“Do you know how long Gavin was watching you before he came up to say hi today?”
I don’t think I want to know the answer to this. You’ve admitted that sometimes you “keep an eye out for me” when I go places with my friends, but you don’t tell me you’re there. Once, you slept outside my house in your car late at night, just to make sure I’d be okay. You didn’t want to wake me up because I had a big test the next day, but you’d had this horrible dream about me dying in a fire and so you’d gotten into your car, just in case. We got doughnuts and coffee for breakfast before you dropped me off at school. I thought it was sweet, but when I told Nat and Lys, they just rolled their eyes and said crazy in several languages.
“Dude. He was there at least an hour,” Matt says, “standing over by Carl’s Junior.”
I shiver. I don’t want to believe him, but that sounds like you these days: you have a flair for the dramatic.
“What am I supposed to do?”
I look over my shoulder, just to make sure you haven’t come back. If you ever heard this conversation …
“Break up with his ass.”
“No. I love him.”
You’re the only person who loves me. If we broke up, who would be left? Things are hard with us right now, but my life would be ten times worse without you. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through what’s happening at home is knowing I’ll be going on a date with you later in the week or just knowing you’re out there, missing me as much as I’m missing you. I may not matter much to my mom and The Giant, but I’m everything to you. And it’s addictive, being someone’s everything. Letting them be yours. You’re the only drug I take.
Still, it would be nice not to have to walk on eggshells with you all the time—I have enough of that at home to deal with. I never know when I’m going to set you off. And that slut comment really hurt.
“Look,” Matt says, “I know I’m your ex and all, so this might sound weird coming from me, but … him checking up on you like this, the way he won’t let you hang out with other guys—that is some hard-core possessive shit right there.”
I’ve told him about the time I got a ride to rehearsal from Andrew, one of the guys who’d been in The Crucible. You came to the house as a surprise, but we’d already left. You were so angry that you wouldn’t speak to me for days. It wasn’t until I climbed through your bedroom window with nothing on under my dress that you forgave me.
When I finish closing up with Matt, I go outside to wait by the front entrance of the mall for my mom. Only the minivan’s not there; you are. You’re leaning against a streetlight, looking miserable. When you see me, you straighten up and take a tentative step toward me.
“Hey. I asked your mom if I could pick you up. I felt bad about … about everything.”
“I thought you were hanging out with the guys.”
“Yeah, I was, but you were upset and I … I dunno, I guess I just didn’t want to leave things like that.” You move closer. “You’re not a slut. And I can’t believe I fucking said that. I will regret that until the day I die.”
I bite my lip. “That was a really shitty thing to say to me.”
“I know. I’m, like, the world’s biggest asshole.” You grab my hips and tug me closer to you. “Forgive me? Please?”
I can’t look at you. I focus on the cars that are scattered around the parking lot, the red light at the corner. The streetlight beside us that’s spilling a pool of fluorescent light onto the sidewalk. All I can think is, I gave up New York for you.
“I don’t know, Gav.”
How can you be the boyfriend who gave me four hundred dollars when The Giant demanded rent and be the boyfriend who calls me a slut?
“I will seriously do anything to make this right,” you say.
“I mean, that’s the kind of thing The Giant would say to my mom. It’s super fucked-up.”
“I know,” you say, soft. “I can be crazy jealous. And I’m sorry. I’m just so scared I’m gonna lose you.”
“Well, calling me a slut isn’t a good way to keep me.”
“I know.” You hang your head. “This isn’t an excuse, but lately I’ve been feeling so fucking low. You’re, like, the only good thing in my life.” You look up at me, eyes glistening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Break up with his ass, Matt said. I flirt with the idea, just for a second. You slide your hand to the back of my head, pulling me closer.
“Grace.” You whisper my name like a prayer, a cure.
And though everything in me is telling me to walk away, I let you press your lips against mine. The parking lot is dark and you pull me into the backseat of your car.
Gentle kisses become more and, for the first time, I realize I’m not in the mood.
Your lips, your hands, your skin—I don’t want any of it. Suddenly I feel claustrophobic, that word—slut—pushing up against me as your hand slides up my skirt and pulls at my underwear. Who is this girl, lying in the backseat of a car that smells like McDonald’s and sweat? Who is this boy who smells like cigarettes and won’t look her in the eye? This is my great epic romance? This is what I spent my whole life dreaming of?
I sit up, fast. “Gavin, I can’t. I can’t.”
You stare at me, confused. “You can’t what?”
I gesture helplessly at the backseat, at us. “This.” The words burst out of me, words I didn’t know were there until I said them. “I don’t know who I am anymore!” I literally wring my hands—people actually do that. Not just in movies.
This, I realize, is the problem. It’s not your jealousy or our different worlds or my parents’ rules—it’s that I’ve become a dandelion. You blow on me and I scatter in a million directions.
“You’re my girlfriend,” you say, your voice sharp.
You’re right. That’s all I am anymore. I’m Gavin Davis’s Girlfriend. All that seems to matter is keeping you happy. Seeing you. Finding a way to be together.
“I want to be more than that,” I whisper.
You push off me and I scramble back and pull my knees up to my chest, leaning against the door. Your hat is on the floor, your hair curling around your ears, and even now I want to run my hands through it.
You zip up your pants, then open the door and slide out. You lean in to look at me.
“I’m taking you home.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” You slam the door.
And I feel—relief. I won’t have your hands on my skin, pushing into those dark corners of myself I can’t acknowledge in the daylight.
We’re silent the whole way. Ten agonizing minutes.
You pull off on a side street, a block from my house. “We need to talk.”
I’ve already opened my door, shivering as cold autumn wind flows past me. It smells like dirt and campfires.
“Gav, I’m tired. I just want to go home.”
“Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch?” you say.
I get back in the car and slam the door. “Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?”
“I’m just watching out for you. Grace, you have no idea what guys think about. What fucking Kyle thinks about. He’s trying to take you away from me—”