start dating again, don’t be

like Tori and sleep with my boyfriend,

okay?

Ridge: I can’t make any promises.

A few seconds later, he walks out of his bed-

room and goes straight to my suitcases. He picks

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them up and carries them through the other bed-

room door. He opens it and nods his head toward

the room, indicating that I should come with him.

I stand up and follow him into the bedroom. He

lays the suitcases on the bed, then pulls his phone

out again.

Ridge: Brennan still has a lot of stuff in

here. I’ll box it up and put it in the corner

until he can get it all. Other than that, you

might want to change the sheets.

He shoots me a wary look regarding the condi-

tion of the sheets, and I laugh. He points to the

bathroom.

Ridge: We share the bathroom. Just lock

the main door to the hallway and both

doors to the bedrooms when you’re in

there. I obviously won’t know when you’re

in the shower, so unless you want me

barging in on you, make sure to lock up.

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He walks to the bathroom and flips a light

switch on the outside of the door, which turns the

lights on and off inside the bathroom, then turns

his attention back to the phone.

Ridge: I added switches on the outside

because it’s an easy way for someone to

get my attention, since I can’t hear a

knock. Just flip the switch if you need to

come into the bathroom so I’ll know. The

whole apartment is set up this way.

There’s a switch outside my bedroom door

that turns my lights on and off if you need

me. But I usually have my phone on me,

so there’s always texting.

He shows me where clean sheets are and then

cleans out what’s left in the dresser while I put

the new sheets on the bed.

“Do I need furniture?”

Ridge shakes his head.

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Ridge: He’s leaving it. You can use what’s

here.

I nod, taking in the bedroom that has unexpec-

tedly just become my new home. I smile at Ridge

to let him know I appreciate his help. “Thank

you.”

He smiles back.

Ridge: I’ll be in my room working for the

next few hours if you need anything. I

have to go to the store this afternoon. You

can go with me and get what you need for

the apartment.

He backs out of the bedroom and gives me a

salute. I sit down on the edge of the bed and sa-

lute him back as he shuts the door. I fall back

onto the bed and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Now that I have a place to live, all I need is a

job. And maybe a car, since Tori and I mostly

shared hers. Then maybe I’ll call my parents and

tell them I moved.

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Or maybe not. I’ll give this place a couple of

weeks in order to see how things turn out.

Ridge: Oh, and btw, I didn’t write that on

your forehead.

What?

I run to the dresser and look in the mirror for

the first time today. Written across my forehead

in black ink, it says: Someone wrote on your

forehead.

Ridge

Me: Morning. How’s the thesis coming

along?

Maggie: Do you want me to sugarcoat it,

or are you honestly giving me an opening

to vent?

Me: Wide open. Vent away.

Maggie: I’m miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I

work on it for hours every day, and I just

want to take a bat to my computer and go

all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I’d put it up for adoption and not

even think twice about it. If this thesis

were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I’d drop it off in

the middle of a busy intersection and

speed away.

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Me: And then you would do a U-turn and

go back and pick it up and play with it all

night.

Maggie: I’m serious, Ridge. I think I’m

losing my mind.

Me: Well, you already know what I think.

Maggie: Yes, I know what you think. Let’s

not get into that right now.

Me: You’re the one who wanted to vent.

You don’t need this kind of stress.

Maggie: Stop.

Me: I can’t, Maggie. You know how I feel,

and I’m not keeping my opinion to myself

when we both know I’m right.

Maggie: This is exactly why I never whine

to you about it, because it always comes

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back to this same thing. I asked you to

stop. Please, Ridge. Stop.

Me: Okay.

Me: I’m sorry.

Me: Now is when you return a text that

says, “It’s okay, Ridge. I love you.”

Me: Hello?

Me: Don’t do this, Maggie.

Maggie: Give a girl a minute to pee!

Dang. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to

talk about it anymore. How are you?

Me:

Phew.

Good.

We

got

a

new

roommate.

Maggie: I thought she wasn’t moving in

until next month.

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Me: No, it’s not Bridgette’s sister. It’s

Sydney. The one I was telling you about a

few days ago? After I decided to break the

news to her about her boyfriend, it left

her with nowhere to go. Warren and I are

letting her stay here until she finds her

own place. You’ll like her.

Maggie: So I guess she believed you

about her boyfriend?

