as soon as I made the team.
Maybe she’s been walking home on every version of this day, and I just never knew.
“Why did you miss the bus?” I take in her drenched clothes and soggy hair. “And why are you all wet?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Another whip of a response.
“Okay.” I glance at my running car, the door still ajar. “Well, do you want a ride?”
She considers this for a moment, silently debating her options: continue to walk home soaking wet, which can’t be very comfortable … or warm. Or ride home with me and be potentially forced to endure more questioning.
“I’ll walk,” she decides.
I shake my head. “Hadley, don’t be ridiculous. Get in the car.”
She sidesteps me and keeps walking.
What is her deal? Do I seriously need to grab her and stuff her into the car like a kidnapper? Too bad I don’t have a potato sack in my trunk.
“Hadley!” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop.
“Leave me alone, Ellie!”
I sigh and return to my car. Frustrated, I yank the gearshift into Drive and creep alongside the curb, keeping pace with my sister, which is currently four miles per hour. I stay right behind her, watching her the whole time. She has to know I’m there, even if she refuses to acknowledge me. At this rate, it takes us ten minutes to get home. She scurries up the driveway and into the garage door that I just opened with my clicker.
I park the car and jump out, following her into the house. She’s got a decent lead on me as she storms up the stairs. She makes it to her room a few seconds before me and slams the door in my face.
I rap gently on the door three times. “Hadley? Can I come in?”
“No!” she shouts, and I can hear her voice crack. I’d recognize the sound of a girl crying anywhere. After all, I’ve had a lot of practice the last few days. “Go away!”
“I just want to talk.”
“No, you don’t! You want to ask me what happened and I’m not telling you. So just leave. Go to your stupid carnival with your stupid boyfriend!”
Stupid carnival?
Stupid boyfriend?
Since when did she think Tristan was stupid? She’s always liked him, and she’s always been interested in our relationship. Like overly interested. To the point where it got annoying.
I think back to the past two variations of this day and try to find any additional clues as to what might be going on. When I spoke to Hadley this morning, she seemed fine. She was chipper and spouting Urban Dictionary phrases as per usual. But at night? What happened at night?
I feel a stab of guilt as I realize that for the past two days, I barely said two words to my sister after leaving the house in the morning. That first night, I stopped by her room and she asked me if I wanted to watch The Breakfast Club with her, but I said no. I was too wrapped up in my heartbreak, too distracted by my own problems to spend any time with her. Was she upset? Is that why she was rewatching her favorite movie for the ten millionth time?
I bite my lip and stare at Hadley’s closed door. It’s clear I’m not going to get through to her now. If she’s anything like me, she needs some time to cool down.
“Okay,” I call. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”
“I don’t.” She says it so harshly it feels like she’s slammed the door in my face for the second time today.
I Saw Her Standing There
8:11 p.m.
“Thanks so much for coming out tonight! We’re Whack-a-Mole and if you like what you hear, please follow us on Instagram!”
I stand in the back of the crowd, keeping one eye on Tristan and one eye on my phone. I’m trying not to appear too interested in what’s happening on the stage because I don’t want to break Commandment #3: Thou shall always appear busy and important. So far the commandments seem to be working like a charm. Tristan texted me twice to make sure I was going to the show.
I didn’t text him back, per Commandment #4, and I made a point of getting here late, arriving right as the band was taking the stage. But I made sure to make eye contact with him and flash him a coy smile (Creature of Mystery!), so he’d know I’m here.
The band launches into their second-to-last song