Gina’s response was to rocket-launch me into another lion’s den. “Um . . . Gray’s here. I know he’d love to see you.”
Every time we were together, she tried to sell me the same story. I didn’t know whether it was supposed to lessen her guilt or increase mine for avoiding him.
“Please stop trying to fix—”
“I’m just saying you should hear him out. He’s still not over you.” Gina toed the sand and made a concerted effort to lift her eyes to mine. “Six years is a lot to throw away.”
Gray Garrison and I were once comasters of the swings, sworn Potterheads, fellow indie band enthusiasts, and in some variation of young love, cooties and all, for every minute we’d known each other. A year ago, the high school halls had felt like a really long wedding aisle. A lot can change in a year.
“I’m sort of with Max,” I told her.
Yes, Max was in another country, and yes, with was a relationship of emails, but we were our version of together. And maybe if I admitted that now, she’d stop pushing Gray at me.
Gina’s pretty, scarless face—whose only technical imperfection was a smattering of adorable freckles—froze in surprise. “Um, that’s great, Sadie.” She shoved her hands into her pockets and shifted her weight back and forth before adding, “I just want to remind you there’s nothing, still nothing, between me and Gray.”
Except that one little bit of sex or something I’d interrupted.
“Not that it makes it okay, but we were all pretty messed up back then.”
Back then wasn’t that long ago.
“Neither of us ever meant”—she held up empty hands and gestured toward my face, toward the scar I called Idaho—“to hurt anyone.”
I knew that.
Knowing something wasn’t worth shit sometimes. This was exactly why I avoided talking to Gina. She always brought this up. Always told me she was so, so sorry. Always shoved me toward the past. And here we were back on that same treadmill.
The thing was, I believed her. Gray, too, for that matter. Neither made idle apologies or hurt people, especially me, intentionally. But they had, and I still couldn’t muster up an It’s no big deal. Or even an It’s a huge deal and I can’t forgive you. So she went on apologizing, and I went on keeping grudges.
Thank God for home school. At least I hadn’t heard this every day.
Gina continued her babble. “Wouldn’t it be nice to hang out again? You could walk over there with me, sit down, have a drink, ignore Gray if you want, tell me about running or surgeries or how Max is or . . . anything. I . . . miss you.”
I missed her, too. The words wouldn’t come out. I was immediately glad they hadn’t, because Gray’s hands landed on my shoulders, soft and gentle, interrupting everything. I knew they were his without spinning around. Body movements were like fingerprints; they were all unique. His was a choreography I used to dance to.
“Hey, you,” he said.
How did a voice hovering over an ear have that much power?
“Hey, you,” I said, and turned to face him.
Gray, with his boyish face and perfectly kissable nose. No scars, no imperfections, except a right ear the tiniest bit lower than the left. He spread out his arms—a clear invitation—and out of either obligation or habit, I hugged him. His chin landed on top of my head, my face smooshed against his chest, his hands crisscrossed against my back.
Rubbing alcohol on open wounds hurt less.
One, we weren’t a couple anymore. Two, once you’ve been held, you know what it feels like when there’s no one to hold you. And three, he was Gray, both the guy and the color of this situation. Max and I emailed, but a computer couldn’t whisper in my ear. A computer didn’t have arms.
Gray let me go. “I’m glad you’re out of the house,” he said.
Not only was I out of the house, I was having a conversation with two—count them—people. Other than my parents, that didn’t happen very often. I wasn’t exactly scared of people, but people seemed scared of me.