Me: Yeah. She was pretty pissed at first

that I didn’t tell her sooner, but she’s had

a few days to let it sink in, so I think she

gets it. So what time will you be here

Friday?

Maggie: Not sure. I would say it depends

on whether I get enough work done on

my thesis, but I’m not mentioning my

thesis to you ever again. I guess I’ll get

there when I get there.

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Me: Well, then, I guess I’ll see you when I

see you. Love you. Let me know when

you’re on your way.

Maggie: Love you, too. And I know you’re

just concerned. I don’t expect you to

agree with my decisions, but I do want

you to understand them.

Me: I do understand, babe. I do. I love

you.

Maggie: Love you, too.

I drop my head forcefully against the head-

board and rub my palms up and down my face

out of sheer frustration. Of course, I understand

her decision, but I’ll never feel good about it.

She’s so frustratingly determined I seriously

don’t see how I’ll ever get through to her.

I stand up and put my phone into my back

pocket, then walk to my bedroom door. When I

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swing it open, I’m met with a smell that I’m pos-

itive is exactly what heaven will smell like.

Bacon.

Warren looks up at me from the dining-room

table and grins, pointing to his plate full of food.

“She’s a keeper,” he signs. “The eggs suck,

though. I’m only eating them because I don’t

want to complain, or she might never cook for us

again. Everything else is great.” He signs

everything he’s saying without verbalizing it.

Warren usually verbalizes all of his signed com-

munication, out of respect for others around us.

When he doesn’t verbalize, I know he wants our

conversation to remain between the two of us.

Like the silent one we’re having right now

while Sydney’s in the kitchen.

“And she even asked how we liked our cof-

fee,” he signs.

I glance into the kitchen. Sydney smiles, so I

smile back. I’m shocked to see her in a good

mood today. After we got back from our trip to

the store a few days ago, she’s been spending

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most of the time in her room. At one point yester-

day, Warren went in to ask her if she wanted any

dinner, and he said she was on her bed crying, so

he backed out and left her alone. I’ve wanted to

check on her, but there isn’t really anything I can

do to make her feel better. All she can do is give

it time, so I’m glad she’s at least out of bed

today.

“And don’t look right now, Ridge. But did you

see what she’s wearing? Did you see that dress?”

He bites the knuckles on his fist and winces, as if

simply looking at her is causing him actual phys-

ical pain.

I shake my head and take a seat across from

him. “I’ll look later.”

He grins. “I’m so glad her boyfriend cheated

on her. Otherwise, I’d be eating leftover

toothpaste-filled Oreos for breakfast.”

I laugh. “At least you wouldn’t have to brush

your teeth.”

“This was the best decision we’ve ever made,”

he says. “Maybe later we can talk her into

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vacuuming in that dress while we sit on the

couch and watch.”

Warren laughs at his own comment, but I don’t

crack a smile. I don’t think he realizes he signed

and spoke that last sentence. Before I can tell him, a biscuit comes hurtling past my head and

smacks him in the face. He jumps back in shock

and looks at Sydney. She’s walking to the table

with a Don’t mess with me look on her face. She hands me a plate of food, then sets her own plate

down in front of her and takes a seat.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Warren asks. I

nod. He looks at Sydney, and she’s still glaring at

him. “At least I was complimenting you,” he says

with a shrug.

She laughs and nods once, as if he just made a

good point. She picks up her phone and begins to

text. She glances at me briefly, giving her head a

slight shake when my phone vibrates in my pock-

et. She texted me something but apparently

doesn’t want me to make it obvious. I casually

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slide my hand into my pocket and pull my phone

out, then read her text under the table.

Sydney: Don’t eat the eggs.

I look at her and arch an eyebrow, wondering

what the hell is wrong with the eggs. She casu-

ally sends another text while she holds a conver-

sation with Warren.

Sydney: I poured dish soap and baby

powder in them. It’ll teach him not to

write on my forehead again.

Me: WTH? When are you going to tell

him?

Sydney: I’m not.

Warren: What are you and Sydney texting

about?

I look up to see Warren holding his phone,

staring at me. He picks up his fork and takes

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another bite of the eggs, and the sight makes me

laugh. He lunges across the table and grabs my

phone out of my hands, then begins scrolling

through the texts. I try to grab it back from him,

but he pulls his arm out of my reach. He pauses

for a few seconds as he reads, then immediately

spits his mouthful back onto his plate. He tosses

me back my phone and reaches for his glass. He

calmly takes a drink, sets it back down on the

table, then pushes his chair back and stands up.

