Damn eyes, windows to the soul and all. I blow out a breath. “It’s Ryne, it’s always Ryne.” Wow, that sounded harsh. “It’s more of the same. I don’t know where things stand between us and it’s really confusing.”
Evie blinks a few times and frowns. “Want me to kick his butt? I’ll kick his butt. I may be short, but height means nothing when it comes to kicking someone in the shin.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Oh my God, Evie. I love you.” She picks her spoon up again and digs out another bite of her melting shake, holding it out toward me. I scoop up my own bite and we clank our spoons together in a cheers motion. A few minutes later I slip out of the booth. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
I chastise myself on the way to the restroom. Once inside, I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror. My ragged breathing isn’t doing me any favors, it just fuels the current of confusion and anxiety swirling through my body. This can of worms I’ve opened with Ryne is very tricky, leaving me feeling unsure if I’ve got what it takes to deal with him. Deal with him isn’t a fair thing to say, nor is it accurate. He’s a puzzle and I like a challenge. The need to figure him out is just as necessary, just as real, as my need to breathe air. Each exposure to him rewires my brain a bit more, for better or for worse. And this morning when his warm breath tickled my skin with his whispered words? It’s like he’s crawled into my soul and taken up camp. Whether it’s a temporary residence or not I don’t know. He sure isn’t going to make this easy, whatever this is. That much I know for sure.
23
Ryne
Ididn’t sleep well last night. First of all, when I got back to my room after dinner, it was to find this text:
Ryne, call me. We need to talk. It’s been so long.
Back the fuck up, hold on. It’s been so long? And you want to talk? Are you fucking high? I typed out a response probably five times and deleted it every single time, finally just closing out of the app. And then I forgot about my algebra homework and was almost out cold by the time I remembered it. It trickled its way into my consciousness and I stared at the popcorn ceiling, counting the spikes for a good half hour trying to decide if I was going to get back up and do it or not. Considering I was only going to get four hours of sleep by that point I just said screw it and went to bed. But I tossed and turned and I’m not sure I actually fell completely asleep. Study hall’s first period so I should be able to get it done, but I’m exhausted and in a foul mood.
I’ve just settled into a seat in study hall next to Roman and have my algebra book, notebook, calculator, and pencil spread out around me. Here’s to the next fifty minutes going by fast but slow enough I can finish my homework. Roman’s got his head down on his backpack and I’m fairly certain he’s already asleep. A few minutes into the first problem my phone lights up with a text and beside me, Roman’s phone vibrates. I have half a mind to ignore it since I really need to get through this assignment, but another text immediately pops up. Roman stirs and grabs his phone. I unlock mine and pull up the message. It’s our group chat.
EVAN: Slight problem
With a frown, I read his second message.
EVAN: Pretty sure I just accidentally broke Becker
“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath. My blood runs cold and pools in the pit of my stomach, and I quickly type out a one-word reply.
ME: Explain.
When five seconds pass with no response, I send another text.
ME: Now.
Ten more seconds with no response and my eyelid twitches. I pound my thumbs onto the screen with more force than necessary with my next message.
ME: RIGHT-FUCKING-NOW EVAN.
Finally, the bubbles on the screen pop up, indicating someone is typing. It had better be Evan, or I will go drag his ass out of class. When the response comes through I nearly groan out loud.
EVAN: Soooo in homeroom, I was messing around and swiped his planner thing from his desk.
“Jesus, Evan,” Roman mumbles beside me. “Get a new hobby.”
Yes, Evan. Do that. Preferably one that doesn’t involve stealing Dacen’s shit. Three messages from Evan ping through in rapid succession.
EVAN: He had it out and got up to throw something away.
EVAN: I grabbed it, started flipping through, and may have laughed a little too loudly.
EVAN: There’s just so much glittery ink. I couldn’t help it. It’s like a unicorn threw up on the pages.
“He’s not wrong,” Roman agrees. I glare at him and turn back to my phone when another message comes through.
EVAN: Apparently I “rudely interrupted” Archer while he was going over a few announcements. He came over, grabbed it out of my hands, threw it in his desk drawer, and that was that.
Dacen’s stupid planner is going to be the death of me. I will have died, and on my tombstone, it will read: R.I.P. This sucker was bested by a brightly colored spiral-bound planner with color-coordinated tabs and an obscene amount of extremely neat and sparkly handwritten notes and lists inside. He never stood a chance.
My jaw clenches and I grip my phone tightly.
