My throat clenches tighter but somehow I push more words out. “Like I said, I’m sorry for anything I’ve ever said or done to make you feel like I thought I was better than you. That’s crazy, but don’t think my life is perfect either. I don’t have a perfect life and everything isn’t as easy for me as you think.”
“Save the act of contrition, Bree Hughes,” she says with such bite I can practically see the cold air coming from her mouth. Her smirk is so condescending that it resembles one I’ve seen many times on Jane Hulmes’s face. “This isn’t a confessional booth. You don’t get to say sorry and everything goes away. You and the rest of this school are the least of my problems, anyway. I told you, it’s done. Have fun on Prom Court and enjoy hanging out with all those assholes, seems like you’ll fit in just fine.”
She plucks her glasses from the sink, wipes her eyes with her sleeve, swoops up her books, and leaves me in her dust.
I can’t believe that the first time I’ve ever really talked to Maisey just ended with her telling me off. Who would’ve thought she had it in her? Although a part of me is flattered for her thinking I’m perfect and leading some charmed, popular, happy family life, I mostly feel like an ass. I don’t even know how I’d fix something like this. At least I said I was sorry. Maybe I can try to say something else to her another time. But definitely not right now. Right now, I have to get to class to turn in my assignment. Most importantly, I can’t wait to tell the only person I’m hoping will care right now about my good news. Sean Mills.
SEVEN
Gripping my phone, I run through all the reasons why I should call Sean. Of course my seat was taken when I walked into Language Arts. Kallie didn’t save it like she usually does so I had to sit in the front row, first seat in. Right in front of Maisey who was probably piercing me with sharper daggers than Kallie was. Being in front, I was also forced to leave class first when the bell rang. I didn’t even have the nerve to turn around and wait for Sean. I was too worried that Maisey would have more stuff to say to me.
I jump onto my bed and relax into the pillows propped against the headboard. After tapping Sean’s number into my phone, my finger hovers over the call button.
Just call him! Do it, do it. Okay … now. I pause. This is way different than last time when he had my notes and gave me his number. This is basically a “for no reason” call. Okay, c’mon Bree … Now. Okay … Now.
My finger is still frozen. I decide to recite the alphabet backward and once I get to “A” I’ll call him. As I’m reversing LMNOP in my head, my phone startles me by ringing and buzzing in my hand.
CHIP RYAN.
“Uuuuuuugh.” I shove the phone under my pillow but then rationalize that if I can handle talking to Chip, I can definitely manage a call to Sean afterward. I snatch my phone back and answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey Bree, it’s Chip.”
“Yeah, I know,” I reply. “Your name’s still programmed into my phone.” So I know when NOT to answer. “What’s up? Actually, how about this: Say everything you need to say and then we’re going to be done with it. Got it?” In spite of my shaking hand and my heart beating right behind my uvula, I am empowered.
Silence.
“Chip?”
“Okay, sure,” he says. His uncertainty is funny, considering he’s had months to prepare. “Listen. I miss hanging out with you and I feel like you haven’t let me apologize.”
Another pause.
“Okay, fine. Go ahead.”
“Really?” He exhales loudly into the phone. “I know I was a jerk but I had every right to be mad. You didn’t call or answer my texts and you stood me up. What else was I supposed to think?”
“And?”
“Okay. Either way, I was an ass. I shouldn’t have acted like that and I’m sorry, I really am. It’s embarrassing. I had to tell my dad what happened because of the driver’s side window and the fact that I broke my wrist. Then, of course he told my mom who made me see an anger management counselor every Thursday for the rest of the summer. It was all pretty stupid but I guess it was good. I’m not that guy. You know I’m not. I miss you.”
I let the pause linger to make sure he’s done.
“Thanks for apologizing and I’m sorry too. Sorry I had personal shit going on and avoided you and didn’t call to give you a heads-up. I’m even more sorry that I had to witness you getting all psycho on me. Thanks for calling and I hope you enjoy the rest of your senior year. Okay?”
“Well, wait. Can we hang out and talk? Maybe this weekend? Prom is only two months away and I’m not sure if you got my message last week but I was thinking maybe we could go, just as friends, or whatever?”
“Chip. No. That’s not happening.”
“Is that also a no on meeting up to talk more?”
“Yes, Chip—.”
“Yes?” he asks.
“No, Chip. I meant yes that it’s a no. It’s definitely a no. We’re not going to be hanging out like old times or like friends or like anything. Thanks for the apology.”