He points to Sydney. “You just messed up,

little girl,” he says. “This means war.”

Sydney is smirking at him with a challenging

gleam in her eye. Once Warren walks back to his

bedroom and shuts his door, she loses the confid-

ent smirk and turns to me, wide-eyed.

Sydney: Help me! I need ideas. I suck at

pranks!

Me: Yeah, you do. Dish soap and baby

powder? You need serious help. Good

thing you have the master on your side.

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She grins, then begins eating her breakfast.

I don’t even get my first bite down before

Bridgette walks out of her room, sans smile. She

walks straight to the kitchen and proceeds to

make herself a plate of food. Warren returns from

his room and sits back down at the table.

“I walked away for dramatic effect,” he says.

“I wasn’t finished eating yet.”

Bridgette sits, takes a bite of bacon, then looks

over at Sydney. “DID . . . YOU . . . MAKE . . .

THIS?” she says, pointing at the food dramatic-

ally. I cock my head, because she’s talking to

Sydney the same way she talks to me. As if she’s

deaf.

I look over at Sydney, who nods a response to

Bridgette. I look back at Bridgette, and she says,

“THANK . . . YOU!” She takes a bite of the

eggs.

And she spits them right back out onto her

plate.

She coughs and rushes to take a drink, then

pushes away from the table. She looks back at

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Sydney. “I . . . CAN’T . . . EAT . . . THIS . . .

SHIT!” She walks back to the kitchen, drops her

food in the trash, and heads back to her bedroom.

The three of us break out into laughter after

her door closes. When the laughter subsides, I

turn to Warren.

“Why does Bridgette think Sydney is deaf?”

Warren laughs. “We don’t know,” he says.

“But we don’t feel like correcting her just yet.”

I laugh on the outside, but inside I’m a little

confused. I don’t know when Warren began re-

ferring to himself and Sydney as we, but I’m not sure I like it.

? ? ?

My bedroom light flicks on and off, so I close my
laptop and walk to the door. I open it, and

Sydney is standing in the hallway, holding her

laptop. She hands me a piece of paper.

I already finished my homework for the rest of

the week. I even cleaned the entire apartment, ex-cluding Bridgette’s room, of course. Warren

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won’t let me watch TV because it’s not my night,

whatever that means. So I was hoping I could

hang out with you for a little while? I have to

keep my mind busy, or I’ll start thinking about

Hunter again, and then I’ll start feeling sorry for myself, and then I’ll want Pine-Sol, and I really don’t want to have any Pine-Sol, because I don’t

want to become a raging alcoholic like you.

I smile, step aside, and motion her into my

bedroom. She looks around. The only place to sit

is my bed, so I point to it, then take a seat and

pull my laptop onto my lap. She sits on the other

side of the bed and does the same.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. She opens her

laptop and drops her eyes to the screen.

I tried not to take Warren’s advice this morn-

ing about admiring the dress she had on today,

but it was hard not to look, especially when he so

blatantly pointed it out. I’m not sure what kind of

weird thing he and Bridgette have going on, but it

rubs me the wrong way that he and Sydney seem

to have hit it off so well.

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And it really rubs me the wrong way that it

rubs me the wrong way. I don’t look at her like

that, so I don’t understand why I’m sitting here

thinking about it. And if she were standing next

to Maggie, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind

that Maggie is more physically my type. Maggie

is petite, with dark eyes and straight black hair.

Sydney is the complete opposite. She’s taller than

Maggie—pretty average height—but her body is

a lot more defined and curvy than Maggie’s.

Sydney definitely fills out the dress well, which

is why Warren liked it. At least she changed into

shorts before showing up at my bedroom door.

That helps a little. The tops she wears are usually

way too big for her, and they hang off her

shoulders, which makes me think she took a lot

of Hunter’s T-shirts with her when she packed

her bags.

Maggie’s hair is always straight, whereas

Sydney’s is hard to figure out. It seems to change

with the weather, but that’s not necessarily a bad

thing. The first time I saw her sitting on her

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balcony, I thought she had brown hair, but it

turns out her hair was just wet. After playing gui-

tar for about an hour that night, I looked at her as

she was walking back inside her apartment, and

her hair had dried completely and was in piles of

blond waves that fell past her shoulders. Today

it’s curly and pulled up into a messy knot on top

of her head.

