But this is as close as we come for the rest of the night, just two casual acquaintances in a group that gradually dwindles until it’s one o’clock and time for last call. Soon the four of us—Kellan, Crosbie, Marcela and I—are huddled on the sidewalk, shivering in the cold as Kellan confirms that everybody’s okay to drive.
Crosbie looks at me in frustration, but there’s not a whole lot we can do about it. Kellan and I live together—it would be weird if I insisted on getting a ride with someone else. We all hug goodnight, and Crosbie squeezes my hip harder than necessary, a promise or a warning or something in between. I shoot him an apologetic look he returns with a look of his own, one that clearly says, “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
But if I invite him over I’m breaking my promise to Kellan, and if I go to the frat house I’m a Crosbabe. There’s a clear lesser-of-two-evils option here, but I’m not ready to pick it.
“Bye, guys.” Kellan and I wave and trudge down the slippery sidewalk to his car, parked a block over.
“Do you want me to drive?” I offer when we round the corner. “I only had one drink.”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m good. I didn’t have anything.”
I look up at him in surprise, belatedly realizing I never saw him drink anything other than water the whole night. “Why not?”
He shrugs, leaving his shoulders hunched up to ward against the cold. “Just not in the mood.”
I think about his strangely asexual relationship with Marcela. Just how many things is he not “in the mood” for? I wonder but don’t dare ask, not sure what I’d do with the answer.
Ten minutes later we’re back in our apartment, still shivering as we head into our separate rooms to get ready for bed. I’m finally tucked in and reaching up to turn off the light when my phone buzzes. Even as I reach for it, I know who it is. What I can’t predict is what he’ll say.
I tap the message and stare at the three little words that fill the screen.
I miss you.
chapter fifteen
The next afternoon I return home from the library, shivering from the below freezing weather outside. Kellan’s normally never around at this hour, so it’s a surprise to find him lying on the couch with a damp face cloth covering his eyes, a notebook clutched to his chest. If you picture a male model trying to look both stressed and reflective and doing a terrible job of both, Kellan is exactly that guy. Except he’s utterly sincere.
I unwind my thick wool scarf and hang it and my jacket on the back of one of the dining chairs before dropping my backpack and heading into the living room.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Are you sick?”
He’s completely still for a moment, then slowly shakes his head.
“Are you…pondering something?”
His lips quirk and he shakes his head again. He doesn’t move much, but I notice his fingers tightening their grip on the notebook as though there’s any reason I might be tempted to steal it.
“Do you want to be left alone?”
A longer pause, then another head shake. Eventually he reaches up to remove the cloth. His eyes are slightly red, otherwise he looks fine, as always.
I perch on the edge of the coffee table. “What’s going on?”
He inhales heavily and tries to meet my eye but can’t, so instead focuses on the ceiling. “Have you ever…” He trails off, inhales again, and reattempts. “Have you ever thought about your life and realized you were just really stupid?”
I flash back to the whole of last year. “Yes.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why do you think I’m spending all this time at the library? Studying my ass off? Choosing to spend Friday night at home instead of out with friends?”
“I thought you didn’t have any friends.”
I punch his knee. “Ass.”
He grins and slowly sits up. “I just thought you were a bookworm. Not that that’s a bad thing,” he’s quick to add. “That’s why I asked you to move in. So your good behavior would rub off on me.” He winces briefly, then tries to hide it.
“And did it?” I ask. “Are you failing a class? Is that what this is about?” I nod at the notebook and he clenches it more tightly.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Were you happy?”
“When? Last year?” I shrug. “Yeah. I had a good time.”
But he’s shaking his head. “No, this year. When you were ‘being good.’ Before you met this mystery guy. Were you happy not…doing things?”
I feel like a contestant on one of those game shows where you have to match up the pictures to slowly reveal a riddle underneath. I’m turning over panels but none of the clues are making sense. Not sleeping with Marcela. Not drinking last night. Protecting that notebook. Still, I play along and furrow my brow, recalling the Crosbie-free days between moving in and Halloween night. “I was happy,” I answer, trying to be honest. “But I was also bored.”
He swallows and nods, like he’s trying to convince himself. “There are worse things, right? Than being bored?”
“Of course there are. Kellan, what’s going on?”
He groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Nora, I fucked up.”
“Is it your grades?”
“No.”
“Marcela?”
“What? No.”
I rack my brain. “Problems with the track team?”
“No.”