What’s with the weird look? I glance questioningly at Leo and Aaron, who both answer with a shrug. “Uh, fine. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know?—”
“Is this about Rush?”
She snorts. “No. We all know you did the right thing there.”
True. I haven’t spent even a minute regretting my decision to drop out.
At her command, Leo and I get up and scoot the couch back a few feet.
She says, “I’m asking because you seemed a little out of sorts yesterday.”
Crap. I thought I did a pretty good job of acting normal at the Bobcat. Apparently, I didn’t.
Leo watches me as I sit back down, his forehead wrinkling. I suppose they should all know, but I feel awkward telling them. I can’t stand it when people feel sorry for me.
“It’s all good,” I say, fussing with the placement of a toss pillow. “I just broke up with Zander, that’s all.”
Avery’s gasp has my head snapping up, just in time to see her wide eyes dart to Leo. He’s frozen to the spot, lips parted. In the long stretch of silence, there is nothing but the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
Aaron wears his usual, what-the-hell-is-up-with-you-weirdos expression, eyes flitting back and forth between all three of our faces.
Mumbling something, Leo turns and disappears into the kitchen.
Words dribble out of my mouth, “What…why…”
Avery begins asking questions about Zander and me, but I’m barely listening. For what may be the first time in my life, I don’t seek support or advice, I act. “I’ll be right back,” I say, and I take off after Leo.
He’s leaning against the wall at the opposite end of the narrow kitchen, eyes on the ceiling and hands clasped behind his neck.
I go right to him. “What’s wrong?”
He gives me a grimace of a smile and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Nothing.” His hands won’t stay still; they rub at his jaw and the back of his neck.
To stop them, I grab his arms. “Leo?—”
Finally, he dares to look at me. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you break up?”
At first, I can’t speak. It alarms me, the storm I see in his eyes. I thought, if anything, he’d be glad to have Zander and O-Chi out of the picture. I mean, for god’s sakes, just a few weeks ago, he tried to drag me out of the frat house by my ear.
“Betts, tell me. Please.” His voice is thin, like he can’t get enough air. “Because if he hurt you because of me—if he hurt you at all?—”
“No. No,” I blurt. “It wasn’t because of you.” At least not directly. “We had a fight. He wants me to be an O-Chi Sweetheart and he can’t understand why I don’t want to.”
Leo finally meets my eyes. “O-Chi Sweetheart?”His thick brows are drawn so tight they’re practically touching. Either my answer is a total surprise or he doesn’t know what a Sweetheart is.
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to?”
“No. And he didn’t even ask me. He just assumed that I wanted what he wanted. Like he always does.” I’m probably not making any sense. This is hardly a coherent narrative I’m giving him. But he seems a little less agitated. His back flattens against the wall as some of the tension leaves his body.
I splutter more words, “I’m tired of him acting like he owns me. And I’m tired of drinking, and parties, and Greek letters, and?—”