Sydney: Stop staring at me.

Shit.

I laugh and attempt to brush away whatever

the hell that internal detour was I just took.

Me: You look sad.

The first night she showed up here, she seemed

happier than she does right now. Maybe it just

took time for reality to sink in.

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Sydney: Is there a way we can chat on

the computer? It’s a lot easier for me than

texting.

Me: Sure. What’s your last name? I’ll

friend you on Facebook.

Sydney: Blake.

I open my laptop and search her name. When I

find her profile, I send her a friend request. She

accepts it almost instantly, then shoots me a

message.

Sydney: Hello, Ridge Lawson.

Me: Hello, Sydney Blake. Better?

She nods.

Sydney: You’re a computer programmer?

Me: Already stalking my profile? And yes.

I work from home. Graduated two years

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ago

with

a

degree

in

computer

engineering.

Sydney: How old are you?

Me: 24.

Sydney: Please tell me 24 is a lot better

than 22.

Me: 22 will be good for you. Maybe not

this week or next week, but it’ll get

better.

She sighs and puts one of her hands up to the

back of her neck and rubs it, then begins typing

again.

Sydney: I miss him. Is that crazy? I miss

Tori, too. I still hate them and want to see

them suffer, but I miss what I had with

him. It’s really starting to hurt. When it

first happened, I thought maybe I was

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better off without him, but now I just feel

lost.

I don’t want to be harsh in my response, but at

the same time, I’m not a girl, so I’m not about to

tell her that what she’s feeling is normal. Because

to me, it’s not normal.

Me: You only miss the idea of him. You

weren’t happy with him even before you

found out he was cheating. You were only

with him because it was comfortable. You

just miss the relationship, but you don’t

miss Hunter.

She looks up at me and cocks her head, nar-

rowing her eyes in my direction for a few

seconds before dropping them back to the

computer.

Sydney: How can you say I wasn’t happy

with him? I was. Until I found out what he

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was doing, I honestly thought he was the

one.

Me: No. You didn’t. You wanted him to be,

but that’s not how you really felt.

Sydney: You’re kind of being a jerk right

now, you know that?

I set my laptop beside me and walk to my

desk. I pick up my notebook and a pen and go

back to the bed and take a seat next to her. I flip

open my notebook to the first set of lyrics she

sent me.

Read these, I write at the top of the page. I set the notebook in her lap.

She looks down at the lyrics, then takes the

pen. I don’t need to read them, she writes. I wrote them.

I scoot closer to her and put the notebook in

my lap, then circle a few lines of her chorus. I

point to them again. Read these as if you weren’t the one who wrote them.

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She reluctantly looks down at the notebook

and reads the chorus.

You don’t know me like you think you do

I pour me one, when I really want two

Oh, you’re living a lie

Living a lie

You think we’re good, but we’re really not

You coulda fixed things, but you missed your

shot

You’re living a lie

Living a lie

When I’m certain she’s had time to read them, I

pick up the pen and write: These words came

from somewhere inside you, Sydney. You can tell

yourself you were better off with him, but read

the lyrics you wrote. Go back to what you were

feeling when you wrote them. I circle several lines, then read her words along with her.

With a right turn, the tires start to burn

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I see your smile, it’s been hiding for a while

For a while

Your foot pushes down against the ground

The world starts to blur, can’t remember

who you were

Who you were

I look at her, and she’s still staring at the paper.

A single tear trickles down her cheek, and she

quickly wipes it away.

She picks up the pen and begins writing.

They’re just words, Ridge.

I reply, They’re your words, Sydney. Words that came from you. You say you feel lost without him, but you felt lost even when you were with him. Read the rest.

She inhales a deep breath, then looks down at

the paper again.

I yell, slow down, we’re almost out of town

The road gets rough, have you had enough

Enough

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You look at me, start heading for a tree

I open up the door, can’t take any more

Any more

Then I say,

You don’t know me like you think you do

I pour me one, when I really want two

Oh, you’re living a lie

Living a lie

You think we’re good, but we’re really not

You coulda fixed things, but you missed your

shot

You’re living a lie

Living a lie

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