After reading those final words from my best friend, I covered my mouth to stifle a huge sob.
He really was lost.
22
HUNTER
I didn’t hearfrom Scarlett all Monday. And instead of riding back to school together like we’d planned on Monday afternoon, she texted at the last minute and said that Xander had eaten dinner with her family on Sunday night and had offered to give her a ride to the school since it was on his way back to Yale.
Me:Xander ate dinner with your family on Sunday?
Scarlett:My dad heard he was in town and thought we should continue to get to know each other better.
Me:Cool
Not cool.
Scarlett:Yeah.
Our text conversation died after that, and I didn’t see or hear from her until breakfast in the great hall on Tuesday morning.
I headed over to the table with my tray, determined to smooth things over enough that she would realize I was still the same person I’d been all year. That I still cared about her and wanted a lot of the same things still.
But when I walked up to my usual spot next to her, instead of scooting closer to Asher to make room for me on the bench like she usually did, she didn’t budge.
Was it possible she didn’t notice me standing behind her? Should I say something?
I was about to open my mouth to address her when she glanced briefly at me before turning back to her conversation with Asher.
Okaaaay.This was awkward.
I glanced at Addison and Evan to see if they had noticed what was going on, and after giving me a compassionate look, Addison patted the spot next to her and said, “There’s space right here for you, if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said, my chest feeling hollow with this whole weird situation.
Was Scarlett going to just pretend like I didn’t exist now?
Apparently, she was planning to keep being weird about things, because when Addison asked me questions about my weekend, I noticed Scarlett looking at us and listening but pretending like she wasn’t each time I looked directly at her.
We had our regular classes together, but each time I tried to talk to her, to apologize for not telling her everything sooner and for coming across so harshly, she’d turn around to start a conversation with someone else.
By the time school was out, I was so fed up that I pulled her aside before she could leave the journalism room and said, “So, are you never going to talk to me again? Is that what you’re trying to do here? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me even though I’ve been next to you all day? Are you, like, not even going to be my friend anymore?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You don’t know if we can still be friends?” I asked. “Because I don’t know what you see me as now, but I’m still the same person I was before this weekend.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice, desperation making me add, “I’m still the same person you kissed on Saturday night.”
She shivered, like she was remembering the kiss. But instead of softening with those words and the memory of Saturday night, she crossed her arms and said, “Yes, I know you’re still the same person you were last week. It’s just now I know the truth. I know that who you are and who I thought you were are two different things.”
“And you can’t be friends with me anymore because I believe differently than you?” I looked around to make sure the classroom was empty aside from us. “Because you’ve been fine being friends with everyone else at this school when they haven’t wanted anything to do with your church.”
She flinched and took a step back, as if my calling it “her” church instead of “our” church physically hurt.
I cleared my throat and tried to speak in a calmer voice. “I don’t want things to change,” I said, taking her hands in mine and rubbing my thumbs across her knuckles.
“But they did change,” she whispered and looked up at me, pain etched in her brown eyes. “You changed, Hunter. You changed everything.”
“So you can’t accept me anymore?” I let go of her hands, my shoulders slumping as I took a step back.
