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Theo did his best to ignore him and started unpacking, but Sawyer didn’t return to his video game, preferring to watch Theo some more instead. “Girlfriend trouble,” Sawyer said triumphantly, snapping his fingers. “That’s what’s wrong with you.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, asshole,” Theo replied.
“And that’s your trouble.”
Theo sighed, pulling out his laptop and setting it on his desk. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
“Au contraire,” Sawyer said, with a surprisingly good French accent. “I know everything I need to know.”
“Fine, tell me.”
Sawyer rotated slowly back and forth, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Girl problems, but not the one people assumed, so not your ex, Isla or whoever.”
“Izzy.”
“Her,” Sawyer said with a dismissive wave. He squinted, either because he was trying to read Theo’s face or because it was about as bright as midnight in their room. “The best friend. Birdie.”
Theo sighed heavily. “Avery?”
“Yeah. What’d you do to piss her off so bad?”
“Maybe she pissed me off, ever think of that?”
“No, that’s not what happened.”
“How are you so sure?”
Sawyer cocked his head to the side. “Because you like to think you’re this deep, brooding asshole, but really, you’re just a wife guy in a leather jacket.”
Against his better judgment and against his will, Theo snorted. “The hell does that even mean?”
“It means there’s no way you’d get so mad at her that you’d break up with her, or whatever the hell happened up there in southern Canada.”
“What do you think I did?”
“You either lied to her or you told her you loved her and she freaked out. Maybe both.”
Theo didn’t love how close that came to the truth, but he kept his face bland. He’d never seen this side of Sawyer before, and it was compelling, in a weird sort of way. “So how do I fix it?”
Sawyer shrugged and picked up the controller in his lap. “Beats me,” he said, and turned the chair around to resume his game.
Theo stopped at the crosswalk with the rest of the pedestrians, most of them students. Backpacks, messenger bags, and a slow buzz of finals-related anxiety abounded. A bus lumbered past, splashing up cold, muddy water against the curb, and then a light rail, blowing its horn insistently as it approached the intersection. Theo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, less because he wanted to see who was messaging him and more because he needed something to do while he waited.
Grace: I hate this
Why are you guys FIGHTING
I cannot be peacemaker, that is Harper’s job
Theo deliberated whether or not he was going to reply, because he wanted to think about anything other than Avery. He’d rather deal with Latin declensions than think about Avery, because every time he did he felt like his guts were bleeding. A graphic image, yes, but accurate. And he hadn’t spoken to anyone—not even Tommy—since things ended with Avery. Tommy had been sending him near-daily messages for almost a week, and Theo knew ignoring those and not responding was childish, but he couldn’t help it. He was pissed at Tommy for telling Avery, no matter what his reasoning was.
Theo: Who did you want me to apologize to?
Grace: TAKE YOUR FUCKING PICK
TOMMY
AVERY
