For once, my anxiety making me overthink everything is useful. I pull off my backpack and unzip it, taking out the now-wrinkled papers I printed earlier. She looks them over. Her eyebrows draw together, but then rise as she lets out a breathy laugh.
“He actually believes this?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t he?”
“You make it sound like we’re completely loaded and she’s buried in offers.”
I smirk. “It’s a shame there’s no room for my father to negotiate, considering how in demand she is, right? Best if he just backs off and cuts his losses.”
“Smart.” She tilts her head and smiles, but then her face gets serious again. “If I were to give you another chance—and I’m not saying I am, but if I did—would you screw it up?”
I take a deep breath—it feels like my soul is crawling up my throat—and shake my head. “Not if I could help it,” I say, because we both know that’s the best I can do.
“I need to know some more things before this can be okay.”
“Anything,” I say, because just the idea that a reality exists where we could be okay has me drunk on nerves and anticipation. This is all I ever wanted, Bats and Peak against the world, like two characters from Vera’s books.
She scoots over on her bed, gesturing toward the empty spot. I sit on the very edge, not wanting to presume. I’m trying so hard to be still and quiet and patient and everything she would ever want, but my leg is bouncing a mile a minute, and I can’t stop biting the skin around my thumbnail. I am fucking this up already.
She unwraps another peanut butter cup, eyeing me. “I still can’t believe you’re really an Everlasting.”
“What, do you want to see my ID or something?” I joke.
“Kind of. Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
“Show me.”
I grab my wallet and slide out my Washington State ID. “I don’t have a license; my mom never had time to teach me,” I say, shame heating my cheeks because that’s another normal-kid thing I never accomplished. “I went to visit my aunt Mary in Michigan once and she tried, but—”
“I don’t have my license either; driving terrifies me,” she says, snatching the ID from my hand. Her face falls as she stares down at it. “You’re really an Everlasting.”
I nod, wishing so hard my name was something I could peel off like dirty clothes and leave behind forever. I don’t want it anymore, not if it means losing her.
“Did you know who I was at the dance?”
I shake my head.
“Are you lying?”
“No, I really didn’t find out until later.”
Her eyes burn into mine. “When you did find out who I was, why was your first reaction to sell me out?”
And that, that’s a hard one. I rest my forehead in my hands, my knees—one still bouncing—propping up my elbows as I try to remember how to breathe. Her fingers graze my back, and I resist the urge to melt into them, scrunching my eyes tighter and shaking my head. I stand up and pace. This was a bad idea. I should go.
shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit
“Did you know that dragonflies can zoom along at thirty-five miles per hour?”
“Peak, don’t,” I say, my voice shaking. I came here to make it better, but every time she tries to comfort me, I just feel a thousand times worse. “Why are you so nice?” I mean it in a bad way, but it comes out embarrassingly plaintive.
“I’m not that nice,” she says.
I look at her and raise my eyebrows.
“I was planning to ghost you after the con.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. I blame your dimple.” She tosses me a peanut butter cup, which I miss and have to scoop off the carpet. There are still vacuum lines in some places, and it seems wrong to be tossing candy on it.
I take a step closer as she pops open the Sprite and sets it on the table beside her