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“You want me to do a hug reenactment?” I ask, laughing a little. She nods, smiling like a crazy person. I have that exact smile in my arsenal; I rarely use it, but when I glance at Betsey, I see that she’s mirroring Ella’s face exactly. It’s a little creepy. “I’m totally not hugging you,” I say, laughing again. “Not like that.”
“Do it,” Ella says. “Come on!”
“Ella!” I say. “You know what a hug feels like. It was just a hug.” It’s impossible not to think of Sean’s arms around me on Friday night. That was a hug.
“Fine,” she says, tsking and looking at me with a stern expression as she grabs her plate and takes it to the sink. Despite her hesitation a second ago, she’s walking normally; Mom cleared her to go to school. “I guess I’ll just have to try to get him to hug me again.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you,” Betsey says, her mouth full.
“Definitely not,” Ella says dreamily.
I glance at the clock, wondering when Mom will be back.
“Hey, you guys?” I say. “I need to talk to you about something.” I’m thinking about it so much that I actually dreamed about Mom’s secret office last night; I know I need to tell them about it. I wanted to do it sooner, but Mom had a very rare day off yesterday and she was home from the time I got back from the movies with Dave until we went to sleep last night. Maybe she even slept all night in her own bed for once. This is my first chance to talk to Ella and Betsey alone.
“Is everything all right?” Bet asks, looking at me curiously.
“Yes, but—”
“If everything’s okay, can we talk tonight?” Ella interrupts. “I need to finish getting ready.”
I open my mouth to explain that we should probably talk now—because I’m not sure where Mom will be later—but the buzzer beeps, telling us that the gate’s opening. Mom’s home.
“That’s fine,” I say. Then, not wanting to worry them, I add, “Really, it’s no big deal. Tonight’s great.”
“It’s a plan,” Ella says before waving and leaving the kitchen. She heads up the stairs a little slower than usual because of her ankle, humming all the way. I’ve heard the song before: It’s the one Dave played for me on the way to the movies.
At school I push thoughts of Mom out of my head and focus on Sean. The second I walk into creative writing, I can tell that he’s still mad about seeing me with Dave at the mall. His posture is stiff and he’s facing full front. It’s probably my imagination, but it seems like he may have scooted his desk up an inch or two.
“Great,” I mutter to myself as I walk up the row to my seat. I ease into my chair and take a deep breath. Rationally, it’s probably okay that he’s mad: I can’t date him anyway. But emotionally, I can’t take it. I know that I have to try to fix things with him or I’m going to have a breakdown of soap opera proportions.
“Sean,” I whisper to his back. He ignores me.
“Sean,” I whisper again. I reach forward and touch the back of his right arm. He doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t turn around.
“Sean!” I whisper louder. “I need to talk to you.”
Finally, slowly, he turns halfway in his seat, not all the way like when he’s talked to me before. Like when he’s given me his full attention.
“What’s up?” he says, no intensity in his voice, like I’m anyone.
“I need to talk to you about yesterday,” I whisper. “I want to explain.”
“No need,” he says, shrugging like he doesn’t care. His voice is louder than mine, and that lack of intimacy almost stings worse than his words. “I’m good.”
“Really, Sean—” I begin, but Natasha cuts in.
“Hey, Sean,” she says, glancing at me with a smirk. “Show me that app you were talking about earlier.” Earlier? Jealousy rushes through me, and I realize that this is how Sean must’ve felt when he saw me with Dave.
He pulls out his phone and starts talking to Natasha about a photo app, taking a picture of her and then doing something on the screen. Instead of letting the anger take over, I try to redirect my energy toward getting him to talk to me. And that requires a softer touch.
“Can I see?”
Sean looks at me, and in his eyes I can tell that he’s conflicted—both wanting to hate me and wanting to move forward like nothing happened. In the few seconds he considers his next move, Natasha flashes me a look that screams Back off! But I persist.
“You’re totally app-sessed,” I joke, smiling warmly at him. It’s silly, but it does its job: His face softens and he turns his body so both Natasha and I can see the screen. Class is going to start any moment; I only hope that before it does, I can melt the iceberg enough to get him to talk to me for real later.
