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“I know.” It feels silly, bringing senior prom up in the midst of this conversation we’re having as full-fledged adults. But that’s what I’m thinking about. I promised her that Teddy and I wouldn’t happen.
“But, yeah, I’m okay with it.”
I don’t realize how much the antithesis of those words—the anger and the accusations—were weighing on me until I hear what I’m confident will be the closest I get to Ellie’s approval.
“Okay,” I reply, not sure what else to say.
I braced myself for a worse reaction. Now, I’m left with an uncomfortable mixture of relief and regret. The relief is obvious. The regret? I’m wondering if I should have said something to Ellie weeks ago. If I should have fought eight years ago and never promised her anything.
“You have a show tonight?”
Surprise stalls my words for a minute. She sounds friendly, interested.
“Um, yeah. Nashville.”
“Music City.”
“Right.”
There’s a quiet murmur of voices before Ellie comes back on the line. “I should go. Eric just woke up. But we’ll talk soon, yeah?” She sounds like she means it, which is also unexpected.
“Um, yeah. Sure. Sounds good.”
“Night.”
“Night,” I repeat.
The call ends, leaving me swirling in a mixture of confusion and uncertainty.
Of all my not-so-bright ideas, this is shaping up to be one of the worst ones.
The elderly woman at the front desk bends over the sheet of paper in front of her, white bun bobbing and wrinkled hand shaking. “How do you spell that?”
“E-V-E-R-E-T-T,” I tell her.
“And you’re here to see who again?”
“Teddy Owens. He teaches math.”
“Okay. You can go ahead.”
I exhale. “Great. Thank you.”
I start toward the door, then spin around. “Um, what room is it?”
“Room 115.”
“Room 115,” I repeat. “Got it, thanks.”
Then, I scurry out of the room before she can come up with anything else to ask me.
The halls of Brookfield High feel achingly familiar. I walk across scuffed linoleum, passing endless rows of white metal lockers, drowning in nostalgia. The math wing is on the far side of the rectangular layout.
It’s not until I reach the door with a plaque reading115that I realize why this route is so familiar. Teddy’s classroom is the same one we had Calculus in together senior year. The same room our senior prom encounter took place in.
I’m not sure if it’s ameant to bean omen or a bad sign.
My knock on the door is weak, at best.
