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Never will be.
“And you always just walk away after?”
“Mad I stole your move?”
I inhale sharply, surprised she’s bringing that Halloween up. Am I proud of it? No. But I thought it was settled history. Part of the past. Irrelevant moving forward. “Cassia…that wasn’t—”
“I lost interest in an explanation four years ago, Holden. Don’t bother.”
Her tone is acerbic. Cutting. The complete opposite of uncaring, and a masochistic part of me wants to grin in response to that small victory.
“Yeah,clearlyyou’re over it, since you just brought it up.”
She sighs, long and irritated. “I’m cold and hungry and there’s no point to this conversation. If you didn’t want it to happen, you would have stopped it, since you’ve never had any issue being honest. It happened, it won’t happen again. Now you can go back to ignoring me.”
“Cassia…”
“I mean it, Holden.”
She turns and walks away from me.
Again.
Leaving me standing here, a whole lot irritated and just as conflicted.
Because, the problem is, Iwantit to happen again.
I can admit that to myself. I’m just not sure it’s anything I should tell her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CASSIA
I’m shoving the last of my books into my locker when Sydney appears.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply, shutting the door and spinning the combination. “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
Most days, Sydney stays after school in one of her various roles as part of the theater elective she takes every semester. She’s never acted in any of the productions, but always takes on some sort of managerial position as a stagehand. I’ve tried to talk her into performing for years, but I’m not really one to talk. Most of the time, I hang out in my comfort zone right alongside her. The only reliable pull toward the uncharted in my life has been Holden Adams, and I can’t exactly pass that along to Sydney as solid advice.
We walk side by side down the hall. The final bell only rang a few minutes ago. Almost every locker is open, and the hallway is packed. I wave at London Jackson as I pass her. We share a lot of the same classes and usually pair up on projects when we can.
“So…that was weird earlier. At lunch?”
I barely register London’s returning wave, too startled by Sydney’s comment. I manage some vague hum that Sydney takes as me not knowing what she’s talking about.
“Holden coming over to our table at lunch?” she prompts. “That was weird, right? He’s never done that before. And he looked annoyed. So did you, actually.”
My eyes stay focused straight ahead as we navigate the busy hall, headed toward the main doors.
Holden isn’t a taboo topic between us. Sydney talks about him a lot. Worries about him a lot, more specifically. Most of the time, he’s the only family she has around. But we don’t discussmeand Holden. Not since Sydney noticed the space between us. She asked me, once, if something had happened. I said no—unwilling to dredge up painful details with anyone, including her—and that was that. All the years of the three of us hanging out were easily erased.
“Iwasannoyed,” I answer. “You know how he can be. He asked me for help and then didn’t listen to what I said.”
I’m sticking with Holden’s Calculus help story. No way am I telling anyone—especially Sydney—what we really discussed. Although it’s absolutely a situation where I could use some guidance. Where it would be helpful to have a best friend who isn’t related to the only guy I’ve ever been interested in.
