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I swallow. “Hi.”
“Are you coming tonight?”
“I haven’t decided.”
It’s a lie. I know I’ll be there. But it doesn’t mean I forgive him, and I don’t want him to think that it does.
Holden nods. “Okay.”
“That wasn’t much of a sales pitch.” I speak without thinking, falling into the instinct to speak first and think second that’s always been way too easy around him.
He grins, but it disappears quickly. “I’m not here to talk you into anything. I meant it when I said you’re better off without me.”
Everything in me tenses at the reminder of that conversation.
“I’m selfish, Cassia. I’ve always tried to protect you from that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I gave you my heart a long time ago. You don’t have to believe me. I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me. You can punish me. Ignore me. Hate me. But no matter what, it will always be yours.”
Weeks ago, this speech would have made me melt. Now, I challenge everything he’s saying. “Was it mine when you were ignoring me for years, Holden? When you were with other girls? When you forgot about our friendship?”
Holden winces, looking away and running a hand through his hair before he holds my gaze.
“I would change things if I could, Cassia.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a composition notebook. I recognize it. It’s the same one he told me was full of stats when I reached for it in his bedroom.
I doubt that’s what he’s handing me. “What’s this?”
“Things I never told you.”
I start to open it. He stops me, holding a palm to the cover. “Don’t read it here. Just…you don’t have to read it at all, actually. But every time during the last few years, when I thought of something I wanted to tell you, I’d write it down. That’s what’s in here. So, yeah. Hate me, I deserve it. Mistakes, I’ve made plenty. But don’t ever think I forgot about you. That I didn’t care. That you’ve ever meant nothing to me. I know you won’t believe me if I just tell you that. So here’s the proof, if you want it.”
Before I can say a word in response, he’s turning and walking away.
I’m not the only one who tracks his movements down the hallway. But I’m the only one holding a notebook of his thoughts.
I end up in the library, which has been my sanctuary throughout all of high school. A peaceful, sacred space. I walk to my favorite table, spread my homework out, and then pull the notebook out of the laptop compartment of my backpack where I stored it.
Stare at it.
I glance around, like someone might be reading over my shoulder. There are a few other people around, but no one nearby. I open to the first page, smiling at the messy scribble covering the neat lines.
Made the shot from just past the marigolds Mrs. Lowe planted. You would have missed.That’s the first entry.
My dad was only home for six days this time. Trips are getting longer. Sydney probably told you that, is the second.
They go on and on. Pages of increasingly neat lettering detailing comments about basketball. About his friends. About his dad. About Sydney.
There’s never anything about other girls, but there’s a lot about me.
You should wear your hair down more often.
Finn made a comment about dating you and I shoved him into the lockers. Probably wouldn’t actually have told you that, is a recent entry.
It takes me a couple of hours to read through and reach the last page that has writing on it. It’s close to the end of the notebook that contains years’ worth of thoughts. None of the entries are dated. But there are small clues scatteredthroughout that hint at timing. Entries that mention prom and Homecoming. Holidays and certain classes.
The final entry is separated from the one before it by three lines, instead of one. The letters are large, like he knew there would be nothing after it.
I love you too.
I stare at them. Trace them. The pen strokes are harsh, cutting into the paper and leaving sharp indents behind.
