I wince at the sight, wishing I could do something more. Be something more. “Wish what?” I ask, shuffling closer to her.
Mia sighs, a sound so heavy I feel it drown my soul. “I just wish she’d want me.”
I want you, I don’t say.
Not out loud.
But I think it.
Through every fiber of my being, I feel it.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and then I take her hand in mine.
I don’t let go.
Not that morning.
Or the morning after.
Or the one after that.
We spend every morning together of the few days we have left, never once speaking a word.
Each day, we grow closer.
But each sunrise feels different somehow.
The world isn’t being split in two anymore.
It’s in shards.
Shattered.
Busted.
Broken.
Chapter Six
Mia
“My Girl” by The Temptations plays softly through the speakers of my grandpa’s truck as we make the final turn toward the Prestons’ house. I’m nervous. More nervous than the years prior. You don’t realize change as it’s happening, but as I sit here, reflecting on the year since I’d last seen Leo, one significant change stands out.
Puberty.
Some kids go through puberty and come out looking like movie stars.
I was the opposite.
My skin had broken out, Papa had forced me to get braces, I’d put on even more weight, and the worst? Hair had started growing everywhere. The one time I’d confided in Holden about it, he said that maybe it was as “bad as it is” because I was a late bloomer. I cried. He went quiet, and after a while, he made an excuse to leave. That night, his mother, Tammy, came by the house with a bag of hair removal supplies, acne cream, and feminine hygiene products. At first, I was mortified. My grandpa didn’t quite understand the screaming and crying coming from my attic bedroom. He was concerned for my mental health. But the more Tammy spoke, the more she opened up, the more I did, too. She was so patient with me, so gentle, the way a mother should be.
“My Girl” is replaced with “You Can’t Hurry Love” by The Supremes, and Papa turns the steering wheel, starts up the Prestons’ long driveway. As a Hungarian immigrant, one of the first things he loved about the country is what he calls “American music.” While Holden listens to modern music, mainly rap, I’ve grown up on the oldies my grandpa listens to, and I’ve come to love them as much as he does.
Papa clears his throat before saying, “You be good for the man, okay, baba?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you be good to yourself.” He glances at me quickly, his lips thinned to a line. He may not know what was said between Tammy and me up in my bedroom that night, but he knows I’m changing.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Just as the house comes into view, a car approaches us. Lucas, the oldest Preston boy, is behind the wheel. Laney’s sitting beside him, and in the bed is his best friend and another guy and girl I don’t recognize. Lucas raises a hand in a wave, and Papa returns it, though he has no idea who he’s waving to. Boys on bikes follow after the car: Logan, the twins, and then Leo. He’s at the back of the group, and when he sees us, he slows. I turn to watch him, my hands gripping the headrest as we pass. He stops completely, both feet on the ground, the bike between his legs, his entire body turned toward me. My heart races as I watch him watching me, and then someone calls his name, and as if in a fog, he shakes his head, clears his thoughts, and continues on his way.
Like me, he’s changed, too. His hair’s longer now, showing off some waves as they fall over the tips of his ears. And he’s taller, more masculine.
Whatever changes he’d gone through in the past year—they’ve been kind to him. So kind, that when he and Logan return an hour later, they aren’t alone. I watch from the bottom of the apartment stairs as four girls—two on their own bikes and two on the back of either boy—join them. Even from a distance, I can tell how beautiful they are. I hate the way my stomach turns and the way jealousy pumps harshly through my veins. As soon as they hop off the bikes, I get up and turn around. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear Leo call my name. I freeze, but I don’t turn to him. I don’t want him to see