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A hush fell over the table after that, leaving us all to eat our ice cream in the quiet. The hum of the ice cream machine was loud, and I watched as the girl leaned against the counter and scrolled through her phone.
I tried to imagine how different this would’ve been if Natasha hadn’t come, guilt immediately trailing after the thought. Sure, the dynamic would’ve been different, but she hadn’t said anything unfriendly toward me, at least not yet.
I needed to just cross this awkward bridge between us. “Natasha, so you went to school with Harry?” I asked, trying to channel my inner conversationalist. Destelle was good at small talk. I could do this.
“Since grade school.” She leaned across the table toward me, acting as if Harry wasn’t between us. “I have yearbook pictures that would make you about die of laughter.”
“She doesn’t,” Harry objected immediately. “My yearbook pictures were magnificent.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Even in the seventh grade?”
Harry’s eyes widened a bit, as if he could picture what she meant. “She doesn’t have pictures. Nope, no pictures. Natasha, your ice cream’s melting.”
She rolled her dark eyes, still looking at me. “Imagine, like, strawberry red hair and tons of freckles. Your hair really darkened over the years, didn’t it, Harry?”
He tore a hand through his auburn hair, ears pink. “Thank God for that.”
“I, for one, definitely need to see awkward Harry pictures,” Vincent declared to the group, smirking at his friend. “We should post them to the social media page.”
Addy and I agreed at the same time, causing us to laugh. Natasha joined in, licking her ice cream cone.
There. Bridging the gap. Easier than I thought it’d be. I didn’t want to be at odds with her; they were still so prominent in each other’s lives. I didn’t want to wipe that away. Besides, she seemed really cool—I wanted us to be friends.
Suddenly, a sharp chirp filled the table, and everyone looked up, trying to figure out where the sound came from. But I knew the ring in an instant: It was the tone I set for when parents called me.
I hurried to set my ice cream on the table, slipping from the seat. “I’ll be right back,” I told them, not meeting a single gaze as I shrugged my coat on and hurried outside. My phone still rang in my jacket pocket, and I fished it out with a flutter of nerves, Stella dissipating into Destelle in an instant. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Mom demanded at once, but she didn’t sound angry. That was good. “You said you were going out shopping with Margot after school, but you should be back by now.”
“We stopped to get ice cream,” I told her, pulling my hair out of my face. One clasp pulled tightly against my hairline—too tight. I reached up and unclasped it, then fit it back into place. “I should be home soon.”
Mom’s sigh came through loudly. “I made an exception this time, Destelle, but you know how I feel about you going out of the house without finishing your homework.”
“I only had one worksheet to fill out for English,” I told her, curling my fingers into fists. “Besides, it’s a Friday. I’ll be home soon.”
Mom was quiet for a moment. “I want you home in a half hour.”
I gritted my teeth. It would take twenty minutes to drive from here back to my house, and I still needed to find a place to park and change out of Stella. It felt like I’d just gotten there and I already had to leave. But there was no choice here, only an order. “Yes, Mom.”
She ended the call without a formal goodbye, but I still kept my cell pressed to my ear, staring out into the parking lot. Three cars lingered in the lot—mine, Harry’s, and presumably the workers’. They all rode here together. Who sat in the passenger’s seat? Vincent or Natasha?
“Everything okay?”
I turned to find Harry standing behind me, hands in his jeans pockets. He didn’t have his coat on, auburn hair blowing in the wind. I tried to picture what my expression must’ve looked like, but the coldness made my cheeks feel numb. “I have to head out.”
He ducked his head lower, peering straight into my eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“That was my mom.” I sighed, finally slipping my cell back into my coat. “She wants me home, and I come when she calls.”
I didn’t want to unload on him—definitely didn’t want to whine about my parents to a boy who didn’t have any—but I also didn’t want to lie to him, to put on a fake smile. Not for him.
Harry clasped my hand between both of his, rubbing his skin over mine, using friction to warm it up. “I’m glad I got to see you, though.”
“I won’t be able to make it tonight,” I told him, studying the brickwork of the parlor over his shoulder. Mom wasn’t going to let me back out of the house after calling me home. “Hopefully I can come tomorrow.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He held my gaze, as if trying to convey something without speaking it. “Really. I know we joke about the ‘more important’ stuff, but definitely do what you need to.”
As I stared into his eyes, the sudden reality of how different we were struck me. We were in such different phases of life. He lived on his own, graduated from high school, where I still lived under the rule of my parents. I still had a curfew and homework and a mother who clocked how much time I spent out of the house. So, so different.
