“Yeah.”
We’re quiet for a minute. Once more, I smell the faintest trace of bar soap and sweet mechanical oil, and my insides nervously stir.
“So . . . which way?” He gestures in both directions down the sidewalk. “Where are you going?”
I point in the opposite direction from where he’ll go to catch his train. “That way. There’s, uh, some unfinished business I have to attend to.”
Cricket knows, from my hesitation, what I’m talking about. I’m afraid he’ll tell me not to go—or, worse, ask to escort me—but he only pauses. And then he says, “Okay.”
Trust.
“You’ll come home soon?” I ask.
The question makes him smile. “Promise you won’t forget me while I’m gone?”
I smile back. “I promise.”
And as I walk away, I realize that I have no idea how I’ll manage to stop thinking about him.
The dread doesn’t hit until I arrive at his apartment and see the familiar brown stucco walls and pink oleander bush. I glance up at Max’s apartment. The light is on and there’s movement behind the curtain. Doubt creeps in like a poisonous fog. Was it wrong of me to come here? Is it selfish for me to want to apologize if he doesn’t want to hear it?
I climb the dark stairwell that leads to his front door. I’m relieved when he opens it, and not Johnny, but my relief is shortlived. Max’s amber eyes glare at me, and the scent of cigarettes is strong. No spearmint tonight.
“I—I heard you were back.”
Max remains silent.
I force myself to hold his stony gaze. “I just I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying, and I’m sorry for the way things ended. I didn’t treat you fairly.”
Nothing.
“Okay. Well. That was it. Bye, Max.”
I’m on the first step back down when he calls out, “Did you sleep with him?”
I stop.
“While we were together,” he adds.
I turn and look him in the eye. “No. And that’s the truth. We didn’t even kiss.”
“Are you sleeping with him now?”
I blush. “God, Max.”
“Are you?”
“No. And I’m leaving now.” But I don’t move. This is my last chance to know. “Where have you been for the last month? I called. I wanted to talk with you.”
“I was staying with a friend.”
“Where?”
“Santa Monica.” Something about the way he says it. As if he wants me to ask.
“A . . . girl?”
“A woman. And I did sleep with her.” Max slams his door.
chapter thirty
Max has always known what to say—and when to say it—to make it hurt the worst. His words stung, but it only took a moment for me to realize why. It’s not because I care that he’s been with another woman. It’s because I can’t believe that I ever loved him. I viewed Max in such a willfully blind way. How could I have ignored his vindictive side? How could I have committed myself to someone whose knee-jerk reaction was always anger and cruelty?
I apologized. He reacted in his typical fashion. I went to his apartment for absolution, and I got it.
Good riddance.
Winter break comes to an end, and with it, so does my grounding. School resumes. I’m surprised when three of my classmates—three people I don’t know well—approach me the first day and say that they’re happy to see I’m dressing like myself again.
It makes me feel . . . gratified. Appreciated.
Even Lindsey sits taller and prouder, a combination of Charlie and his friends (who have joined us at lunch) and seeing me colorful again. It’s nice to have more people around. The hard part is waiting for the weekend. I miss that chance of seeing Cricket at any moment. The pale blue glass of my window looks dull without him on the other side.
Friday is the longest school day in the history of time. I watch the clock with eyeballs like Ping-Pong balls, driving Lindsey crazy. “It’ll come,” she says. “Patience, Ned.” But as the last bell rings, my phone does, too. A text from NAKED TIGER WOMAN: Not coming home this weekend. Unexpected project. On the first week! This sucks.
My world caves in. But then a second text appears: I miss you.
And then a third: I hope that’s ok to say now.
My heart is cartwheeling as I text back: Miss you, too. Miss you even more this weekend.
!!!!!!!!! = chirping crickets + ringing bells