When I reach his SUV, he’s leaning against the front passenger-side door. He sees me, lifts himself off the door, and opens it. I slide in without a word and he drives me home.
He pulls up in front of my house, the heat blaring in our faces, soft music playing in the background. I’m not sure what to do, so I open the door. He grasps my arm and pulls me back. He leans in and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he switches at the last minute and kisses my forehead.
He lays his forehead against mine. “I care about you, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Maybe it’s better if you don’t watch.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek and close the door.
I need to stop hanging out with him. I need to push him away, but I just can’t. As much as I don’t want to, I care about him too.
And Halloween is only ten days away.
33
9 Days
The days are going by and in my mind I keep opening doors like an Advent calendar, ticking off my life in numbers. I hadn’t realized when I made my deadline that it would be like this—a countdown. But that’s what it’s become. My room is my prison and the walls my bars. I’m in a jail of my own making and there is no parole—only the death penalty.
My phone rings and I don’t even need to look to know it’s Colter. It’s his daily check-in to make sure I’m alive. I made fun of him for it at first, but I think he’s starting to not believe everything I say anymore.
“Thank you for calling Papa John’s, may I take your order?”
He’s silent for a while and I picture him looking at the number on his phone to make sure he dialed the right one with an adorable, confused expression.
I put him out of his misery. “Before you ask, yes, I’m alive. No, I’m not a ghost answering from beyond the grave.”
“Very funny.”
“Unless there’s something else? Can we—”
He always says, No. I just wanted to hear your voice. I know. I know. It’s sweet. He’s sweet. What the hell am I doing? Honestly? I have no idea anymore.
“Actually, there is.”
I don’t say anything. I almost hang up on him just to end it before he says something else. Something perfect, something that makes me think of things I shouldn’t. Like if I should die or not.
“I want to see you.”
“Why?”
“I need a reason?”
“I don’t know?”
He laughs. “Just meet me.”
“It’s a school night.”
“It’s, like, seven right now, Ell.”
I pause, but I already know I’m going to say yes. “Fine. Where?”
“I’ll come get you.”
“Is this a date?”
“Let’s not label it, okay?”
“Okay, Tom Sawyer.”
He hangs up, and I scramble to do my hair and get dressed and all the girl things you do before a date that’s not a date. I don’t know what I’m doing. I call Janie.
“Hey, he’s coming over.”
“Who?” she says, chewing on something.
“Shit. Did I interrupt dinner?”
“Yeah, but it’s cool. Is Colter coming over?” she says, clearly excited.
“Yes. What do I wear?”
Did I really just ask that?
“Clothes.”
“Janie.”
“Or not.” She laughs. “Sorry, okay. Wear the tight jeans and the black V-neck.”
“Okay.” I search my closet for the black shirt. “It’s dirty.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Ell, he likes you. Wear whatever you want.”
My breath starts to come out rapidly and sweat breaks out on my skin. “I can’t do this.”
“It’s not like you’ve never been alone with him before.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t really like him . . . I mean, I liked him. But now, I care . . . oh, God. I care about him.”
“It’s about damn time you admit it. It’s fine. Just make sure to put mascara on and that sexy red lipstick. It brings out your dark hair.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously. Just be yourself.”
“Hey, thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
I smile and get a little choked up at her words. “Have a good dinner.”
We hang up, and I streak mascara on my eyelashes and paint bright red color on my lips. I pick out some random T-shirt and jeans, and hope he looks at my face, not my shirt.
A few minutes later, I see his SUV pull into the driveway. I run to the living room to fend off Mom before she goes to work.
“I want to meet him,” she whines, adjusting the ties of her scrubs.
“Another time. I have to go.” I lean over and hug her.
“Don’t stay out all night.”
I nod, slip my coat on, and head out the door. His SUV takes up half the driveway. I wave at him, then berate myself for it. I look like a deranged fangirl. I open the door and warm air blankets my body. I peek at what he’s wearing and heave a breath of relief. He’s in a T-shirt and jeans, too. He smiles at me as I scoot into the leather seat.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Great, I just love surprises.”
“It won’t be that bad.” He grins at me again and pulls out of the driveway.
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