Page 11 of Never Ever Getting Back Together
TWO MONTHS LATER
THREESkye
My dad has always said that I was born concerned.
He likes to paint the picture of a red, pruny little newborn who slipped into the world with a permanently furrowed brow and a suspicious frown, who would only smile for the lucky few I decided had earned my trust. According to him, I grew out of that when I went to school. The guardedness. Personally, I believe I got better at pretending I’m not suspicious of everyone.
People like you better if they can’t see your walls.
Only a few people reside within mine. My dad is one, and my best friend is another. Someone else got close, once. Close, but not quite. But then, like people so often do, he left my orbit as quickly as he entered it.
I hadn’t honestly expected to hear from him again.
Icertainlyhadn’t expected to find myself in the Loreux International Airport, waiting to be whisked to a lakeside mansion, where I will be filming a reality show with the one that got away. No, that was most definitely not in my initial travel plans, and detouring from plans is highly uncharacteristic of me.
Then again, Jordy Miller has a habit of bringing out unexpected sides of me.
As I follow the crowd along a carpeted gray floor to baggage claim, I text my dad and my best friend, Chloe, to let them know I’m about to disappear. My phone begins to vibrate only seconds later.
“Hey,” I say to Chloe, staking my claim on a spot with a good view of the carousel. “What are you doing up? It’s, like, three a.m., isn’t it?”
A middle-aged man stands directly in front of me to wait for his luggage. I step around and reposition myself next to him, but he conveniently doesn’t seem to notice me.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t go to sleep without saying goodbye. It’s been bad enough not being able to hang out for the last six weeks, and now we can’t even message. I’m going to miss you.”
“Aww. I’ll miss you, too.” Suitcases are spilling onto the belt now, and I scan it for my backpack, despite knowing full well I have terrible luck with baggage claims and mine will be the last out, if it made it to the country at all. “But please tell me you aren’t calling to try to talk me out of it again.”
“Why not? It’s not too late.”
“Chloe.”
“I just don’t get whyJordy Milleris the one you choose to break your one-strike rule for.” Her voice goes from calm to shrill in the span of a sentence. She’s been ruminating on this for at least the last hour, if I had to guess.
“I don’t know.” I breathe out sharply through my nostrils in a huff. “He was almost-special.”
“Wow, can you tone the passion down there, Skye? You’re in a public place.”
“Is it really that shocking for me to want to see what could’ve been?” I ask.
“For you? Yeah. Hence, the ongoing shock. I’m glad you’re catching on.”
“He didn’t really do anything wrong, though. You could argue that, technically, he has no strikes.”
“Are we ignoring the part where he left you, then?”
“Moving countries doesn’t count as voluntary abandonment, if you think about it.”
“Maybe not, but he voluntarily stopped talking to you.”
“True, but I did stop reaching out, so he thought I must have moved on. It was practically mutual.”
“Funny. I remember it a little differently.”
“Are we really going to spend our last phone call arguing about Jordy Miller?” I ask, slightly exasperated. The man beside me glances at me and raises his eyebrows. I lift my shoulders at him, and he returns to pretending not to notice me.
“Fine.Will you take lots of pictures for me?”
“I absolutely will not, they’re confiscating my phone.”
