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“Please, Holland.”
Reluctantly, I stop walking, but I keep my head down.
“I know nothing I can say will make you come back to Sal’s,” he says quietly.
“No kidding.” I kick a pebble on the sidewalk. “That’s not happening.”
“Okay, so let me walk you back to the dorm.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Eli. I’m a grown woman.”
“Holland, look at me.”
Instead of answering him, I start walking again. I can barely see right now. One blink, and it’s all over.
“Jesus, Holland! Will you stop and look at me?”
I whirl around to face him. “Fine. I’m looking at you. Happy now?”
His face swims in front of my eyes, and that’s when it happens. I can’t help it—I blink. Tears spill down over my cheeks, and I’m helpless to stop them.
Instead of breaking down and sobbing, I do everything I can to remain perfectly still, but I can’t stop trembling.
Eli stares down at me, an odd look on his handsome face, his jaw tight. “No, I’m not happy.” He swallows, then gives his head a shake. “That fuckingasshole.”
I drag the sleeve of my hoodie across my cheeks to dry off my tears. “I thought he was your friend.”
“He’s my teammate,” Eli says, his voice clipped. “And he’s a piece of shit for saying that garbage to you.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. And he’s right. I didn’t belong there.”
“Bullshit. You have every right to be there.”
“He wasn’t talking about Sal’s, Eli. He was talking about me being there with all of you.”
“I know exactly what he meant. And he’s still wrong.”
I put my hands inside my hoodie pocket and begin walking again. “Where’s Mandi?”
“She’s taking the shuttle back to campus.”
“Look, just go back to Sal’s, okay?” I dig around in my jean pocket and pull out a twenty. “Here. For my order.”
“Oh, fuck the food,” he says, clearly irritated. “I left 40 bucks on the table to cover it. I’m not going back there. I’m walking you home.”
I sigh heavily. “I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to ride in and rescue me, Eli.”
“Well, too bad, because here I am. Sorry, I left my fucking horse at home.” He falls into step beside me, quiet for a few moments before he asks, “Tell me why you think you don’t belong there.”
“Oh, come on,” I groan.
“I want to know.”
“High school was full of jocks, cheerleaders, and popular kids. I don’t fit into any of those boxes. I don’t know why I thought college would be any different, or easier. It’s not.”
“Okay, but I happen to like that you don’t fit into any of those boxes.”
I stop walking and turn to face him. “Don’t placate me.”
