“You should hear yourself, Matilda.”
“Huh?” Honestly, I think he’s going to tell me I’m smart.
“You’re just—you’re a lot.”
“Yeah. But that’s what you like about me.” I say it confidently, but now I’m sinking inside.
Luca sighs. He taps his strong, beautiful hands on the wheel. “We should break up.”
“What?”
“You’re kind of obsessive,” he says. His profile is silhouetted by the streetlight. It seems very possible he’s going to stop talking any second and reach for my neck, pressing his pillowy lips against mine. “Like with the gaming. And being angry at your mom. And you talk a lot. It’s hard to take.”
Suddenly, I can see all the signs I’ve missed.
He doesn’t look at me unless he wants to hook up.
He runs late.
He doesn’t ask me questions.
He’s slow to text back.
Luca is tired of me, the way my mom got tired of Saar. The way my mom gets tired of everyone.
He goes on explaining while I try not to cry. I concentrate on twisting the ends of my hair in my fingers.
I’m too needy, too driven, he says. My face is always in my sketchbook; it’s weird. He doesn’t see why I always have to have an opinion on every little thing. My feelings are on the surface all the time. I’m saying more than anyone wants to hear.
“Okay,” I interrupt. “I get that you don’t like me anymore. I have really, completely understood that point.”
Then Luca says we’re late to this party, so we should probably go inside. Our friends are waiting for us. “Okay?”
No, it’s not okay. I am no way in the universe going to a party right now. He has to take me home.
Luca says no, because people are expecting him, inside.
That’s when I snap. I tell him he’s a bad listener. He isn’t smart enough for me. And I have been letting him win at video games because he sulks like a baby when I beat him.
He’s a weird kisser sometimes. In a bad way. He never tries hard at anything because he thinks it’s uncool to try too hard, to want something, to put effort in—but he’s wrong. Being scared of trying just makes him weak. I am a strategist and a contender and a big thinker and he is a self-sabotaging slacker boy who peaked in high school.
Those things are true. But the truth is, I adore Luca anyway. None of it mattered till he broke up with me. I’m just defending myself.
Luca bangs out of the car and leaves me there. I call for him to come back, but he heads into the party without even turning around.
I sit in his car. Crying.
With the key fob.
I can’t think of a single friend at this party who would take me home if I asked, and I can’t spare the money for a car service when the travel time will be nearly an hour. So I slide over to the otherseat.
I drive Luca’s car home.
I leave it parked near Saar’s bungalow, key inside.
When I wake the next morning, Luca has picked it up. There is a string of furious texts on my phone.
I don’t answer them.
