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“Oh?” I sit up, tilting my head. “What’s ‘oh?’”
Jane looks at me steadily. “This is about your crush.”
There’s no point arguing where Jane’s concerned. She’s been able to read me ever since she picked me up off the dirt in junior high. I’d swung for a baseball and missed so badly that the momentum carried me around and sent me on my ass.
“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“If he gave you that number because he was interested, and it had nothing to do with the counseling volunteering, would you call him then?”
I stand, but really it feels like something’s driving me to my feet. Walking over to the window, I look down at the street at night. A few people hang around on the corner, and a couple of teenagers pull wheelies on their bikes.
This isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it’s not the best either.
“I’m scared to call him,” I admit, my voice low. “I was scared the whole time I was talking to him.”
“Scared?”
“Of telling him how I feel.” I laugh bitterly. “I genuinely thought I was going to, earlier, as it would just come out. But that’s not all. I can’t see more of him if he keeps seeing those women. All the time. Getting photographed with that haunting look on his face. It’s like he’s thinking about the crash.”
Jane walks up beside me, laying her hand on my arm. “You know, he might be interested, Lucy.”
“Don’t say that.” I shake my head. “We both know there’s almost zero chance of that. You’ve seen the women he spends his time with.”
“Yeah,” Jane says. “I have.”
“They even giveyoucompetition, and that’s saying a lot.”
She jabs me playfully. “I think you should call him anyway. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, it’s still a good way to keep your mind fresh before starting college again.”
“What if I want to lie down and forget about everything instead?”
Jane grins. “I’m pretty sure everybody wants that from time to time. But it’s no way to live your life, Luce.”
“Luce. Dad used to call me that.”
“I know. I remember.”
I nod at Jane, taking a breath. “I’m going to call him. Tomorrow. I don’t want to bother him this late.”
From the way Jane’s looking at me, I can tell she knows that’s just an excuse, a way to delay the conversation.
And, maybe, a way to force down some of these feelings, to put them into boxes in my mind, so they can’t keep warping my thoughts into impossible shapes.
* * *
Three days of thinking about calling him, wondering what we’ll talk about, imagining all kinds of steamy and romantic scenarios…and then backing out at the last second.
I sit on the computer chair still in my work clothes and stare down at the phone and tell myselfthisis the moment.
I’ve told myself the same thing several times, but I’ve accepted something this time. Or at least I’m trying to.
He’s never going to feel the same as me. This is just a crush. I can be his friend without needing to be anything more.
Two of those statements are true, and it’s not the first one.
I sigh, probably for the fiftieth time this evening.
Outside, a light rain taps against the window.
