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“Shouldn’t, shmouldn’t.”
My eyes narrow. Maybeannoyedis not the right word. “I’m surprised you were able to pry yourself away from college, since you love it so much.” I sound so acid, I nearly wince.
Her head tilts. “I don’t remember ever saying anything like that.”
“You didn’t need to say it.”
“You read my mind?”
“I read yourInstagram.”
“Ah, yes.” She nods sagely. “I do bare my heart and confess my deepest pains to Instagram.”
I lower my eyes, feeling like an idiot of the pettiest kind.
“I mean,” she adds with a shrug, “I do see where you’re coming from. It’s not like I didn’t think the exact same.”
“Really?” I lift my eyebrow back to sour. “I haven’t updated my Instagram since I saw that giant leopard moth three years ago.”
“You haven’t. But one doesn’t need social media to keep up on the whereabouts of the great Mallory Greenleaf. Not whenJezebelhas an entire article about your wardrobe.”
“No, they don’t.” I exhale.Shit. “Do they?”
“They have, like, four. Anyway.” She rolls some more and sits on the edge of the mattress. “There’s something exquisitely humbling about finding out that your best friend ofmanyyearsis dating someone, for the first time, and didn’t bother telling you— ”
“I’m not dating— ”
“— or that she neglected to mention that she won the Philly Open, that she was selected for the Challengers, that she is now buddies with the best player in the world, that she is going to be his opponent for the World Championship— should I go on?”
I don’t answer. I just look at her as she stands and steps in front of me. A dozen little puzzle pieces are working overtime to click together inside my head.
“You know . . .” She scratches her temple. Her brown eyes are serious and beautiful. “When you started texting less and less, I thought you were over me. You had this super- cool fellowship, an objectively hot boyfriend, prize money, and you are— Jesus, Mal, you’refamous, it’s soweird.And I figured I was just being . . . phased out. I was being outgrown.”
“I— ”
“But then.” She lifts her finger. “Then Sabrina texted me about how much of a miserable mope you’ve been, and I remembered something very important.”
I swallow. “What is that?”
“That you are an idiot.”
I flinch.
“Here’s the deal,” she continues. “You’ve always been like this, and I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Even before your dad did what he did, you didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want toimpose. You were always theleave ’em before they leave youkind of person. And normally I would have realized sooner what you were doing, but I was a bit in my head, too.” She wetsher lips. “College is . . . not easy. And not that fun, sometimes. And it’s pretty lonely. And I gained six pounds. Now my bra chafes.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s okay, I’ve ordered new ones. The point is, I was too busy to realize that you were just trying to anticipate my move with that chess brain of yours.” She pauses. I watch her slip her shoes off with her toes. “I think that when I left, you were scared that I’d get over you. So you decided to get over me sooner.”
“I didn’t— ”
“Maybe not consciously, but— ”
“I mean, I didn’tdecideit,” I say, voice thick. My last vestige of irritation is washed away by something dangerously close to tears. “I just thought that you . . .”
Easton sighs. Pats me on the shoulder, once. Then moves back to the bed, sprawling again on top of the covers. Still on my side, but at least this time she’s barefoot. I have no idea what to do, so I opt for what’s natural: take off my own shoes, step around the mattress, and settle on the free side. We both turn on our pillows, facing each other, and this could have been us during a sleepover eight, five, three, two years ago. Any number of times, in any number of places.
“So.” I clear my throat. “You’re going out with that really hot girl?”
