“Give me the glass,” I said.
He closed both hands around it. “Remember when I told you I once talked to Julia? I talked to her about you. It was last spring, the Monday after—after that party in Millertown. I went up to her right before 268
third period. The halls were so crowded. I can still see it, all those people, but I went up to her and I told her —”
If I’d still been holding the glass, I would have dropped it then. He’d talked to Julia, and she’d never told me. I couldn’t believe it.
“She never said anything. You told her about what we . . . you told her what happened?”
He shook his head. “I told her I’d talked to you at the party. That I . . . that I liked you. I thought maybe she’d help me talk to you. That night, you—you just disappeared. I even went into the party looking for you, but you were gone. When we . . . when we were in the basement, it was the only time in I don’t know how long that I hadn’t thought about how screwed up I am. But when I was done talking she—”
I could guess what happened then. Julia hated third period because she hated history, and anyone who tried to talk to her beforehand usually got their ass handed to them. I met her at her locker before and after every class except that one.
“She didn’t say anything, just slammed her locker shut and walked off, right?”
“No,” he said. “She said, ‘She never said anything about you.’ And then she looked at me. It was just for a second, 269
but she had the strangest look on her face. Then she slammed her locker shut and walked away.”
That’s when I knew I was an even worse friend to Julia than I thought I was. That I’d let her down before I made sure she saw Kevin cheat, before I took her hand and led her to her car. When he mentioned the look on her face.
Julia had asked about Patrick. The Monday after that party, we were walking down the hall after fourth period and she said, “Hey, did you meet some guy at the party?”
I’d glanced over at her, and she was looking at me. I couldn’t read the look on her face.
“No,” I said, freaked out by how hard my heart had started pounding from just the mention of that party.
That night. “At least, no one worth mentioning.”
That look stayed on her face. I didn’t get it, but I knew I wanted that guy and that night and the way I’d felt— so unsafe, so raw—gone, so I said something I knew would grab J’s attention. “Hey, I think I see Kevin at the end of the hall.”
It worked, but that strange look on Julia’s face took a while to fade.
She was hurt. That’s what that look was. I’d promised to always tell her everything, the kind of promise little kids make and forget, but she didn’t. She needed it.
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Julia needed to know there was one person who’d always listen to her. Who she could tell anything, and who’d tell her everything in return. I knew her so well.
How could I not know what that look on her face meant?
Because I was afraid. Not of her, but of me. Of what I felt that night, of how for a moment I felt like myself in a way I hadn’t ever before.
I swallowed, my eyes stinging.
“She did talk to me about it,” I whispered. “She asked me about the party. About a guy. You. And I—I said there wasn’t anyone worth mentioning.”
“Oh,” he said, and took another sip, eyes closing once more.
When he was done, he looked down at the party and then held the glass out toward me. “I fi gured that.
I mean, I knew what happened didn’t mean what I—I knew it wasn’t a big deal. It’s just that the other day, I thought that you—that we . . .” He shook his head.
“Never mind.”
I stared at the glass. I stared at him. I wanted the glass but I wanted to touch him too. I wanted to touch him so bad it hurt. I didn’t want feelings like that. I’d never wanted them, but I hadn’t known—I hadn’t known how they really felt.
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I’d never let myself know what it was like to want someone and know they want you too. It’s a terrible feeling, makes you open yourself up, expose all the soft places you wish you didn’t have.
It makes you hope.
“I lied,” I said. “I lied to Julia. I didn’t know what else to do because you—you make me feel . . .” I had to stop.
Not because I didn’t have words. I did. But I was afraid to say them.
He looked at me, and I knew then I could love him.
That if I let myself, I would.
“You make me feel too,” he said, and held out one hand. I looked at it. I looked at the glass in his other hand.
