Hands still on her face, Abby’s blue eyes peeked out through spread fingers. “Right. I forgot. You didn’t have a choice, though. I did. That’s way worse.” I wasn’t going to argue with her that I had, in fact, chosen this particular activity. “So. Since we have all this time and you have my undivided attention, do you want to talk about it?”
Obviously I knew what it was, but I wondered exactly how much Abby knew, what she thought it was. I subconsciously stuck a hand in my pocket to stroke my keychain and came up empty. I gulped. The anger and frustration from the day at Mason’s was still fresh in my mind, Ashlyn’s silence heavy in my chest, and I didn’t want to waste this time out of my prison cell talking about what got me there. “Maybe later. I’d rather talk about Hunter.” I grinned wickedly at her, and she covered her face again and moaned.
“I’m pathetic! But, Tatum, he’s so great. The bad part is, I don’t think he thinks of me as more than a friend. We met working on the paper together.”
“I thought he was in a band.”
“He is. He writes music reviews for us. So, me with my movie reviews and him with his concerts and albums, we end up working late nights together on our layouts, and, honest to goodness, I would sit there and move copy around with him until the sun rises.”
I chuckled and snapped a particularly long branch, shoving it into my black garbage bag. “You’ve got it bad, girl.”
Abby gathered up the small pile of branches she’d been collecting at her feet. “I know. It’s a sickness.”
“So how do you know he doesn’t feel the same? Have you ever asked him?”
She shook her head. “I think I prefer to just fantasize about him fantasizing about me, perhaps on a stage or in a botanical garden, instead of thinking about possible rejection.” She shook her head again and looked down at her feet. “I’m tragic.”
I put a hand on her shoulder, her bare skin warm under the pink canvas of my gloves. “No, you definitely are not. Do you want to hear tragic?”
“Yes, please.”
I took a deep breath. “I went to my stepsister’s school the other night, for this showcase thing, and I bumped into a guy. Literally, actually, which hurt because his pecs were like granite. And he was amazing, though probably not as amazing as Hunter.” I looked at her pointedly, and she laughed. “But amazing nonetheless. Smart, thoughtful, funny. We talked for a long time about art and color and emotions, and—are you ready for this—I didn’t even tell him my name.”
Abby’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? Did he tell you his?”
“No! I think he wanted to, but I freaked and left before he could. The only thing I know about him is that he’s a student at McIntosh. And he’s hot.”
It was Abby’s turn to grasp my shoulder in solidarity. “We should start a club.”
“The loser club?”
“How about the Missed Opportunities Club?”
My heart stopped for a second when she spoke the words. Abby didn’t know how ridiculously perfect that name was, so I just nodded in agreement. That is my life, I thought. A series of missed opportunities.
I sucked in a breath and tried to play it off without Abby noticing my discomfort. “Exactly. Except, you have a golden opportunity right now, this very minute, which you set up yourself, so it’ll only be missed if you don’t get your scaredy-cat self together and do something.”
Abby jammed the pile of branches at her feet into the garbage bag and stood up, squaring her shoulders and puffing her chest up confidently. “You’re right. I will definitely do something. What, I’m not sure, but it’ll be something.” She looked across the field to where Hunter and his partner, sneezing away, were carting two completely full garbage bags back toward Alicia’s wheelbarrow. “Tomorrow.”
“What? Why not after our shift is over?”
Abby’s shoulders tipped forward, a little defeated. “I’m not ready today. Just, uh, yeah, tomorrow,” she said, looking at Hunter longingly.
“Yep, tragic.”
Abby suddenly brightened. “All right, Tatum, I’ll make you a deal. By the end of the summer, you and I will have taken control of our missed opportunities with an abundance of intestinal fortitude.”
If I’d had a drink in my mouth, I would have spit it out all over her. I cocked my head to the side and clipped another branch. “Easier for you, remember? You know your crush’s name.”
She waved her hands in the air, brushing me off. “I didn’t mean the guy you met. I was talking about Ashlyn.”
I glanced down at my feet, planted on the brittle, dead grass that had been overwhelmed by the horrid heat. “I didn’t say anything about a missed opportunity with Ashlyn.”
I lifted my gaze, and Abby looked me square in the eyes, which was both intimidating and heartwarming. I felt like she could see right through me, through my fake bravery act, my pretending I didn’t care, that I wasn’t hurt. “You didn’t have to.”
I looked away and pressed my mouth into a firm little line. We chattered amiably for the rest of our shift. By the time Alicia blew her silver whistle and called us back to the clearing, we’d filled six garbage bags full of branches and leaves. I looked back at the honeysuckle we’d been working on, and my heart fell into my stomach as I realized that even though we’d been cutting and stuffing for hours, we’d only just begun.
Chapter 6
When I got home, dirty and exhausted, I hopped right into the shower and stayed there for a solid twenty minutes. The hot water running over my aching shoulders provided a small shred of relief, albeit only physical. My conversation with Abby made me both sad and hopeful at the same time. I was grateful to have someone to talk to again, but that connection also scared me. She could become just one more person who’d end up disappointed in me. I didn’t know if it was worth it to let her in, to trust her, but a little part of me thought it might be.
A loud banging came at the door. “Tatum! Mom says you need to come out of there.” For a quiet girl, Tilly sure could yell.
I gritted my teeth, not ready to leave the warmth and solitude of the shower yet. “In a minute!”
She banged again. “Mom says you’re wasting water!”
A snarky retort was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. I counted to ten, slower than a tortoise, and shut the water off. I toweled dry and slid on a loose tank and worn pajama pants. The soft fabric felt fantastic on my tired and slightly crispy skin. I reminded myself to throw a higher SPF sunscreen in my bag for next time. Belén had lots of expensive tubes of 50 and higher stashed in her bathroom. I hung up my towel, opened the door, and smacked right into Tilly. Why was she still out there?
“Sorry,” I mumbled, not totally meaning it. I shoved past her and made it almost all the way to my room before she called out in a sing-songy voice, “Mom says you have to come down to dinner tonight.”
After my long day, the last thing I wanted was a dinner filled with awkward conversation and Belén’s opinions on everything. I’d been looking forward to some peace and quiet. “What if I’m not hungry?”