The Mistake

“He just showed up in the middle of your study session?” Ramona looks highly amused as she reaches for her coffee. This is the first time I’ve seen her since our awkward meet-up at the beginning of the month, and I’m surprised by how comfortable it feels. There haven’t been any lags in the conversation, no bitterness on my part, and she seems genuinely interested in what’s been going on in my life.

“Yep,” I answer. “Pretending he was dropping off coffee for me, but we both knew that was bullshit.”

Ramona grins. “So John Logan is the jealous type. Honestly? Not a shocker. Hockey players are wired with aggression. They’re these big alpha dudes, going all caveman when someone tries to steal the puck from them.”

“Am I the puck in this scenario?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, screw that. If anything, I’m the one who should be jealous. Do you realize how many girls throw themselves at him? It happens all the time, even when I’m with him. We did have one incredibly satisfying run-in, though.” I pause for effect. “We bumped into Piper at the theater in Hastings.”

Ramona gasps. “Oooh. Shit. What did she say?”

Satisfaction surges through me. “At first she was super sweet, but that’s probably because she didn’t notice I was there. She flirted with him, but it was obvious he wasn’t reciprocating, so she started talking about hockey instead, and then suddenly she realized I was with him, and not just standing near him, and it was like she’d walked into a serial killer’s dungeon. Pure horror.”

Ramona snickers.

“Logan introduced me as his girlfriend, and I swear she looked ready to murder me.” I’m gleefully vindictive as I recount the tale. “Then she huffed off and went to join her friends.”

“Who was she with?”

“Some chicks I didn’t recognize.” I pause. “And Maya. Who, by the way, didn’t even say hello to me.”

That doesn’t seem to surprise Ramona. “Maya thinks you hate her,” she admits. “You know, for her role in the whole Twitter thing.”

“I don’t hate her.” Shrugging, I take a bite of my chocolate-banana muffin. “But I have no desire to hang out with her, either. We have nothing in common.”

I don’t miss the way Ramona winces as if the accusation had been directed at her. But that wasn’t my intention. The two of us had a lot of fun together. One time in high school, we’d stayed up talking for an entire night. I don’t even remember what we talked about, just that it went on forever.

Sorrow twines around my insides. I miss that. Other than Daisy, I haven’t made any female friends this semester, and although Daisy and I are close, we’re nowhere near as close as Ramona and I used to be.

As if reading my mind, her voice softens. “I miss you, Gracie. I really miss you.”

My heart clenches. “I miss you too, but…”

But what? I don’t trust you? I haven’t forgiven you? I’m not sure how I feel about our friendship, and I’m not ready to dissect it yet.

“But I think it’s better if we keep doing the slow thing,” I finish. Then I paste on an encouraging smile. “So what have you been up to? How are your classes?”

She spends a few minutes telling me about her drama courses and some parties she went to, but there’s a shadow in her eyes that concerns me. Her voice lacks the carefree pitch I’m used to hearing, and even her appearance feels a bit…off. Her eye makeup is thicker. Her top is tighter than usual, breasts practically hanging out of it. Awful as it sounds, she looks washed up and trashy. In the past, she could pull off trashy no problem and make it sexy, because she had the confidence to back it up. But right now, her swagger is noticeably absent.

The conversation switches to our families, and we end up staying at the Coffee Hut for another forty minutes, catching each other up on what our parents have been up to and laughing about their antics. When I announce I need to get to class, her smile fades, but she simply nods and stands up. We toss our empty cups in the waste bin, hug goodbye, and go our separate ways.

Watching her walk away, with her shoulders hunched and her hands in the pockets of her jeans, tugs at my heart. Am I a shitty friend for continuing to keep her at a distance? I honestly don’t know anymore.

I debate the issue as I walk along the cobblestone path toward the lecture hall of the film theory course I’m taking as an elective this semester. I’m climbing the steps of the ivy-covered building when my phone rings. It’s Logan.

I stifle a sigh as I press the button to answer, hoping he’s not calling to apologize again for yesterday’s coffee stunt. I still haven’t decided if his showing up during my study session with my psych partner was annoying, cute, or both. He ended up coming back later that night and we had a long talk about trusting each other, and I think we managed to reach an understanding about boundaries.

“Hey, gorgeous. Good, I caught you before you went into class.”

The sound of his husky voice makes me smile. “Hey. What’s up?”