AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You and I both know I don’t have the skill set for chasing guys.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, especially since I haven’t forgiven Rockwell on your behalf, but you’ve liked him forever. You’ll regret it if you don’t see this through.”
She’s right. Something potentially exciting is finally happening to me. I’ve never forgotten my first love—my high school first love who dumped me—like every other normal person on the planet. The regret could be devastating. “Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he’s here so I can finally see how imperfect he is for me.”
“Most people would’ve thought that when he broke your heart and skipped town.”
I’m not most people. Rockwell had been my best friend. You can’t beat a guy who puts sticky notes with sweet messages in your locker and in all your folders or can make you laugh when you want to cry. He patiently videotaped me for hours when I needed footage to critique myself for my role as the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker, and once drove me home when I was sick in the middle of a school day, and didn’t even blink when I threw up in his backpack. He looked at me like I was the whole world. No one has looked at me quite like that since.
Rockwell Davenport was and is the unforgettable type. When I learned about his world crashing with his parent’s divorce and all the lies laid at his feet, I would’ve run too. I was devastated he left, but I also understood. Sometimes I hated that I didn’t hate him. Disliking him, at least, seemed appropriate.
“Maybe I’ll finally get over him,” I breathe.
Gabby taps her mouth with her manicured finger. “Now that’s a viable option.”
It’s more in line with the anticlimactic excitement life usually serves me. Either way, it sounds like I need to spend time with him to know. This opportunity is too good to be true. But it’s not natural for me to chase a guy. I straighten when I see the clock. I have to hurry back to my class. I talk fast. “What should I do?”
“First, you’re going to call Jocelyn at lunch and fill her in. This kind of news can’t wait. Then after school, you’re going to knock on Rockwell’s door and ask him to lunch. Be the cool, chill Brie I know, and he won’t be able to resist. Besides, Sofia is begging me to sleep over again, and Jocelyn isn’t back yet. It’s the perfect time to make plans.”
Cool, chill Brie. I can do it. Rockwell and I will go to lunch and take it from there. I know I put a lot of things on my Christmas list, but I don’t really expect them to happen. Lunch or dinner or whatever would be amazing. I do believe two people can be meant to be together. Like Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, or Marie and Pierre Curie, or let’s be real, Mario and Princess Peach. You can’t tell me those couples don’t fit perfectly together. They brought out the best in each other too. It’s exactly what I want in a relationship.
What Rockwell used to do for me.
Until he left Bearwood on the night of high school graduation. He’d never been back in all these years. His mom gives me the occasional update on him whether I want it or not, and I know he’s dated off and on but never married. What I don’t know is if he has a girlfriend currently. I can’t think about it right now. I’m going to knock on his door no matter what.
The rest of my school day goes by quickly. Thank goodness because I need the distraction. We do snowman math with cotton balls, a writing piece on how to catch a reindeer, and an art project where the kids draw themselves as elves. We have three more days of school until we’re out for the break, and the wiggles are real.
I’m normally exhausted by the time school is over, but I have this weird adrenaline going through me. I’m going to ask Rockwell out. No biggie.
I notice Rockwell’s sleek, black Mercedes as I drive by our shared duplex—saying that sounds so weird—and I’m impressed by how well Rockwell must be doing in his career if this is his rental. He was always a hard worker, sometimes balancing helping on his parent’s farm with a part-time job. His mom told me he’s a financial analyst. I know nothing about what a day in his life looks like, but I’m happy for him. Whatever success he has, I’m sure he’s earned it.
I park my very unshiny, inexpensive Ford under the carport on my side of the duplex and check my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair is a little flat and my minimal makeup worn off. Not ideal. At least my wide-legged jumper is a cute business-casual, and I like the way it hugs me in the right places and hides the unflattering ones. My jacket is a discount purchase and a little worn, but I look ten times better than I did Friday night. It’s got to count for something.
I can freshen up after I ask Rockwell out. If I don’t ask him now, I’ll lose my courage. Besides, part of me wants to make sure he survived the weekend and isn’t inside his house frozen to death. Afterall, I haven’t seen him since Friday night.
I shake the morbid thought away the moment I see our shared porch has been shoveled. I hadn’t had time to do it this morning, and Rockwell must’ve noticed. Which means he’s alive. I smile gratefully at the cleared concrete. Despite my urge to walk to my door, which is literally only a foot away from his, I steer myself to his door and lift my hand to knock.
My hand only meets the air. I can’t do it. What if he says no? Or worse, is annoyed. I stand there for who knows how long, deliberating. Finally, I dare myself and my fist makes contact with the wood.
My insides go into full-on panic mode, but I don’t run. I don’t even move. I stare at the door like my worst nightmare is about to come true.
And nothing.
Where is he? I glance through the window beside his door. It’s long and narrow and covered by an opaque curtain. I chew on my lip. What if he really had frozen to death? He could have shoveled the porch in his loafers, soaked his socks and pant legs, and gone back inside only to get sick from being damp in freezing temps. Why didn’t I offer him my couch?
There is a top corner of the window where the curtain doesn’t reach. There’s only one thing to do. I put my foot on an empty flowerpot and I’m in luck. It fits. I put my weight on it and stretch up. I’m a few inches short from the sliver of window that will show me inside.
I hop a little on my one foot, careful not to knock over the pot. One look to see if Rockwell is alive. He can avoid me all he wants—for now—but if he’s dying of hypothermia, I need to know!
Just a little higher.
“What are you doing?”
The noise scares me, and my foot lands funny. I fling out my arms to keep my balance. It’s too late. I’m falling.
