I shove my hands into the dirt.
“It’s always about Nicole with you. Even after death, it’s about her.”
Chace steps forward, and I see his reflection ripple against the wind. With a shudder, I realize that if I pressed my hand against his chest, it would plunge straight through. He looks down at me, his expression gentler.
“Lana, you told someone where I was that night after our fight. Who did you tell?”
“What?” I stare blankly up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You told someone where to find me,” he says. “Who was it? Think.”
I close my eyes, letting the fragments of memory back in.
Ryan pours drinks into plastic cups. Chace and Nicole huddle in a corner. I’m dragging Chace outside to talk, and the talk becomes a fight. Running back to Tyler’s house, I catch sight of Nicole through my tear-blurred vision. I spot her from the back by her sweater, the silver cardigan I gave her for Christmas back when we were still friends—the same one I’m wearing now. She wasn’t wearing it earlier tonight, so she must have seen me in the sweater and put hers on just to spite me. She has even more nerve than I thought.
I shudder at the idea of us matching; I should have burned my cardigan months ago. I sprint past her, refusing to meet her eyes as I scream, “Have at him, you bitch!” And then, arriving at Tyler’s, I bump smack into Ryan. He tries to calm me down from my alcohol-boosted rage; he offers to walk me back to campus.
I open my eyes, shaking my head in frustration.
“I can’t think of anyone besides Nicole and Ryan.”
But when I open my eyes, Chace has disappeared.
I lost my nerve so many times after that New York night with Chace. I would look at Lana sleeping in the bed across from mine in our tiny dorm, and affection for her would squeeze itself around my heart, while the voice in my head taunted me: What right do you have, thinking you can take her boyfriend? But when I let myself close my eyes and block out the noise, another voice whispered. You already pushed yourself aside once. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Not when this could be real love. She’ll understand.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but this is the voice that wins in the end. I don’t think I’ve ever really put myself first, but Chace’s confidence in us gives me the last push I need. When he asks me to meet the two of them after school on Thursday so we can finally have the talk, my heart answers before my head, and I say yes.
I barely make it through my classes that day. Brianne has to kick my leg twice during History to get me to quit my incessant, jittery foot tapping, and when Mr. Newell calls on me during Algebra, I completely space out, forgetting how to solve an equation I knew perfectly well yesterday. I hide out in the library during lunch, afraid I won’t be able to keep my cool at my usual table with her. If I’m doing the right thing, then why do I feel so guilty?
I contemplate texting Chace that I’ve changed my mind, that we should forget the whole thing. But the swift, crushing weight in my chest that follows reminds me that he’s worth it. We’re worth it. I just pray Lana will forgive us.
The last bell finally rings. The hour is here. My stomach flip-flops in unison with my footsteps as I weave through the crowd of students and push through the doors of Academics Hall. I follow the rush of classmates out onto the quad and then change course, heading for the picnic tables beside the tennis courts. They’re already sitting there at one of the white wicker tables when I arrive.
“Hi.” My voice is like sandpaper as I approach them. I can feel the beads of sweat dotting my brow, and I can’t bring myself to look either of them in the eye, afraid I’ll reveal too much.
“What are you doing here?” Lana asks, a suspicious edge to her voice.
“I—Chace didn’t tell you I was coming?” I stammer, realizing instantly that this wasn’t the smartest choice of words.
Lana’s eyes narrow into slits.
“What’s going on?”
Chace takes a deep breath, focusing his gaze on the table.
“We thought we should tell you this together, since we both care about you so much—”
Lana jumps out of her seat.
“Tell me what?”
She knows. I can see it in her expression. I shut my eyes.
“Nicole and I, we—you mean a lot to both of us, and we never meant to hurt you,” Chace begins. “But we…have feelings for each other.”
A deathly silence follows. And then she starts to laugh, a bitter, hollow sound.
“Great joke, guys. Hysterical.”
Chace looks from me to Lana and back again.
“It’s not a joke. I’m—I’m sorry.”
I finally gather the courage to look at her.
“Lana,” I whisper. “If it could have been anyone else…but we couldn’t help how we felt—”