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She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know.”
Chapter Three
Azalea
Formyentirefriendshipwith Maverick, he has had a laser-sharp, single-minded focus on his one and only goal: playing professional baseball. Everything he does is about making himself a better baseball player. He doesn’t date. He rarely drinks or parties. I’ve always known that he would be drafted after junior year, ending our friendship as we’ve known it.
It used to seem so far away. But all this time, the clock has been ticking by steadily, bringing us closer and closer to the day Maverick leaves. Now it’s just a matter of months.
I don’t want him to leave.
I have never told him that, of course. I would never make him feel guilty about chasing his dream. Sometimes when I’m up late, working on a lab report and wondering if Ireallywant to be a pharmacist, I think about Maverick’s discipline, and it inspires me to keep mine. His dedication and drive… it’s admirable. I know that.
So I’m annoyed with myself for bringing up his impending departure, and even more so when I can feel myself slipping into a mood over it. Maverick seems to think I’m off because of my family stuff, and to be fair, that’s not helping matters either. After we eat, we wander into the living room, where Maverick—who once tackled me to the ground in his quest to get the TV remote first—tells me to pick out a movie, “no complaints, I promise.”
I turn onShutter Islandand lay down on the couch, bending my knees so Maverick has room to sit at the other end. His callused hand settles on one of my ankles. It’s not new or weird; it’s just the nature of our relationship. Contrary to what my ex-boyfriend believed while we were going out, these casual touches don’t mean anything.
“Mav,” I say, before I know what I’m doing.
“Yeah.”
The words circling in my mind areI’ll miss you when you go, but they catch in my throat. I swallow, then look over my shoulder at him. He’s reclined back against the couch cushion, head lolled toward me. His thumb moves idly up my calf. He looks tired, and he’s worked out today, and he has class tomorrow, but he’s here with me because he knows I need him.
“You’re my best friend,” I hear myself say.
Maverick blinks. I think I’ve only ever called himoneof my best friends up until now, and it’s probably the same for him.But it’s true,I realize; Callie is my closest girlfriend, but when something big happens in my life, when I need a shoulder to cry on, when I want company because I’m lonely… Maverick’s face is the first one that pops into my head.
Callie is determined to move to Chicago after graduation. The thought of living far away from her makes me sad, but the hollow feeling in my chest only comes about when I think about Maverick doing the leaving.
Maverick squeezes my leg. “You’re my best friend too,” he says, and that’s all it takes for the dark cloud hanging over me to evaporate.
Theweekisbusywith class, labs, and homework, but that doesn’t stop my mind from wandering. I’m restless, antsy with a newfound determination to get answers about my mother. I check the tracking information for my test multiple times a day, as if that’s going to make it arrive faster.
Friday rolls around, the package is still in Pennsylvania, and that’s when I decide that I need to do something in the meantime.
“You’re going home?” Callie groans when I come into the living room with a tote bag over my shoulder. “You were just gone last weekend!”
“Sorry. My dad needs help with some stuff around the house,” I lie.
Callie sighs loudly. She’s sitting on the floor, a bath towel under her feet as she applies pink nail polish. A reality show that she watches a lot, but which I can’t remember the name of, is on the TV. “Mav is going home, too! What am I going to do?”
“Hang out with your other fifty friends?”
“They’re my plan B, though. You and Mav are my plan A.”
That makes me soften. I never would have thought that the girl who shouted at me across the airport would become my good friend, but here we are. Callie is the opposite of me in many ways, but for some reason, we click. She’s much more social than Maverick and me, which is how it often ends up that while she’s out partying, the two of us hang out alone. But every spring, when it’s time to figure out living arrangements for the next school year, there’s never any doubt that she and I will be rooming together again.
“I’ll make it up to you next weekend,” I tell her. “I’ll even go to a party with you.”
Callie lights up, as I knew she would. “Really?”
“Promise.”
“Get Mav to come, too.”
I laugh. “You can convince him.”
“No, it has to be you. He’s not wrapped around my finger like he is yours.”
