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“Well, they’re all yours! Here’s my stop.” I point to the supply closet and Josie’s face reddens even more as she bites her lip.
“Don’t be nervous on my account,” I say, reading her like a book. I squeeze her arm. “I can’t wait to hear the story.”
With a wink, I swagger into the supply closet, not thinking about the fact that I don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. I can feel the heat of Josie’s stare on the back of my head, so I keep my cool.
Then I hear her exhale and say, “Right! Hello everyone, I’m Josie, and I’m here to tell you all a story.”
I smirk at the way her voice wavers. All of my senses are telling me she has no idea what she’s going to say. This is going to be good.
7
JOSIE
Think, Josie. Think.
My brain is frozen on one fact: Logan is within earshot and I’m somewhere that I shouldn’t be. 99.9% of my brain is telling me to make a run for it. But I’d have to explain myself when I see him at the reunion.
I can’t humiliate myself twice in twenty-four hours. In fact, I’ve used up my quota for public humiliation for the year.
So, I swallow against the hard lump in my throat and put on my best smile. My eyes cast about the sea of frail eyes.
I just need to make up a story. I can do that.
People make up stories all the time. I’m a pro at coming up with elaborate tales to explain why I can’t go to the work party or have drinks with the other interns.
But standing on the spot, with pools of sweat on my upper lip and my hands shaking, it’s proving difficult to get my brain to come up with anything.
All I wanted was to find out why my grandpa sent me here. I wondered if Logan’s mom and dad are staying at the care facility, but a quick scan of the room squashes that theory.
I want to know why Logan didn’t reach out to me after the accident. I could have been there for him. Every part of my brain is consumed by the thought that I need to talk to him.
But how do you open up a conversation about something that happened a decade ago? How do I tell Logan that I know?
My thoughts are too jumbled to make up a story. So, I decide to tell one that I know really well. I just need to change the names and places, but not too much, so that he gets the message.
“There was this small town called Raindrop Creek,” I begin, making sure my voice is nice and loud so the residents can hear. I pull out a chair and take a seat, then settle into a long tale that would sound awfully familiar to anyone close to me. Especially Logan. But that’s the point. If I turn into a quivering mess when I’m around the guy, and I can’t actually talk to him face to face, maybe this is the only way.
“It was the first day of High School for Jodie…” My mind opens up and flashes of memories cross my mind, flooding me with old emotions. Just like that, I’m a kid again.
I tell them about the day I developed a crush for Logan (or Lloyd in my story.)
I was walking around the school with a map in one hand and a stack of books under my arm. I turned a corner and bumped into this tall boy who knocked me right off my feet.
But this kid had ninja reflexes, and he grabbed my waist, yanking me up before I hit the floor. He couldn’t save the books from raining down, but in that moment, I didn’t care. All I could see were his big, watery blue eyes. I lost myself in them.
Even though it would take three angsty years to finally get his attention again, I—I mean, Jodie—knew that Lloyd was the one.
When we were picked to be lab partners, it was the perfect opportunity to get the guy to finally notice me.
It worked. Before long, we were totally in love.
At least, we were obsessed with each other’s company. I’m not entirely sure if a teenager knows what it’s like to be in love.
I carry on telling this crazy story about my failed love life, and end with the line, “…and then she never heard from him again,” hoping for some dramatic gasp. All I get is blank looks.
Most of the old-timers are just looking vacantly into space. I glance at one of the nurses tending to an elderly gentleman’s IV drip. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she says, reading the concern on my face. “Most of them are deaf in here. But it’s real sweet of you to come by and visit.”
My blood turns cold, but before I can make my excuses and leave, Logan swaggers out of the supply closet with a lightbulb in his hand. You’d think he just got away with robbing a bank by the smug look on his face.
