“Yes,” I said, trying to sound casual. Lucy’s face flashed into my mind, but I tried to push it away, not wanting to think about Lucy. Certainly not wanting to think about Henry, and what he must be feeling right now. Instead, I made myself smile at my father, as I said in a voice so confident that I almost believed it myself, “Yeah. I’m kind of tired of it all up here, anyway. When should we leave?”
Ten minutes later, I’d thrown my clothes into a bag and we were heading down the driveway. I’d looked at the stuffed penguin for a long moment, wanting so badly to take it with me, to try to hold on to the feeling I’d had when I’d woken up the morning after the carnival. But instead, I left it on my bed, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to take seeing at it every day in Connecticut.
We had reached the end of the driveway when my dad stopped the car. “Isn’t that your friend Henry?” he asked.
I looked up, alarmed, and saw Henry biking up the street, his hair askew, looking out of breath, heading toward our house. “No,” I said, looking away from where Henry was approaching, and at my dad. “We should just go.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “We can wait a moment if you want to talk to him.”
“I don’t,” I said as firmly as I could. “Seriously, we should go.”
“Okay,” my dad said in an if-you-say-so kind of a voice. He turned down the street, and we passed right by Henry as we went. I met his eye for just a moment—and saw how confused and unhappy he looked—before looking away, facing forward, and pretending I hadn’t seen anything at all.
The Beginning of a
Beautiful Friendship
chapter twenty-four
“JERKFACE.” I THREW DOWN MY CARDS ONTO THE COUNTER.
“Jerkface.” Lucy followed suit immediately, causing Elliot to look at us over the top of his remaining cards and sigh.
“Seriously?” he asked, as Lucy nodded, fanning her cards for him.
“Read ’em and weep,” she said in triumph.
“I think it’s the name,” Elliot grumbled as he scooped up the cards and started shuffling them. “I can’t get used to it.”
We were technically playing Asshole, but after Elliot had yelled it a little too loudly in triumph, just as a mother was approaching with her toddlers, we had figured that it might be time to institute some precautionary measures. Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the counter, I had pulled up a high stool, and Elliot was standing, so that he could pace while he considered his strategy.
“Another round?” he asked, clearly hoping that we’d forgotten the stakes of the game.
“Not a chance,” Lucy said with a laugh. “Next three customers are yours.” She hopped off the counter and crossed to the side door, holding it open for me.
“But what if there’s a customer who needs something complicated? Or grilled?” Elliot asked. “What then?”
“Then call for us,” I said, going to join Lucy by the door. “We’ll just be outside.”
Elliot shook his head, grumbling, as he continued to shuffle. Lucy stepped outside into the sunshine and I followed, letting the door bang shut behind me. Though he’d never said anything, I got the feeling that Elliot wasn’t thrilled that Lucy and I were friends again. Not that he was happier when it had been drama-and-tension-filled—he actually told us that he was glad, since before that, working with the two of us had been like being stuck in some terrible reality show in which the main characters, who hate each other, are nonetheless forced to interact. But in the days that followed, it became clear that Lucy and I finding our way back to friendship meant that neither of us was spending as much time hanging out with him.