Part of making amends is going to mean letting go of Abby. I just don’t see a way that she and I can be something without it ruining everything else. I promised myself I would fight to keep her, but maybe the honorable thing and the best way to love her is to let her go. Maybe in another life . . . another time and place. This round, we are just off. The world isn’t ready for us.
It’s hard to commit to being honorable when I read her texts, though. She wants to know how I knew everything about her on that birthday list, and I have to shake my head because I don’t really have an answer. I just do. I know so much about her, more than I realized. All from watching her, from paying attention to her little details, the things that make her tick. She wears more pale pink than any other color, and when she wears it on her lips, her smile is always brighter and her laugh a little more real. I knew the Peter Pan thing because she mentioned it once in fifth grade, that she thought Peter Pan was cute. Some of the boys in our class laughed at her; she punched one of them. She got sick eating the damn glitter cotton candy during our eighth grade trip to Holiday Park, but she said it was worth it when she threw up. I’ve been watching Abby Cortez for years; I just didn’t realize that the lens I was looking through was one of love.
I leave my last hour early. I told June to tell Coach I am going to get things right with Hayden. She was glad to hear me say it, and since we’re both his assistants for last hour, she said she’d handle it.
Hayden has study hall this period, and unfortunately the teacher in there is a former drill sergeant. I don’t say that to make commentary on the woman’s demeanor, I’m being real—she was in the Army for fifteen years. How our school was lucky enough to land her, I’ll never know. I had study hall last year, and she and I . . . let’s just say we don’t gel.
I see my brother’s backpack dangling from the back of a chair, so I know he’s within earshot if I can manage to get his attention through the small crack in the door. She’ll be closing it soon.
“Hayden,” I whisper, giving my voice enough volume to carry but not gain unwanted attention. It does zero good.
I look both ways and move in closer, smooshing my face through the door to whisper it again.
“Psst, Hayden!” I move away fast and flatten my back to the wall. My heart is thumping. I swear, this woman terrifies me.
I crane my neck to peek through the open part and catch my brother’s eyes as he leans back. He grimaces and waves his hand, shooing me away.
Goddamnit.
“Come here,” I whisper a little louder, again darting away. I think that’s all I’ve got in me. If I try one more time, she’ll grab my tongue mid-speech and lord knows what that woman will do to it. Probably nothing, but something about her glare instills that kind of fear in me.
I wait with my back against the wall for almost a full minute, and I’m about to give up when the door opens and my brother steps out. He walks past me, toward the restrooms.
“Come on,” he says over his shoulder.
I follow. We get inside and move to the window along the back wall where people put out their cigarette butts and snuff out the ends of their blunts.
“What’s up? Something wrong at home? You need money? What?” He can barely make eye contact with me while he talks, and he keeps pacing, clearly not wanting to be here.
“This is gonna take a lot longer than a bathroom break. I hope you know that,” I say. He huffs and moves to the sink, running his hands through the water, then through his hair.
“Better not. Hurry up,” he grumbles.
The urge to rush him and tackle his ass against the wall and sink and nasty floor is definitely simmering in my legs. It wouldn’t take much.
Drawing in a calming breath through my nose, I say the only thing I believe will work, that will get him to actually stop and listen.