Then another text: How was your afternoon?
Awesome. And clearly, I’m an asshole or an idiot or both, because I add, I hung out with Will.
Yeah, Olivia mentioned that.
My heart twists. Guess they’ve been texting.
Looks like things are going well with you and Olivia, I type. I stare at it for a second before pressing send.
For a moment, time stops.
Then, suddenly, he’s calling me.
“Hi.” I sit on the very edge of my bed, feeling jittery. I don’t even take my shoes off.
“Molly?”
“Yeah.”
“Should we talk?” he asks. His voice is so quiet.
I swallow. “Okay.” My chest tightens. I don’t know why this feels so much like fear.
“Are you mad that I walked Olivia to your house?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know.”
We’re both quiet.
“It just seems like you are,” he says finally.
“Well, I’m not.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “So, did you guys make out, or something?” I try to sound breezy.
“Um. No. She went to your house. I went home and played World of Warcraft.”
“But you like her.”
“Do you like Will?” he shoots back.
“So, you do like her.” My whole body freezes.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
He pauses. “Neither did you.”
We’re both silent. And there’s this thickening lump in my throat. I feel nauseated. I actually think I might throw up.
“This is really unfair,” he says.
I need to just breathe. “What’s unfair?”
“You’re hanging out with Will, but you’re angry at me for hanging out with Olivia? I don’t get that.” There’s this catch in his voice.
“I’m not angry.”
“Okay, then why are we having this conversation?”
And before I can stop it, I’m crying. It’s the quiet kind. I don’t even bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks. I just let them slide down. I’m a fucking mess.
“Molly?”
I take another deep breath. “Like, I don’t get where this came from. You just met her this week.”
He pauses. “Are you crying?” His voice cracks.
“No.”
He does this quiet little sniff, and my heart beats wildly.
“I’m not dating her. Nothing’s happening.” I hear him swallow. “And I don’t understand why you care.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.” He’s quiet.
“I mean, I care.”
“It’s fine.”
“I just—”
“I’m going to go.”
“Reid.”
He hangs up. And it’s like some kind of dam bursts inside of me. I flop backward on my bed, and I just start sobbing. I sob until I can barely catch my breath.
I WAKE UP TO A bunch of missed texts. From Olivia, of all people. And they’re so perfectly normal and friendly and sincere. I almost feel guilty.
Okay, quick question
So Cass thinks we should do a few animals in gold, but I wanted to check with you first before I bought gold paint.
Whatever you want to do, I write.
God. This is so gross and awful. Things have never been complicated with Olivia. But maybe I owe that to the neutralizing, retainer-clad presence of one Evan Schulmeister.
I fucking hate Evan Schulmeister.
Cool! I’ll probably get some, just so we can try it out. Yay! Olivia writes.
I’m dreading work so much, I almost can’t get out of bed. I have another shift with Reid. I don’t know what I’m going to say when I see him. Maybe there’s a protocol for this. It’s the kind of thing other girls always seem to know. What do you say to a guy after you awkwardly, tearfully call him out for liking another girl?
I shouldn’t care who he likes.
The bell on the door jingles when I open it, and Ari waves at me from behind the register. It’s early, but there are already a few moms browsing with their babies in ring slings. At first I don’t see Reid, and I’m so relieved I could weep.
But then the door to the storage area nudges open, wide enough to fit a giant coffee table made out of reclaimed local stump wood. With Reid pushing it.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” For a minute, we just stand there, not quite looking at each other. There’s this tuft of hair winging out above his ear. I have to shut my eyes. My heart and brain are jumping all over.
“Can we—”
“Molly, it’s fine.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“Sorry.” I see him swallow, his Adam’s apple pressing outward. I cross my arms over my chest. He looks up at me, finally, and says, “I don’t want to talk about this here.”
“Okay,” I say again. I can’t catch my breath.
Then Ari calls him over to the register, and we don’t talk again for the entire workday.
He doesn’t walk me out. Our shifts end at the same time, but at the last moment, he disappears into the back room.
I take the back streets home, feeling heavy and dazed. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and it takes me a second to even register it. I feel almost like I’m floating. I’m barely aware of the weather and my body and my stiffly plodding feet.
It’s a text from Abby: Are u there? Can we Skype?
15 min, I type. Almost home.
As soon as I get there, I head straight to my room, settling onto my bed with my laptop. I log into Skype and dial Abby’s computer.
“Hey!” she says, her face super close to the webcam. And when she leans back, I see she’s not alone. “Molly, this is Simon!”
The famous Simon. He looks just like he does in photographs: messy blond hair and twinkly eyes behind hipster glasses. “Hi.” He grins.
“Hi.” I feel shy.
“Okay, so I don’t have a clue what any of this means,” Abby says, rolling her eyes, “but he has something very important to ask you. Just critically important.”
“Okay, this actually is important,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I need a second opinion. If you were sorting Abby into one of the Hogwarts houses, where would she go?”
“Obviously Gryffindor.”
“YES. Oh my God. Thank you.”
Abby shakes her head. “Yeah, so this one and his boyfriend just spent two hours arguing about whether I’m a Gryffindor or a Hufflelump.”
“Hufflelump?” Simon covers his face. “I can’t. Jesus Christ. Abby, you’re embarrassing yourself. Anyway,” he says, sliding his hands away, and giving me a thumbs-up, “Molly, you’re awesome.”
“Yup. She’s awesome. You’re awesome. Go gloat to your boyfriend,” Abby says, shooing him out.
As soon as he’s gone, her whole expression changes. “Hey. You okay?” Her brow furrows.
I nod slowly. I don’t know how Abby does this. Either she’s really perceptive, or I’m way more of an open book than I think I am. I’ve never quite been able to figure that out.
“Yeah, that’s not the nod of someone who’s okay.” She squints at me. “What’s up? Did you talk to your moms?”
“About . . .”