My stomach tightens. “He still hasn’t asked me.”
Dad sets the remote down. “We discussed this already.”
“No, you told me.” My voice trembles but I don’t take it back. “That’s not really the same thing.”
Mom’s hand freezes. Dad’s gaze sharpens. “Lucy.”
“I’m going upstairs to study,” I say.
Dad watches me. “We’ll talk about your attitude later.”
I nod and go upstairs with my heart beating too fast. Once I’m in my room I close the door and sit on the edge of my bed. He still hasn’t asked me.
I open Tiny’s messages. He has no idea what happened at breakfast. He just answers like choosing for yourself is the most ordinary thing in the world.
Me: Can I ask you something?
Tiny: Anything.
Me: Do you always ask before making plans with someone?
There is a pause.
Tiny: Well, the alternative is kidnapping someone and I’ve been told that’s illegal. So, yeah.
Tiny: People get to choose where they go and who they spend time with.
Me: Even if someone else thinks they know what’s best?
Tiny: Especially then.
I stare at the screen until my eyes burn.
Me: Thank you.
Tiny: You don’t have to thank me for that.
I set the phone against my chest and lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The house is the same. Dad is still downstairs. Daniel is still coming Friday. But something feels different inside me now.
EIGHT
TINY
I wakeup Thursday morning feeling almost human again. The fever's gone. Four days since I met Lucy at the clinic, and I've been grinning like a damn fool every time her name pops up on my phone.
I spend most of the day catching up at the clubhouse, then head home. By the time I shower and flop onto the couch, I'm already checking my phone like an idiot.
My phone buzzes and a grin spreads across my face before I even pick it up.
Buttercup: I have to tell you something.
Buttercup: And I really don't want you to be upset.
Buttercup: But... I understand if you are.
The smile slips right off my face. Jesus. I sit up straighter.
Me: Buttercup.
